Okay, I've just spent an absurd amount of time reading a new blog. (Just look at what time I actually posted this!)
It's called My Super Hopeless Romance. The writer, Cordy, is completely in love with her best friend. And since he is a typical guy, he has NO CLUE!! Go and read it and feel a little of her heartbreak. And possibly the over-whelming urge to smack this guy upside the head...
She doesn't allow comments but I just desperately want to tell her "Cordy, I've been there!"
I loved him. In fact, he was my first love. For years, I focused a lot of attention on him, playing the role of "the good buddy," being there whenever he wanted me. I finally found the guts and I told him, one fateful night on my front porch. And what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was business as usual, like I'd never said a thing, never laid my heart bare, never said anything other than "see ya tomorrow!" A part of me died and I've never gotten it back.
Soon, I was hundreds of miles away from him, with only emails and the occasional phone call to ease the feeling of rejection. But even that changed. He fell in love. And suddenly, he was saying those words...but not to me. Not to me. (And Cordy, I know you will know the reference on that one...I have to think that there's a reason why he asks you to sing that song.)
It took a lame rebound relationship and a few casual ones until finally, finally, I found him, the ONE. Of course, he wasn't going down without a fight, either. But I won in the end.
So go and read about Cordy and the man she loves. Try to do it when you have some time because if you've ever had a taste of unrequited love, you'll be reading into the wee hours of the morning, too.
*New to Soap Opera Sunday? Read up on it here and then go check out everyone else's soapy stories here.
Showing posts with label SOS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SOS. Show all posts
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
SOS: An Alternative
Okay, I haven't posted a Soap Opera Sunday in a couple weeks. This is mainly because a lot of my former romantic interests are now married and their wives/mothers/sisters/etc., read my blog. I don't want to embarrass anyone...but I might ask a couple of them for permission. ;)
So instead of hearing all my soapy goodness, go check out this blog: Dr Horrible's Sing-A-Long. Dr Horrible is a villain, who's not really a villain, who battles his arch-nemesis, Captain Hammer, who's not really a hero. It's funny and heart-wrenching. And there's singing! And Neil Patrick Harris! The show is about 42 minutes long and there are two commercial breaks (15 seconds and 30 seconds). I would give it a PG rating...there's a couple lines that might cause your kids to ask questions...
Go watch it when you have the time, try not to get the songs stuck in your head, and then tell me what you think!
So instead of hearing all my soapy goodness, go check out this blog: Dr Horrible's Sing-A-Long. Dr Horrible is a villain, who's not really a villain, who battles his arch-nemesis, Captain Hammer, who's not really a hero. It's funny and heart-wrenching. And there's singing! And Neil Patrick Harris! The show is about 42 minutes long and there are two commercial breaks (15 seconds and 30 seconds). I would give it a PG rating...there's a couple lines that might cause your kids to ask questions...
Go watch it when you have the time, try not to get the songs stuck in your head, and then tell me what you think!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
SOS: First Kiss
So Brillig is giving us a theme for the Soap Opera Sundays. This month's theme happens to be First Kiss. Sounds fun!
I decided to write about my first kiss with the Man, mainly because it's a lot more interesting than my very first kiss. Shall we begin?
Remember what our First Date (Part One and Part Two) was like? Not exactly a fairytale beginning. But the second date was more fun and we made a connection. In fact, it was during this date that he decided that he liked me enough to hold my hand. I have a bit of a track record and I knew that according the "The Dating History of Jessica," that within two weeks of that initial hand holding, we would either kiss or fizzle. My money was on the smooching. In fact, I was so sure of it that I made a bet with a friend. In two weeks, the Man would kiss me or I had to take her out to dinner. And I could not just lay one on him. No, sir. That would be cheating. He had to make the move.
Why was it such a big deal that he be the one to kiss me? I mean, I was already stalking the boy, surely I could sneak a kiss whenever I wanted, right? Right. But that's what made it all the more important that he kiss first. And...he had never kissed a girl before. Kinda a big deal, dontcha think?
So, during the two weeks, I didn't stand next to him with my eyes closed and my lips puckered. No, I played it how I normally do, although I did keep up with the stalking. My roommates were being as supportive as possibe. One of them spontaneously burst out singing the tune from Little Mermaid "Kiss the Girl." They even decorated the window with those static stickers from the movie in hopes of getting in a subtle hint. One thing I've learned about the Man since then? Subtlety does NOT work. Big neon flashing signs are a better approach. It was even my birthday and I didn't get a birthday kiss. Hrmmmm...maybe I was losing my touch.
Before I knew it, my time period was quickly coming to a close. It was the last day of the bet, and it happened to be General Conference. In the grand BYU tradition, we invited guys over to watch Sunday morning's Conference session and have breakfast at our apartment. He came. He lingered for the afternoon session, too. No, this relationship was certainly not going to fizzle, but I might still lose the bet. Time to get into the game!
After Conference ended, he stayed and I went into action. Despite the presence of roommates and their "friends," I used all my feminine wiles, threw subtlety out the door and made my move. AND IT DIDN'T WORK!! I was stunned. Never had I failed at this before, but then again, he wasn't like the guys I dated in the past.
Later that evening, I was over at his place and for once, his roommates weren't there. It was fast approaching midnight and I would lose the bet. I conceded defeat. With only 15 minutes left (and a mountain of homework I had neglected in pursuit of him), I said goodnight and made to leave. But he asked me to stay.
Then it happened.
We were sitting close on the couch and he got that look. You know that look. I might have leaned in a little...
It was short but so very sweet.
So of course, I reeled him in for another kiss. No point in letting him get away now, right? It was rather perfect, really. I won the bet and got to kiss the most wonderful man I've ever known.
Now, if you will excuse me, this little trip down memory lane puts me in the mood for another kiss...anyone know where the Man is?
I decided to write about my first kiss with the Man, mainly because it's a lot more interesting than my very first kiss. Shall we begin?
Remember what our First Date (Part One and Part Two) was like? Not exactly a fairytale beginning. But the second date was more fun and we made a connection. In fact, it was during this date that he decided that he liked me enough to hold my hand. I have a bit of a track record and I knew that according the "The Dating History of Jessica," that within two weeks of that initial hand holding, we would either kiss or fizzle. My money was on the smooching. In fact, I was so sure of it that I made a bet with a friend. In two weeks, the Man would kiss me or I had to take her out to dinner. And I could not just lay one on him. No, sir. That would be cheating. He had to make the move.
Why was it such a big deal that he be the one to kiss me? I mean, I was already stalking the boy, surely I could sneak a kiss whenever I wanted, right? Right. But that's what made it all the more important that he kiss first. And...he had never kissed a girl before. Kinda a big deal, dontcha think?
So, during the two weeks, I didn't stand next to him with my eyes closed and my lips puckered. No, I played it how I normally do, although I did keep up with the stalking. My roommates were being as supportive as possibe. One of them spontaneously burst out singing the tune from Little Mermaid "Kiss the Girl." They even decorated the window with those static stickers from the movie in hopes of getting in a subtle hint. One thing I've learned about the Man since then? Subtlety does NOT work. Big neon flashing signs are a better approach. It was even my birthday and I didn't get a birthday kiss. Hrmmmm...maybe I was losing my touch.
Before I knew it, my time period was quickly coming to a close. It was the last day of the bet, and it happened to be General Conference. In the grand BYU tradition, we invited guys over to watch Sunday morning's Conference session and have breakfast at our apartment. He came. He lingered for the afternoon session, too. No, this relationship was certainly not going to fizzle, but I might still lose the bet. Time to get into the game!
After Conference ended, he stayed and I went into action. Despite the presence of roommates and their "friends," I used all my feminine wiles, threw subtlety out the door and made my move. AND IT DIDN'T WORK!! I was stunned. Never had I failed at this before, but then again, he wasn't like the guys I dated in the past.
Later that evening, I was over at his place and for once, his roommates weren't there. It was fast approaching midnight and I would lose the bet. I conceded defeat. With only 15 minutes left (and a mountain of homework I had neglected in pursuit of him), I said goodnight and made to leave. But he asked me to stay.
Then it happened.
We were sitting close on the couch and he got that look. You know that look. I might have leaned in a little...
It was short but so very sweet.
So of course, I reeled him in for another kiss. No point in letting him get away now, right? It was rather perfect, really. I won the bet and got to kiss the most wonderful man I've ever known.
Now, if you will excuse me, this little trip down memory lane puts me in the mood for another kiss...anyone know where the Man is?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
SOS: With Friends Like These...
I'm pretty lucky when it comes to friends. I have some that I know I can call at 6 a.m. to come sit with my kids while I rush to the emergency room. I have some that bring me treats for no good reason. And I have some that I can show my true dorkitude to and they'll still hang out with me. But I wasn't always this lucky. Junior high was rough (who doesn't have a hard time, though?) and the "best friend" I had as I start high school morphed into the Wicked Witch. I'm taking a break from the dating stories to tell you a little bit about this friend.
Let's call her Cathy. Cathy was cute, skinny, and smart. However - and I am being completely unbiased here - I was cuter and smarter. She didn't like that I made better grades, took AP and was in the Honor Society. Cathy didn't like it when I hung out with my friends from church or anyone else besides her. She also didn't like that I nearly always had a boyfriend or several targets for flirting. In fact, she would frequently develop a crush on the same guys, then it became a race to see who would win him. One time, my crush was older and had already graduated from high school. I would go to see him frequently and of course, she would go with me. He and I started dating, did the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing, etc. Then we kinda lost interest around the same time. That's when she made her move. I could say she stole my boyfriend but I didn't really care by then, it was on to the next guy.
She had a serious boyfriend when we were sophomores. I thought he was a jerk and didn't like hanging out with them. Then one afternoon, right before Christmas, he calls me and confesses that he is in love with me, not Cathy, that the only reason he stays with her is so he can see me. I didn't buy it. Seconds after I hung up, Cathy calls me. She insists that I have something I need to tell her. Wha...? It's obvious she had totally set up the phone call from her boyfriend and listened to the whole thing. When I confronted her about it, she said she did it to see if she could trust me. Yeah, that sure builds trust.
Also another trust-building step? Take your "best friend" to your church's youth group so they can gather around and tell her just how wrong her religion is compared to theirs. That's lots of fun, I tell ya, especially when I'm already feeling a little insecure about my personal faith. And she wondered why I would never go back...
But the final straw came with my cancer diagnosis. We discovered the tumor two days into the new school year, on a Thursday. On the following Tuesday, I was wheeled in for surgery. Since it happened so quickly, I only had a chance to tell a few people what was happening. So Cathy took it upon herself to report the news to others. Only she changed the story. I wasn't in the hospital, I was at home. I didn't have a tumor, I had a cold. Even when friends who knew the truth asked her about it, she told them I was lying to them, that it really was a cold. Then she had the audacity to come visit me in the hospital. I was so mad at her that I hardly spoke. Finally, I faked a muscles spasm so the nurse would come in and shoo her out.
After that, Cathy and I never willingly hung out together. We were both on the school drama and debate teams, which did a lot together, but we would coolly ignore each other. I sometimes wonder what happened to her, where she went in life and how many other friends she drove crazy...but then again, I don't really care.
Let's call her Cathy. Cathy was cute, skinny, and smart. However - and I am being completely unbiased here - I was cuter and smarter. She didn't like that I made better grades, took AP and was in the Honor Society. Cathy didn't like it when I hung out with my friends from church or anyone else besides her. She also didn't like that I nearly always had a boyfriend or several targets for flirting. In fact, she would frequently develop a crush on the same guys, then it became a race to see who would win him. One time, my crush was older and had already graduated from high school. I would go to see him frequently and of course, she would go with me. He and I started dating, did the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing, etc. Then we kinda lost interest around the same time. That's when she made her move. I could say she stole my boyfriend but I didn't really care by then, it was on to the next guy.
She had a serious boyfriend when we were sophomores. I thought he was a jerk and didn't like hanging out with them. Then one afternoon, right before Christmas, he calls me and confesses that he is in love with me, not Cathy, that the only reason he stays with her is so he can see me. I didn't buy it. Seconds after I hung up, Cathy calls me. She insists that I have something I need to tell her. Wha...? It's obvious she had totally set up the phone call from her boyfriend and listened to the whole thing. When I confronted her about it, she said she did it to see if she could trust me. Yeah, that sure builds trust.
Also another trust-building step? Take your "best friend" to your church's youth group so they can gather around and tell her just how wrong her religion is compared to theirs. That's lots of fun, I tell ya, especially when I'm already feeling a little insecure about my personal faith. And she wondered why I would never go back...
But the final straw came with my cancer diagnosis. We discovered the tumor two days into the new school year, on a Thursday. On the following Tuesday, I was wheeled in for surgery. Since it happened so quickly, I only had a chance to tell a few people what was happening. So Cathy took it upon herself to report the news to others. Only she changed the story. I wasn't in the hospital, I was at home. I didn't have a tumor, I had a cold. Even when friends who knew the truth asked her about it, she told them I was lying to them, that it really was a cold. Then she had the audacity to come visit me in the hospital. I was so mad at her that I hardly spoke. Finally, I faked a muscles spasm so the nurse would come in and shoo her out.
After that, Cathy and I never willingly hung out together. We were both on the school drama and debate teams, which did a lot together, but we would coolly ignore each other. I sometimes wonder what happened to her, where she went in life and how many other friends she drove crazy...but then again, I don't really care.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
SOS: Being the Rebound Date
Ever dated someone who was on the rebound from a long-term, serious relationship? You spend a lot of time listening to stories about their former romance and maybe you get compared to the person every now and then. It pretty much sucks.
So here I was, on a date with a guy I'd had a crush on from the first moment I met him - when he and his ex were still together. At least, I thought it was a date. It turned out to be something else entirely.
I met Eric at church. And yes, that's his real name. I just "googled" him and didn't find anything about him so I feel perfectly safe in thinking that he'll never read this. And even if it does, maybe it will give some insight. And then, maybe not. See, Eric was not exactly vain but pretty confident. He was more than just good looking and he knew it. Blond, muscular and funny. Fortunately for me, he was also kinda short so that limited the number of admirers. We started as friends. Isn't that how it always starts?
When he tearfully told me about the break-up, I silently cheered. Maybe now was my shot! And sure enough, before the conversation was over, we had plans for the weekend. Yes!
Not sure why, but I drove that evening. All during dinner, he told me about his former relationship: how they met, how they had weathered the rough times before, and, of course, how much she had changed lately. I feigned interest. He had his arm wrapped around me, how could I not be interested in his every word? Besides, we were friends and friends were supposed to be supportive. And have I mentioned the muscles? Yowzah!
After dinner he suggested we just drive around for a while. Okay. Soon, he was directing me through a residential neighborhood. Before we made it two streets in, he jumped in the back seat and covered himself with my windshield visor. What...? Sure enough, I was directed to drive very, very slowly past a certain house. Her house. No one was home. This lead to plenty of speculation as where she might be as we left the neighborhood. We pulled into a parking lot and read each other questions out of my most useful dating tool at that time: The Book of Questions. He answered every one for himself and then what he thought she would say. Bo-o-oring.
Then? Just when the blush had completely faded from my crush...he asked if we could drive by her house again before I dropped him off at home. Sure! Why not? Might as well go out with a bang, right?
While Eric and I continued to hang out regularly, it never went anywhere. Besides, he was more like eye candy to me than a potential boyfriend after that. Maybe another time I'll tell you about when we went to the same college, had a class together. I took a stand in that class during a controversial topic. He sunk down in his chair. Or maybe I'll just tell you about the time I was on the rebound and the poor, poor boy I got involved with...
So here I was, on a date with a guy I'd had a crush on from the first moment I met him - when he and his ex were still together. At least, I thought it was a date. It turned out to be something else entirely.
I met Eric at church. And yes, that's his real name. I just "googled" him and didn't find anything about him so I feel perfectly safe in thinking that he'll never read this. And even if it does, maybe it will give some insight. And then, maybe not. See, Eric was not exactly vain but pretty confident. He was more than just good looking and he knew it. Blond, muscular and funny. Fortunately for me, he was also kinda short so that limited the number of admirers. We started as friends. Isn't that how it always starts?
When he tearfully told me about the break-up, I silently cheered. Maybe now was my shot! And sure enough, before the conversation was over, we had plans for the weekend. Yes!
Not sure why, but I drove that evening. All during dinner, he told me about his former relationship: how they met, how they had weathered the rough times before, and, of course, how much she had changed lately. I feigned interest. He had his arm wrapped around me, how could I not be interested in his every word? Besides, we were friends and friends were supposed to be supportive. And have I mentioned the muscles? Yowzah!
After dinner he suggested we just drive around for a while. Okay. Soon, he was directing me through a residential neighborhood. Before we made it two streets in, he jumped in the back seat and covered himself with my windshield visor. What...? Sure enough, I was directed to drive very, very slowly past a certain house. Her house. No one was home. This lead to plenty of speculation as where she might be as we left the neighborhood. We pulled into a parking lot and read each other questions out of my most useful dating tool at that time: The Book of Questions. He answered every one for himself and then what he thought she would say. Bo-o-oring.
Then? Just when the blush had completely faded from my crush...he asked if we could drive by her house again before I dropped him off at home. Sure! Why not? Might as well go out with a bang, right?
While Eric and I continued to hang out regularly, it never went anywhere. Besides, he was more like eye candy to me than a potential boyfriend after that. Maybe another time I'll tell you about when we went to the same college, had a class together. I took a stand in that class during a controversial topic. He sunk down in his chair. Or maybe I'll just tell you about the time I was on the rebound and the poor, poor boy I got involved with...
Sunday, June 8, 2008
SOS: First Date, Part Two
Alas, what would your Sunday be like without all the soapy goodness we got going on around here?
And we continue the story of my first date with Dream Boy. I don't need to remind you that he wasn't scoring any big points with me and my Sprite-soaked hair. Shall we continue on?
After the dollar movies, I received the Royal Treatment. Yes, folks, we went to Dairy Queen. I love DQ! Some of my favorite childhood moments involved their fine establishment. And besides, I was with Dream Boy! Anything was perfectly acceptable.
After getting our treats (and since Dream Boy still wasn't really talking much), I attempted to get to know the other two girls in the group. And this is where I start to notice that something is up (because I am super-quick, people).
Maybe I didn't help the situation by taking one look at the other girls and immediately confirming to myself that I was way hotter than both. Probably shouldn't have started off with such smug confidence. But these girls...well, they were sweet spirits, I'm sure. One girl - a small little waif of a figure - just stared at me. Stared. The whole evening. She didn't have much to say to her date...just stared at me. Well, I was cute but this was just awkward.
The other girl was quite different. She seemed to resent my very presence and took every opportunity to make snide remarks directed at me. Hey, if sarcasm was her main weapon, then I say bring it on, sista! So we didn't exactly see eye-to-eye, either.
In hindsight, I noticed one other thing: I was chasing my date. He'd scoot his chair over - away from me - and then I'd scoot my chair over closer to him. No subtlety there, folks. I was the hunter and Dream Boy was my prey. And he wasn't giving in.
By the time we left Dairy Queen, I was starting to feel a little pouty. What was it with this guy? He knew I liked him (yeah, everyone knew that) and he had asked me out. So why the cold, awkward shoulder? Didn't make sense. And what was up with those girls? Time for some answers!
Me: So, ummm...I know you knew those others girls from before but how do you know Staring Freak (not her real name...all about protecting the innocent, here).
Dream Boy: Oh, her?
Me: Yeah.
Dream Boy: I guess you could say she's my ex-girlfriend.
Me: Oh...
"Oh" indeed. Ex-girlfriend! He'd asked me out on a date with his ex-girlfriend! I was completely floored. But at least now I understood why she seemed to study me the whole evening...probably trying to find one thing about me that would be considered a flaw to Dream Boy. Yeah, that would be the fact that I was chasing someone who really wasn't looking to get caught.
And Sarcasm Girl? Apparently, she'd had a crush on him for the last year but he had been dating Staring Freak...until a few months ago when they'd broken up and he'd moved into my apartment complex. Oh, the intricacies of a little background information!
Now deflated, I was starting to think maybe Dream Boy wouldn't be won over like all the other guys I stalked - I mean, pursued with interest. Running on auto-pilot, I invited him in to watch a video my roommate was watching with her "just friends" guy friend. And absolutely nothing happened. No accidental bumping of hands in the dark room, no yawning and stretching so he could put his arm around me, and no goodnight kiss.
I was defeated.
So imagine my surprise when he called a week later to ask me out again. And then my utter amazement when he started flirting back. And then my stark bewilderment at our first kiss, and a little while later, the "I love you." Followed by the complete awe when he went down on one knee...Yes, dear readers, Dream Boy is the Man. Our first date was one for the record books but I wouldn't have it any other way.
And we continue the story of my first date with Dream Boy. I don't need to remind you that he wasn't scoring any big points with me and my Sprite-soaked hair. Shall we continue on?
After the dollar movies, I received the Royal Treatment. Yes, folks, we went to Dairy Queen. I love DQ! Some of my favorite childhood moments involved their fine establishment. And besides, I was with Dream Boy! Anything was perfectly acceptable.
After getting our treats (and since Dream Boy still wasn't really talking much), I attempted to get to know the other two girls in the group. And this is where I start to notice that something is up (because I am super-quick, people).
Maybe I didn't help the situation by taking one look at the other girls and immediately confirming to myself that I was way hotter than both. Probably shouldn't have started off with such smug confidence. But these girls...well, they were sweet spirits, I'm sure. One girl - a small little waif of a figure - just stared at me. Stared. The whole evening. She didn't have much to say to her date...just stared at me. Well, I was cute but this was just awkward.
The other girl was quite different. She seemed to resent my very presence and took every opportunity to make snide remarks directed at me. Hey, if sarcasm was her main weapon, then I say bring it on, sista! So we didn't exactly see eye-to-eye, either.
In hindsight, I noticed one other thing: I was chasing my date. He'd scoot his chair over - away from me - and then I'd scoot my chair over closer to him. No subtlety there, folks. I was the hunter and Dream Boy was my prey. And he wasn't giving in.
By the time we left Dairy Queen, I was starting to feel a little pouty. What was it with this guy? He knew I liked him (yeah, everyone knew that) and he had asked me out. So why the cold, awkward shoulder? Didn't make sense. And what was up with those girls? Time for some answers!
Me: So, ummm...I know you knew those others girls from before but how do you know Staring Freak (not her real name...all about protecting the innocent, here).
Dream Boy: Oh, her?
Me: Yeah.
Dream Boy: I guess you could say she's my ex-girlfriend.
Me: Oh...
"Oh" indeed. Ex-girlfriend! He'd asked me out on a date with his ex-girlfriend! I was completely floored. But at least now I understood why she seemed to study me the whole evening...probably trying to find one thing about me that would be considered a flaw to Dream Boy. Yeah, that would be the fact that I was chasing someone who really wasn't looking to get caught.
And Sarcasm Girl? Apparently, she'd had a crush on him for the last year but he had been dating Staring Freak...until a few months ago when they'd broken up and he'd moved into my apartment complex. Oh, the intricacies of a little background information!
Now deflated, I was starting to think maybe Dream Boy wouldn't be won over like all the other guys I stalked - I mean, pursued with interest. Running on auto-pilot, I invited him in to watch a video my roommate was watching with her "just friends" guy friend. And absolutely nothing happened. No accidental bumping of hands in the dark room, no yawning and stretching so he could put his arm around me, and no goodnight kiss.
I was defeated.
So imagine my surprise when he called a week later to ask me out again. And then my utter amazement when he started flirting back. And then my stark bewilderment at our first kiss, and a little while later, the "I love you." Followed by the complete awe when he went down on one knee...Yes, dear readers, Dream Boy is the Man. Our first date was one for the record books but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
SOS: First Date, Part One
Welcome to another installment of Soap Opera Sunday!
First Dates are always a source for soapy goodness. You never run out of the stories, both good and bad. You thought Date from Hell was bad? Well, at least that guy was trying to impress me! The first date I'm going to tell you about...well, he was somewhat less than interested.
I had a crush. Not anything new. I always had at least one crush. One at church, one in class (or more), maybe one at work and then some random one thrown in there just for fun. This guy was my church and apartment building crush so I saw him all the time. Well, really I made sure that I saw him and that he saw me. Remember how I was a kinda stalker? Yeah.
After a few weeks of finding different reasons to talk to him, he finally asks me out. I waited until I was in another room before I jumped up and down, squealing. Finally! A date with Dream Boy. Even though a part of me knew he wasn't really interested, I was still excited and determined to win him over.
He picks me up and we head to the movie theater to meet his friends. It's a triple date with two of his roommates. I knew both the other guys and they were fun so I had high hopes for the evening. The movie theater featured dollar shows. No big deal. Splashing the cash wasn't all that important. I had not really heard about the movie we were seeing, knew only that it had one of my favorite actors. And besides, I was with Dream Boy! How bad could it be? Well, I was about to find out.
So there we are, sitting in a semi-dark theater, waiting for the movie to start. No popcorn, no drinks. Once again, not a big deal. The popcorn at this theater was notorious for being non-edible anyway. So I am sitting in all my cuteness - nearly waist-length hair perfectly coiffed in a mass of curls and my oh-so-trendy dark red lipstick - but we're not really talking. I don't think he was nervous but he wasn't really chatty and if you know me...well, you know I can't shut up.
Then there's a scuffle in the seats behind me. Two young boys were sitting there, obviously brothers. The younger one had just returned from the snack bar, popcorn and drink in hand, when the older one decided it would be really funny to smash him into the back of the seat - my seat - instead of letting him pass. So guess what happens? Oh, come on! Guess! Did you say the boy accidentally dumps his drink directly into my mounds of hair? Well, you would be right!
There I am, wringing my dripping locks out into the aisle and Dream Boy? He looks at me and says "That's gotta suck" and then goes back to staring at the screen. No bonus points there, my friends. None.
Then the movie starts. Oh boy. Remember how I said "The Mirror Has Two Faces" barely won out as the worst date movie experience? Well, this one was a very close second: "Six Days Seven Nights," staring Harrison Ford, David Schwimmer and the newly-gay Anne Heche. Not a good movie. Not even an marginally entertaining movie. So glad I didn't have to pay to watch it, even if it was just a dollar.
When it's finally over, we all stumble out of the theater, feeling like two hours of our lives had been held hostage and tortured. Once we regained our feet, we headed to the next destination.
Once again...I can't keep it short. I will finish this another time. Unfortunately, I won't be around next weekend so it might not be right away. But stay tuned and see what happens when I get the Royal Treatment.
First Dates are always a source for soapy goodness. You never run out of the stories, both good and bad. You thought Date from Hell was bad? Well, at least that guy was trying to impress me! The first date I'm going to tell you about...well, he was somewhat less than interested.
I had a crush. Not anything new. I always had at least one crush. One at church, one in class (or more), maybe one at work and then some random one thrown in there just for fun. This guy was my church and apartment building crush so I saw him all the time. Well, really I made sure that I saw him and that he saw me. Remember how I was a kinda stalker? Yeah.
After a few weeks of finding different reasons to talk to him, he finally asks me out. I waited until I was in another room before I jumped up and down, squealing. Finally! A date with Dream Boy. Even though a part of me knew he wasn't really interested, I was still excited and determined to win him over.
He picks me up and we head to the movie theater to meet his friends. It's a triple date with two of his roommates. I knew both the other guys and they were fun so I had high hopes for the evening. The movie theater featured dollar shows. No big deal. Splashing the cash wasn't all that important. I had not really heard about the movie we were seeing, knew only that it had one of my favorite actors. And besides, I was with Dream Boy! How bad could it be? Well, I was about to find out.
So there we are, sitting in a semi-dark theater, waiting for the movie to start. No popcorn, no drinks. Once again, not a big deal. The popcorn at this theater was notorious for being non-edible anyway. So I am sitting in all my cuteness - nearly waist-length hair perfectly coiffed in a mass of curls and my oh-so-trendy dark red lipstick - but we're not really talking. I don't think he was nervous but he wasn't really chatty and if you know me...well, you know I can't shut up.
Then there's a scuffle in the seats behind me. Two young boys were sitting there, obviously brothers. The younger one had just returned from the snack bar, popcorn and drink in hand, when the older one decided it would be really funny to smash him into the back of the seat - my seat - instead of letting him pass. So guess what happens? Oh, come on! Guess! Did you say the boy accidentally dumps his drink directly into my mounds of hair? Well, you would be right!
There I am, wringing my dripping locks out into the aisle and Dream Boy? He looks at me and says "That's gotta suck" and then goes back to staring at the screen. No bonus points there, my friends. None.
Then the movie starts. Oh boy. Remember how I said "The Mirror Has Two Faces" barely won out as the worst date movie experience? Well, this one was a very close second: "Six Days Seven Nights," staring Harrison Ford, David Schwimmer and the newly-gay Anne Heche. Not a good movie. Not even an marginally entertaining movie. So glad I didn't have to pay to watch it, even if it was just a dollar.
When it's finally over, we all stumble out of the theater, feeling like two hours of our lives had been held hostage and tortured. Once we regained our feet, we headed to the next destination.
Once again...I can't keep it short. I will finish this another time. Unfortunately, I won't be around next weekend so it might not be right away. But stay tuned and see what happens when I get the Royal Treatment.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
SOS: Internet Dating
Once again, joining in on Soap Opera Sunday, hosted by the lovely Walking Kateastrophy this week. Read my previous entries here and here.
How many of you cringed from the bad memories brought back by that title? Come on...I know I'm not the only one! Two of my siblings met their spouses through the Internet, even. I wasn't that lucky.
Back when the Internet was new and innocent, I thought it was so much fun making "friends" online. We'd chat for hours and then exchange emails when not on at the same time. Some made it to phone calls and a select few I met in person. Wanna hear about the first one? Of course you do! Because here you are, reading my blog and giving me complete control over it's content. Silly you.
I met Darrel online. I am pretty sure we met in an AOL chatroom because that was the only place to go and chat those days. He was smart and I liked being around smart people. Also? He laughed (or LOL'd) at my jokes, so he was practically perfect, right?
He was a little older than me. I was just starting my first semester of college and he was a junior in college. We went to different schools but our parents lived fairly close to one another so we knew about the same places. He told me where he worked and I told him that I didn't have to work (because I was a spoiled little Daddy's girl). He was studying computers and I was studying flirting - uh, I mean, communications. We both roomed with our best friends from high school. He was not LDS but remembered seeing a commercial once. I was a good little Mormon girl. Oh so much in common.
We talked for weeks, then months. Emails and on the phone. He was on the shy side but I always liked that about guys. Too many wallflowers suddenly found themselves at the center of my attention. I probably scared them. Darrel was amazed at my habit of starting conversations with perfect strangers.
"How do you know what to say?" he asked, bewildered.
"I usually start with a question, something that fits the situation," I shared my vast knowledge so freely.
"Like what?"
"Well, in grocery stores, in the freezer section I'll ask them what's their favorite flavor of ice cream."
"I could never do that," he replied. "I'd be too embarrassed if they didn't say anything back."
Not answering my innocent little question? Unthinkable! In fact, it had never happened to me. I was cute.
Then came that fateful day...we had talked about meeting face to face for a while but never could get our schedules lined up (and I had a boyfriend so I kinda avoided it). But then I switched colleges in the middle of the year, left behind my full-ride scholarship and my boyfriend, changing to Darrel's university, as it was the closest one, which allowed me to live at home. I was free again and starting a whole new chapter. Shortly thereafter, Darrel mentioned he had to work on a particular Saturday. Well, that day, it just so happened that my BFF and I were out driving around. We just happened to be in the same area as Darrel's illustrious job at Best Buy. I convinced my friend to stop...I had to see what this guy looked like! And besides, I was looking cute that day and wanted to take advantage of the fact. We would sneak through the store, trying to find him and then bail if he wasn't a cutie. No harm, no foul, right?
Inside the store, I scanned name tags on every remotely cute guy we passed on the way to the computer department. No Darrel. Back amongst the computers, there was a hottie with streaked hair and I have to admit, my hopes rose. Unfortunately, his name was not Darrel. But being me, I just had to strike up a conversation. Darrel was still nowhere in sight and I could only hang out amongst the PCs and monitors before someone got suspicious. So I enlisted Mr. Hottie's help. I asked him if he knew a Darrel that worked here. He said he did but Darrel was in the back, hardly ever worked on the floor. Oh. Then I explained why I was there. The look on the guy's face should have tipped me off, especially when he looked me up and down and continued to look surprised. But he offered to page Darrel for me. He wasn't subtle. Darrel knew immediately who was waiting for him. So I tried to look nonchalant and at home amongst the motherboards when really I was starting to regret this decision.
Then Darrel showed up.
I don't think he ever described himself to me, other than the basics: brown hair, brown eyes, average height. And those were the high points. His hair was already thinning on top, despite his young age. While he wasn't overweight or covered in pimples, he was not cute. Not at all. And the first thing he said to me?
"Hey, what's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"
So smooth.
Mr. Hottie watched my reaction carefully and gave me a pitying smile.
"I always wondered what one of these meetings would be like," he said, when I could not find anything to say to Darrel, the real Darrel, not some imagined one that I can constructed through all those sweet emails.
I left shortly thereafter. I think my friend probably laughed the whole way home and I don't blame her. What was I thinking? I still talked to Darrel but I didn't flirt anymore. We even saw each other on campus a few times and I interviewed him (over the phone) for an article I wrote for the student paper. However, I promised myself no more meetings without getting a photo of the guy first. But I still didn't swear off the whole "we met on the Internet" idea. Silly, silly me.
How many of you cringed from the bad memories brought back by that title? Come on...I know I'm not the only one! Two of my siblings met their spouses through the Internet, even. I wasn't that lucky.
Back when the Internet was new and innocent, I thought it was so much fun making "friends" online. We'd chat for hours and then exchange emails when not on at the same time. Some made it to phone calls and a select few I met in person. Wanna hear about the first one? Of course you do! Because here you are, reading my blog and giving me complete control over it's content. Silly you.
I met Darrel online. I am pretty sure we met in an AOL chatroom because that was the only place to go and chat those days. He was smart and I liked being around smart people. Also? He laughed (or LOL'd) at my jokes, so he was practically perfect, right?
He was a little older than me. I was just starting my first semester of college and he was a junior in college. We went to different schools but our parents lived fairly close to one another so we knew about the same places. He told me where he worked and I told him that I didn't have to work (because I was a spoiled little Daddy's girl). He was studying computers and I was studying flirting - uh, I mean, communications. We both roomed with our best friends from high school. He was not LDS but remembered seeing a commercial once. I was a good little Mormon girl. Oh so much in common.
We talked for weeks, then months. Emails and on the phone. He was on the shy side but I always liked that about guys. Too many wallflowers suddenly found themselves at the center of my attention. I probably scared them. Darrel was amazed at my habit of starting conversations with perfect strangers.
"How do you know what to say?" he asked, bewildered.
"I usually start with a question, something that fits the situation," I shared my vast knowledge so freely.
"Like what?"
"Well, in grocery stores, in the freezer section I'll ask them what's their favorite flavor of ice cream."
"I could never do that," he replied. "I'd be too embarrassed if they didn't say anything back."
Not answering my innocent little question? Unthinkable! In fact, it had never happened to me. I was cute.
Then came that fateful day...we had talked about meeting face to face for a while but never could get our schedules lined up (and I had a boyfriend so I kinda avoided it). But then I switched colleges in the middle of the year, left behind my full-ride scholarship and my boyfriend, changing to Darrel's university, as it was the closest one, which allowed me to live at home. I was free again and starting a whole new chapter. Shortly thereafter, Darrel mentioned he had to work on a particular Saturday. Well, that day, it just so happened that my BFF and I were out driving around. We just happened to be in the same area as Darrel's illustrious job at Best Buy. I convinced my friend to stop...I had to see what this guy looked like! And besides, I was looking cute that day and wanted to take advantage of the fact. We would sneak through the store, trying to find him and then bail if he wasn't a cutie. No harm, no foul, right?
Inside the store, I scanned name tags on every remotely cute guy we passed on the way to the computer department. No Darrel. Back amongst the computers, there was a hottie with streaked hair and I have to admit, my hopes rose. Unfortunately, his name was not Darrel. But being me, I just had to strike up a conversation. Darrel was still nowhere in sight and I could only hang out amongst the PCs and monitors before someone got suspicious. So I enlisted Mr. Hottie's help. I asked him if he knew a Darrel that worked here. He said he did but Darrel was in the back, hardly ever worked on the floor. Oh. Then I explained why I was there. The look on the guy's face should have tipped me off, especially when he looked me up and down and continued to look surprised. But he offered to page Darrel for me. He wasn't subtle. Darrel knew immediately who was waiting for him. So I tried to look nonchalant and at home amongst the motherboards when really I was starting to regret this decision.
Then Darrel showed up.
I don't think he ever described himself to me, other than the basics: brown hair, brown eyes, average height. And those were the high points. His hair was already thinning on top, despite his young age. While he wasn't overweight or covered in pimples, he was not cute. Not at all. And the first thing he said to me?
"Hey, what's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"
So smooth.
Mr. Hottie watched my reaction carefully and gave me a pitying smile.
"I always wondered what one of these meetings would be like," he said, when I could not find anything to say to Darrel, the real Darrel, not some imagined one that I can constructed through all those sweet emails.
I left shortly thereafter. I think my friend probably laughed the whole way home and I don't blame her. What was I thinking? I still talked to Darrel but I didn't flirt anymore. We even saw each other on campus a few times and I interviewed him (over the phone) for an article I wrote for the student paper. However, I promised myself no more meetings without getting a photo of the guy first. But I still didn't swear off the whole "we met on the Internet" idea. Silly, silly me.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
SOS: Date From Hell Part 3
We join our story, already in progress (Part One and Part Two) as our heroine battles Mole Boy in a darkened theater. Will she come out unscathed? Or will she succumb to his insistence that she must kiss on a first date?
We got to the movie early. Of course. And there's nothing more pleasant than sitting in a darkened room with someone who keeps trying to put the moves on you, while praying that the projectionist will accidentally start the movie 30 minutes early so this punk will get distracted and leave you the heck alone.
What makes his efforts all the more irritating was the fact that he kept making more sexist remarks about what he knows girls like. For instance, all girls like to share the big bucket of popcorn so they can hold hands with their dates inside it. Really? The idea of clinging to someone else's greasy hand doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather stuff my face with all that salty goodness...with my own bucket, thank you.
This was a new theater. It had stadium seating, back when that was a new concept. Also, the armrests on the seats could be pushed up to allow for the ultimate snuggling experience. Or to make room for larger bottoms. I was hoping against hope that Mole Boy did not know about this little feature. He did. As soon as the lights went down to start the show, he went for the armrest, my last defensive barrier. Dang it.
The movie was The Mirror Has Two Faces. It starred Barbra Streisand. I don't like Babs. Her music is okay but she is sooooo incredibly full of herself that I just never cared for her (gay men everywhere are deleting my blog from their blogrolls in horror at that statement). The plot of the movie: Ugly woman hates herself, hates mother. She meets a cute guy who wants a relationship but without the complication that intimacy brings. She agrees. She falls in love with him, he refuses to sleep with her. He leaves on a long trip, she loses weight, dyes her hair blonde, learns how to use make-up, and changes into a uber babe. He returns and is so smitten with her that they must immediately consummate their sham marriage. Or something like that. But Barbra was the director and just couldn't make herself look as frumpy on film as her character was supposed to look. And she's in about 99% of the shots. It was the worst movie I'd ever been forced to watch on a date (with Six Days Seven Nights a close second...but that's another story).
So there I am, wedged as far as I can go in my seat, watching an impossibly stupid movie, eating no popcorn (because I re-fus-ed to put my hand in that bucket lest he take it for a sign), with Mole Boy pressed up against my left shoulder. At least he wasn't on my bad shoulder. But he was laying his head on my shoulder and he hair smelled like WD-40 or something else I'd find in a garage. Awkward much?
I went to the bathroom twice during the movie. Didn't really need to, just wanted away, get some fresh air. The second time, I considered having a friend pick me up and just leaving him behind. But that would be mean. So I opted to endure to the end.
As soon as the credits started rolling, I peeled myself away from him and nearly dashed to the car, with my injured pinkie toe urging me to run faster. He drove me home, scarcely believing that I did not thoroughly enjoy the "girl movie." Like a good boy, he walked me to my door. And like a good girl, I thanked him for the evening. Might have hurried a little too quickly to get away from him because he was getting that look. All girls know that look...the one that a boy gets when he really wants to kiss you and is just waiting for the moment. I did not give him an opening. When he started to lean in, I kept my head turned away, so if he attempted a kiss, he'd get my ear. Didn't help that my porch light really brought out his moles.
I ducked inside with one last "goodnight" and quickly closed the door behind me. Finally! I intended to celebrate the conclusion of that misery with a big slice of my birthday cake. But alas, the anguish was not over: someone ate the rest of my cake! That's what I get with three brothers and a sister still living at home.
He still emailed me. I just acted like the girl he thought I would be and didn't get the hints that he wanted to see me again. He showed up at a few dances and asked me to dance but by then, I was seeing someone new so my new crush got most of the dances. Mole Boy finally took the hint after a few months. He's not a quick one, I'd say.
And just to prove how cold-hearted I am...the reason I refer to him as Mole Boy is not to protect his true identity but because I can't actually remember his name! Paul? Michael? I got nothing.
We got to the movie early. Of course. And there's nothing more pleasant than sitting in a darkened room with someone who keeps trying to put the moves on you, while praying that the projectionist will accidentally start the movie 30 minutes early so this punk will get distracted and leave you the heck alone.
What makes his efforts all the more irritating was the fact that he kept making more sexist remarks about what he knows girls like. For instance, all girls like to share the big bucket of popcorn so they can hold hands with their dates inside it. Really? The idea of clinging to someone else's greasy hand doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather stuff my face with all that salty goodness...with my own bucket, thank you.
This was a new theater. It had stadium seating, back when that was a new concept. Also, the armrests on the seats could be pushed up to allow for the ultimate snuggling experience. Or to make room for larger bottoms. I was hoping against hope that Mole Boy did not know about this little feature. He did. As soon as the lights went down to start the show, he went for the armrest, my last defensive barrier. Dang it.
The movie was The Mirror Has Two Faces. It starred Barbra Streisand. I don't like Babs. Her music is okay but she is sooooo incredibly full of herself that I just never cared for her (gay men everywhere are deleting my blog from their blogrolls in horror at that statement). The plot of the movie: Ugly woman hates herself, hates mother. She meets a cute guy who wants a relationship but without the complication that intimacy brings. She agrees. She falls in love with him, he refuses to sleep with her. He leaves on a long trip, she loses weight, dyes her hair blonde, learns how to use make-up, and changes into a uber babe. He returns and is so smitten with her that they must immediately consummate their sham marriage. Or something like that. But Barbra was the director and just couldn't make herself look as frumpy on film as her character was supposed to look. And she's in about 99% of the shots. It was the worst movie I'd ever been forced to watch on a date (with Six Days Seven Nights a close second...but that's another story).
So there I am, wedged as far as I can go in my seat, watching an impossibly stupid movie, eating no popcorn (because I re-fus-ed to put my hand in that bucket lest he take it for a sign), with Mole Boy pressed up against my left shoulder. At least he wasn't on my bad shoulder. But he was laying his head on my shoulder and he hair smelled like WD-40 or something else I'd find in a garage. Awkward much?
I went to the bathroom twice during the movie. Didn't really need to, just wanted away, get some fresh air. The second time, I considered having a friend pick me up and just leaving him behind. But that would be mean. So I opted to endure to the end.
As soon as the credits started rolling, I peeled myself away from him and nearly dashed to the car, with my injured pinkie toe urging me to run faster. He drove me home, scarcely believing that I did not thoroughly enjoy the "girl movie." Like a good boy, he walked me to my door. And like a good girl, I thanked him for the evening. Might have hurried a little too quickly to get away from him because he was getting that look. All girls know that look...the one that a boy gets when he really wants to kiss you and is just waiting for the moment. I did not give him an opening. When he started to lean in, I kept my head turned away, so if he attempted a kiss, he'd get my ear. Didn't help that my porch light really brought out his moles.
I ducked inside with one last "goodnight" and quickly closed the door behind me. Finally! I intended to celebrate the conclusion of that misery with a big slice of my birthday cake. But alas, the anguish was not over: someone ate the rest of my cake! That's what I get with three brothers and a sister still living at home.
He still emailed me. I just acted like the girl he thought I would be and didn't get the hints that he wanted to see me again. He showed up at a few dances and asked me to dance but by then, I was seeing someone new so my new crush got most of the dances. Mole Boy finally took the hint after a few months. He's not a quick one, I'd say.
And just to prove how cold-hearted I am...the reason I refer to him as Mole Boy is not to protect his true identity but because I can't actually remember his name! Paul? Michael? I got nothing.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
SOS: Date From Hell Part 2
My attempt at finding humor in the train wreck that was my dating life for the sake of Brillig's Soap Opera Sunday. Find Part One here. If you haven't already read it, you might want to or you might not understand the depth of my horror.
So there we were, driving along in what could only be loosely deemed a "car." I noticed he was heading for an area known for it's many restaurants and gigantic movie theater. Cool. Some of my favorite dining establishments were located there. Maybe this wasn't so bad. But just in case, I did a mental check to make sure I remembered to put some cash in my purse. It would fit in with the beginning of our date to have him "forget" his wallet.
We arrive and park at the very back of the huge movie theater parking lot. There wasn't an actual reason for this. There were plenty of spaces a lot closer to the box office. Perhaps he didn't want anyone to ding his cool paint job. So we walk toward the movie theater and he asks me what kind of movies I like. Well actually, he didn't ask. It was more of a statement.
"You like girl movies, right?"
"Girl? Movies?"
"Yeah, with lots of kissing and stuff."
"Well, I like all kinds of movies," I respond, trying not to notice that my shoulder is throbbing from wrenching that blasted door open. "Sometimes a good explosion is better than lovey-dovey stuff."
He scowls at me. Seriously. Furrowed brow and everything. Seems I am not fitting into the mold and I should be ashamed or something.
We get to the box office and he gets two tickets to a movie starting in two hours. TWO HOURS. With this guy. If he makes me sling open that car door one more time...And it's a "girl movie." Oh joy. But our hike is not over. He declares it to be time for dinner and heads back into the parking lot. I follow, acutely aware of the fact that my shoes, while totally fab and looking great with my outfit, are rather uncomfortable in situations where taking more than 10 steps is required. I don't remember the small talk as we walked. But I do remember my pinkie toe was whimpering pitifully by the time we crossed the median that separated the movie parking lot from the restaurant.
And the restaurant he chose? Wait for it...
Red Lobster.
Did you read Part One? Did you read how we met? What started our conversation? Because apparently I was the only one who was there or something. Obviously this guy was staring so deeply into my lovely eyes (or cleavage) that he didn't hear a word. I walked all the way across the mile long parking lot for Red Lobster? Now my pinkie toe really did cry, along with the rest of me.
Since I had to sit in that stinky place with Mole Boy, I would make it worthwhile. I ordered the steak! And the table conversation was weird. He again started making all kinds of statements about how he believed women to be and then seemed absolutely flabbergasted that I would negate his core beliefs. For instance?
"I bet you kiss on the first date."
"Uh," I managed while trying not to choke. "Actually, no, I don't."
"You probably hate sports."
"No, I really love hockey," I replied, but my efforts to discuss the Dallas Stars brought only blank stares.
"Then you must be a huge fan of poetry."
"Only Shel Silverstein." (I don't think he knew who that was because he smiled smugly, having conquered my go-against-the-flow thinking.)
If ever there was a lapse in the conversation, he would chant "Um, um, um..." while snapping his fingers, no doubt trying to come up with his next sexist generalization. At one point, I'd had enough and excused myself to go powder my nose. While looking for the ladies' room, I spotted the courtesy phone. Immediately, I dialed my best friend and proceeded to tell her all the awful details. While she tried to commiserate with me, she was leaving on her own date. I still managed to kill about 20 minutes before I decided I had to go back and see this to the bitter, bitter end.
When I arrived at the table, he immediately jumped up and was ready to go. Ooookay...as I put my jacket on, I noticed there was no tip on the table. Mole Boy didn't have a credit card (another one of his assumptions, that no one our age would have one and of course I did). Surely he wouldn't stiff our waiter...
"How much did you tip?" I asked as I walked as slowly as possible.
"I never tip," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, still trying to guide me by my elbow out the door.
I stopped. Despite my height, I can hold my own pretty well so he stumbled right into me when I wasn't moving in the direction was leading me. I opened my purse, pulled out a ten and left it on the table, never even looking at him once. Then I marched out of the restaurant, leaving him and his long legs scurrying to catch up. I always over tip. Only if the service is absolutely horrible will I consider leaving a small tip, and then I've usually asked to speak to the manager.
Next came the long walk back across that immense parking lot. My little toe was begging again, but this time it was asking to kick him. As we walked, he kept trying to talk. I wasn't really in the mood for conversation so he got mostly grunts in response. Bet he thought girls didn't grunt.
Then, about halfway across the asphalt desert, he asks me a question, possibly the first one of the evening:
"Would you like to take my arm?"
I almost tripped. Then I almost laughed. Didn't help Mole Boy that was on my right side, where my shoulder don't work so good. And after wrestling with his car door, was in no mood to be wrapped around anything.
"Why?" I asked, "What's wrong with it?"
I smiled and kept walking, causing perhaps just a little more space to open up between us.
This post is getting long...I didn't realize there was so much pent-up bitterness after this date. So we're going to have to wait until next week to see what happens when Mole Boy doesn't get the hint.
So there we were, driving along in what could only be loosely deemed a "car." I noticed he was heading for an area known for it's many restaurants and gigantic movie theater. Cool. Some of my favorite dining establishments were located there. Maybe this wasn't so bad. But just in case, I did a mental check to make sure I remembered to put some cash in my purse. It would fit in with the beginning of our date to have him "forget" his wallet.
We arrive and park at the very back of the huge movie theater parking lot. There wasn't an actual reason for this. There were plenty of spaces a lot closer to the box office. Perhaps he didn't want anyone to ding his cool paint job. So we walk toward the movie theater and he asks me what kind of movies I like. Well actually, he didn't ask. It was more of a statement.
"You like girl movies, right?"
"Girl? Movies?"
"Yeah, with lots of kissing and stuff."
"Well, I like all kinds of movies," I respond, trying not to notice that my shoulder is throbbing from wrenching that blasted door open. "Sometimes a good explosion is better than lovey-dovey stuff."
He scowls at me. Seriously. Furrowed brow and everything. Seems I am not fitting into the mold and I should be ashamed or something.
We get to the box office and he gets two tickets to a movie starting in two hours. TWO HOURS. With this guy. If he makes me sling open that car door one more time...And it's a "girl movie." Oh joy. But our hike is not over. He declares it to be time for dinner and heads back into the parking lot. I follow, acutely aware of the fact that my shoes, while totally fab and looking great with my outfit, are rather uncomfortable in situations where taking more than 10 steps is required. I don't remember the small talk as we walked. But I do remember my pinkie toe was whimpering pitifully by the time we crossed the median that separated the movie parking lot from the restaurant.
And the restaurant he chose? Wait for it...
Red Lobster.
Did you read Part One? Did you read how we met? What started our conversation? Because apparently I was the only one who was there or something. Obviously this guy was staring so deeply into my lovely eyes (or cleavage) that he didn't hear a word. I walked all the way across the mile long parking lot for Red Lobster? Now my pinkie toe really did cry, along with the rest of me.
Since I had to sit in that stinky place with Mole Boy, I would make it worthwhile. I ordered the steak! And the table conversation was weird. He again started making all kinds of statements about how he believed women to be and then seemed absolutely flabbergasted that I would negate his core beliefs. For instance?
"I bet you kiss on the first date."
"Uh," I managed while trying not to choke. "Actually, no, I don't."
"You probably hate sports."
"No, I really love hockey," I replied, but my efforts to discuss the Dallas Stars brought only blank stares.
"Then you must be a huge fan of poetry."
"Only Shel Silverstein." (I don't think he knew who that was because he smiled smugly, having conquered my go-against-the-flow thinking.)
If ever there was a lapse in the conversation, he would chant "Um, um, um..." while snapping his fingers, no doubt trying to come up with his next sexist generalization. At one point, I'd had enough and excused myself to go powder my nose. While looking for the ladies' room, I spotted the courtesy phone. Immediately, I dialed my best friend and proceeded to tell her all the awful details. While she tried to commiserate with me, she was leaving on her own date. I still managed to kill about 20 minutes before I decided I had to go back and see this to the bitter, bitter end.
When I arrived at the table, he immediately jumped up and was ready to go. Ooookay...as I put my jacket on, I noticed there was no tip on the table. Mole Boy didn't have a credit card (another one of his assumptions, that no one our age would have one and of course I did). Surely he wouldn't stiff our waiter...
"How much did you tip?" I asked as I walked as slowly as possible.
"I never tip," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, still trying to guide me by my elbow out the door.
I stopped. Despite my height, I can hold my own pretty well so he stumbled right into me when I wasn't moving in the direction was leading me. I opened my purse, pulled out a ten and left it on the table, never even looking at him once. Then I marched out of the restaurant, leaving him and his long legs scurrying to catch up. I always over tip. Only if the service is absolutely horrible will I consider leaving a small tip, and then I've usually asked to speak to the manager.
Next came the long walk back across that immense parking lot. My little toe was begging again, but this time it was asking to kick him. As we walked, he kept trying to talk. I wasn't really in the mood for conversation so he got mostly grunts in response. Bet he thought girls didn't grunt.
Then, about halfway across the asphalt desert, he asks me a question, possibly the first one of the evening:
"Would you like to take my arm?"
I almost tripped. Then I almost laughed. Didn't help Mole Boy that was on my right side, where my shoulder don't work so good. And after wrestling with his car door, was in no mood to be wrapped around anything.
"Why?" I asked, "What's wrong with it?"
I smiled and kept walking, causing perhaps just a little more space to open up between us.
This post is getting long...I didn't realize there was so much pent-up bitterness after this date. So we're going to have to wait until next week to see what happens when Mole Boy doesn't get the hint.
Happy Mother's Day!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
SOS: Date From Hell Part 1
This is my second attempt at Soap Opera Sunday, hosted by Brillig.
Looking back, I would still go through with this date. I've enjoyed telling this story too many times to skip the actual experience of that dreadful evening...
When I was cute and single, I went to a LOT of dances. In fact, I started going to them when I was 15 and my older sister wanted me to go with her. I loved them! Any chance I had to meet cute boys and I was totally there.
One fateful evening, I was enjoying chatting with my gaggle of friends during a dance. We were standing close to the refreshments table. And if you have never been to a YSA dance, let me just say that you didn't go for the food. Usually, the food wasn't that great: bowl of starlight mints, chips and maybe lukewarm water with lemon slices floating in it. Nothing fancy. So we were commenting on the lack of variety in the offerings. Okay, we were mocking the dance committee for their lame choices. We decided we could come up with much better selections such as crackers with cheese, root beer floats, toasted brushetta, cherries jubilee, baked alaska! At some point, someone suggested a shrimp cocktail. I responded in the negative, announcing that shrimp was horrible.
"You don't like shrimp?"
The voice behind me was male so I turned. He was kinda cute and very tall. I turned around the rest of the way and gave him my undivided attention.
"Nope," I declared. "Pretty much don't like any seafood."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't like shrimp!"
And thus, the conversation began. It stretched out into a few slow dances. As the dance concluded, I happened to be out in the hallway when I saw him again. And please, I beg you ladies to warn your single friends and younger sisters: if you initially meet someone in a darkened room, make sure you see them in the light before you dance the rest of the evening with them. Because in the light, this boy was not so cute. And covered in weird moles that I didn't see before. But I had already promised to give him my email address and he had come to collect. Dang it. Turns out that I gave him the wrong email address, left out one number. And I swear I didn't do that intentionally. At least, I don't think I did...maybe.
Anyway, he discovered that the email was wrong and with the help of the owner of the incorrect address, was able to find the correct one (dang college directories and their helpful staff...). Some of you know I am a bit touchy about grammar. I also happen to have an unnatural love of punctuation. And not using all caps when typing. This guy wrote entirely in caps with not a period, comma or semi colon in sight. It was brutal just to read his email, like translating a foreign language.
From the first contact, he said wanted to see me again. I mentioned the next dance. He suggested sooner than that...like that weekend. That weekend? Oh boy...that weekend happened to be my birthday. But since I didn't have any other prospects, I agreed to a date on my birthday and I tried to ignore the feeling of dread that started in my stomach.
I should have been watching out the window...really, I should have. If I had, then maybe I would have seen what he drove up in and then I could have hid, not answered the door, pretended he had the wrong house. But I didn't watch. It wasn't until after I had locked the door and was following him down the walkway that I saw his car. Normally, I don't really care what kind of vehicle a guy drives. The minivan I have now is about the coolest vehicle I've ever owned so I wasn't about to mock others. But this car...well, this one helped me realize that yes, a guy's car does matter at some point. This was an old fashioned muscle car and might have been pretty cool, but for a few major flaws, like the fact that windshield was taped together in several places (with different colors and types of tape) and the paint color...well, there was no paint so the color was "primer."
Being a romantic kind of girl, I waited for him to open the door for me. And he did...by using a pair of pliers that he pulled from his pocket. Instead of standing aside so I can get in, he looked rather apologetic.
"The driver's side door doesn't work," he explained and this being a first date, I didn't make mention of the fact that the passenger side door wasn't looking so good, either. "I have to slide in from this side."
He folded his lanky self and slid across the seat easily enough. It was obvious that he considered this to be normal. I got in next, sitting on a car seat that only barely met the requirements. Then I was supposed to pull the door closed behind me.
Yeah.
I can't really use one arm and this door was heavy! I am tugging as hard as I can but the thing ain't budging. He tried to be helpful and suggested I use both arms. I probably gave him a dirty look. I finally managed to swing it shut but it didn't close properly. I had to use his pliers to pop it back open and try again.
And? My seat belt was broken. Of course. I had to hold it across my shoulder so that is looked like I was wearing a seat belt, should an officer of the law take notice of this wreck on wheels. This date was not off to a great start. Surely things could only get better. Right?
Looking back, I would still go through with this date. I've enjoyed telling this story too many times to skip the actual experience of that dreadful evening...
When I was cute and single, I went to a LOT of dances. In fact, I started going to them when I was 15 and my older sister wanted me to go with her. I loved them! Any chance I had to meet cute boys and I was totally there.
One fateful evening, I was enjoying chatting with my gaggle of friends during a dance. We were standing close to the refreshments table. And if you have never been to a YSA dance, let me just say that you didn't go for the food. Usually, the food wasn't that great: bowl of starlight mints, chips and maybe lukewarm water with lemon slices floating in it. Nothing fancy. So we were commenting on the lack of variety in the offerings. Okay, we were mocking the dance committee for their lame choices. We decided we could come up with much better selections such as crackers with cheese, root beer floats, toasted brushetta, cherries jubilee, baked alaska! At some point, someone suggested a shrimp cocktail. I responded in the negative, announcing that shrimp was horrible.
"You don't like shrimp?"
The voice behind me was male so I turned. He was kinda cute and very tall. I turned around the rest of the way and gave him my undivided attention.
"Nope," I declared. "Pretty much don't like any seafood."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't like shrimp!"
And thus, the conversation began. It stretched out into a few slow dances. As the dance concluded, I happened to be out in the hallway when I saw him again. And please, I beg you ladies to warn your single friends and younger sisters: if you initially meet someone in a darkened room, make sure you see them in the light before you dance the rest of the evening with them. Because in the light, this boy was not so cute. And covered in weird moles that I didn't see before. But I had already promised to give him my email address and he had come to collect. Dang it. Turns out that I gave him the wrong email address, left out one number. And I swear I didn't do that intentionally. At least, I don't think I did...maybe.
Anyway, he discovered that the email was wrong and with the help of the owner of the incorrect address, was able to find the correct one (dang college directories and their helpful staff...). Some of you know I am a bit touchy about grammar. I also happen to have an unnatural love of punctuation. And not using all caps when typing. This guy wrote entirely in caps with not a period, comma or semi colon in sight. It was brutal just to read his email, like translating a foreign language.
From the first contact, he said wanted to see me again. I mentioned the next dance. He suggested sooner than that...like that weekend. That weekend? Oh boy...that weekend happened to be my birthday. But since I didn't have any other prospects, I agreed to a date on my birthday and I tried to ignore the feeling of dread that started in my stomach.
I should have been watching out the window...really, I should have. If I had, then maybe I would have seen what he drove up in and then I could have hid, not answered the door, pretended he had the wrong house. But I didn't watch. It wasn't until after I had locked the door and was following him down the walkway that I saw his car. Normally, I don't really care what kind of vehicle a guy drives. The minivan I have now is about the coolest vehicle I've ever owned so I wasn't about to mock others. But this car...well, this one helped me realize that yes, a guy's car does matter at some point. This was an old fashioned muscle car and might have been pretty cool, but for a few major flaws, like the fact that windshield was taped together in several places (with different colors and types of tape) and the paint color...well, there was no paint so the color was "primer."
Being a romantic kind of girl, I waited for him to open the door for me. And he did...by using a pair of pliers that he pulled from his pocket. Instead of standing aside so I can get in, he looked rather apologetic.
"The driver's side door doesn't work," he explained and this being a first date, I didn't make mention of the fact that the passenger side door wasn't looking so good, either. "I have to slide in from this side."
He folded his lanky self and slid across the seat easily enough. It was obvious that he considered this to be normal. I got in next, sitting on a car seat that only barely met the requirements. Then I was supposed to pull the door closed behind me.
Yeah.
I can't really use one arm and this door was heavy! I am tugging as hard as I can but the thing ain't budging. He tried to be helpful and suggested I use both arms. I probably gave him a dirty look. I finally managed to swing it shut but it didn't close properly. I had to use his pliers to pop it back open and try again.
And? My seat belt was broken. Of course. I had to hold it across my shoulder so that is looked like I was wearing a seat belt, should an officer of the law take notice of this wreck on wheels. This date was not off to a great start. Surely things could only get better. Right?
Stay tuned next week for "Date from Hell Part 2."
Monday, April 21, 2008
Soap Opera Sunday: My Romance That Never Was
I've been wanting to post for Soap Opera Sunday for a looooooong time! I gots oodles of soapy goodness from all my boy-crazy adventures. For the first one, I am going to share with you my love that never came to be.
As a transfer student on BYU campus, I was amazed at just how big and how packed the campus really is. You never saw the same person twice, unless you waited for them to pass or were actively looking for them. But every Monday-Wednesday-Friday, on my way to the Tanner Building, I always saw the same guy. He was right out in front of the building when I was walking up. Now, remember, I used to be really cute and he was adorable himself so of course we noticed each other. After noticing each other a few times, we started realizing that we seemed to always notice each other. First we would smile or nod as we passed, but then we occasionally said hello. It was an expected part of my day and a nice little lift before a boring class. And as strange as it may seem, I never stopped to talk...until one day.
I was heading to the Tanner Building, as usually, looking oh so cute with my long curly hair and dark red lipstick. He pushed through the doors and headed out. Only, something was different. I never understood why but it seems that whenever someone has something wrong with their clothes, like their skirt is tucked into their pantyhose or there's a button undone, I always seem to notice. And no one else bothers to tell them, so I do, rather than have them be embarrassed later, having walked all the way across campus like that. Do you understand why I am telling you this? My guy had his zipper down.
Immediately, conflict ensues. Do I tell him? Do I actually stop him and talk to him, only to make him blush in a way I never intended? Or do I nod and walk on? Can I ignore it? Of course, I can't. So I decide I must talk to him. If it's meant to be...
I put my hand up in the international gesture for stop. He grins. Then he takes my hand and places it on his chest, drawing me closer to him.
"Did you want to talk to me?" he asks, still grinning.
"Uh, yeah," I start to lose my nerve...he has gorgeous eyes! No...Wait! You have to focus! "Actually, your zipper is down."
His grin falters.
"What?"
"Your zipper," I say again, trying to seem reassuring, to somehow convey that I don't judge him for his faulty trousers. "It's down."
He lets go of my hand and hurriedly scurries around me, tugging at his zipper.
"Uh, thanks," he mumbles as he strides away.
I can only sigh, and wait for Friday.
Friday comes and I attempt to look like it's business as usual as I stroll to the Tanner Building. He's no where in sight. I frown. This is odd...but maybe I hurried to class in order to see him so no big deal. Surely I will see him Monday.
Monday, same thing. No guy, zipper in any position. He's not there.
I never saw him again.
As a transfer student on BYU campus, I was amazed at just how big and how packed the campus really is. You never saw the same person twice, unless you waited for them to pass or were actively looking for them. But every Monday-Wednesday-Friday, on my way to the Tanner Building, I always saw the same guy. He was right out in front of the building when I was walking up. Now, remember, I used to be really cute and he was adorable himself so of course we noticed each other. After noticing each other a few times, we started realizing that we seemed to always notice each other. First we would smile or nod as we passed, but then we occasionally said hello. It was an expected part of my day and a nice little lift before a boring class. And as strange as it may seem, I never stopped to talk...until one day.
I was heading to the Tanner Building, as usually, looking oh so cute with my long curly hair and dark red lipstick. He pushed through the doors and headed out. Only, something was different. I never understood why but it seems that whenever someone has something wrong with their clothes, like their skirt is tucked into their pantyhose or there's a button undone, I always seem to notice. And no one else bothers to tell them, so I do, rather than have them be embarrassed later, having walked all the way across campus like that. Do you understand why I am telling you this? My guy had his zipper down.
Immediately, conflict ensues. Do I tell him? Do I actually stop him and talk to him, only to make him blush in a way I never intended? Or do I nod and walk on? Can I ignore it? Of course, I can't. So I decide I must talk to him. If it's meant to be...
I put my hand up in the international gesture for stop. He grins. Then he takes my hand and places it on his chest, drawing me closer to him.
"Did you want to talk to me?" he asks, still grinning.
"Uh, yeah," I start to lose my nerve...he has gorgeous eyes! No...Wait! You have to focus! "Actually, your zipper is down."
His grin falters.
"What?"
"Your zipper," I say again, trying to seem reassuring, to somehow convey that I don't judge him for his faulty trousers. "It's down."
He lets go of my hand and hurriedly scurries around me, tugging at his zipper.
"Uh, thanks," he mumbles as he strides away.
I can only sigh, and wait for Friday.
Friday comes and I attempt to look like it's business as usual as I stroll to the Tanner Building. He's no where in sight. I frown. This is odd...but maybe I hurried to class in order to see him so no big deal. Surely I will see him Monday.
Monday, same thing. No guy, zipper in any position. He's not there.
I never saw him again.
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