Stick Me, Baby, One More Time

I've been entirely delinquent in my posting due to a paper that has been due. I feel like if I'm going to be writing, I need to be focusing my efforts on that paper (you know, for school - and a grade), and not updating you on my life. This has been a great source of frustration for me, however, because I actually watched Survivor last week IN REAL TIME and WITH A FRIEND and I haven't yet blogged about it. It's coming. I swear.

Also, just wanna give a shout-out to my girl Britney, for finally taking the plunge (again... and again... and again) and entering rehab. They say 3rd time's a charm, so with any luck, we'll all have a lot less Spears drama in our lives in the coming months and years ahead (and her kids will have a mom who isn't insane... we can hope, anyway).

Anyway, my post title isn't really about Britney. It's about the ordeal I just went through. You see, I had an appointment today with a woman who was coming to my house to get urine and blood samples (go figure, that's actually a real job). Anyway, I was told not to eat or drink for 4 hours before the appointment, and being the good rule-follower that I am, I didn't.

She shows up and sets up and asks if I've ever had trouble giving blood before.

"No, not yet!" I say cheerfully.

Why did I have to say that?

Because she proceeds to attempt to take blood not one, not two, but THREE times - one of them in my hand - all of them unsuccessful.

I can't wait to see the bruises as they develop, as I am already in pain when I try to bend my arm or wiggle my fingers (and yes, hand and arm are two separate sides of the body - she was an equal opportunity pain-inflicter).

I am SO grumpy, and still have this damn paper to write, so I will sign off for now, and just say that I can't wait to update you all on more fun, happy, and exciting things like Survivor and how cool dueling piano bars are and the like.

When the world stops making sense for a second…

So I haven’t been updating on the dating front, because I was following my own rule about not writing about guys I actually like. I had gone out on a few dates with this guy who seemed really great – outgoing, funny, kind – so I hadn’t blogged about it because I was seeing where it went.

Tonight, “High Hopes Guy” turned into “Asshole Guy” and I have been left completely speechless (an accomplishment, you can all agree). The short version is that I was essentially stood up. Though there is some humor to be found in how this happened, and the conversation that followed, I’m still a little too close to it to find that humor right now, so I’ll stick with the short version, call him an asshole and an idiot, and move on*.

Sooooo, we’re back to square one. I think I might take a break from dating for a while… First dates are really exhausting, and when all you’re having are first dates, then it ends up being more draining than fun (especially when none of them lead anywhere).

Don't you fear, my readers - I haven't given up on finding myself a partner in crime. But perhaps I will stick with friends of friends for a while, so I have a little more of an idea of what I'm getting into...

*Special thanks to A, for putting aside her homework to go out and get a drink with me tonight.

Episode 2: "This Game is so Vicious, it's Delicious!"

Wow - another episode where I have not so much to say...

Sorry to Anthony that his marriage to Erica (or at least the blooming of love between them) will have to be put on hold while she stews about being voted off and he continues to fight the good fight. (And can I just say that I am awesome, because I predicted in my last Survivor posting that Erica would have some crazy in her future - indeed, she lost it and got herself booted)

I was glad that Erica found the "lifesaving pineapples" to give the tribe a fighting chance, but I would bet that if she hadn't found them, someone else would have, given that they were RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. I look forward to next week when it appears they manage to make fire. Maybe being hydrated will improve their puzzle skills...

Speaking of skills, did anyone else notice Sylvia's idiot buff-wearing skills? She was walking on the beach with someone, and her buff was basically just balanced on her head. I'm not saying she has to look like a 20-something and wear it as a tube top, but could she at least manage to WEAR it, rather than pose under it???

Like I said, it was a slow episode in week 2... not much else to say.

Favorite quote: "Snakes are misunderstood... we have an understanding now."

Crushed Dreams

Oh, Bridget! You have crushed my dreams for Tom & me. I mean, sure we could still get together and have lots of babies, but none would be his FIRST baby, and it just wouldn't be the same.

Episode 1: James (aka "Rocky") Learns Big Words

Last season of Survivor was my first season of watching without my Bay Area friends. Not only did I have noone to watch Survivor with, but I also had class on Thursday nights, and was forced to watch streaming video online to catch up, thanks to an unprogramable VCR (and no Tivo). Every week, to feel closer to my Survivor friends, I would email them all the comments and thoughts I would have shared had we been watching together. Sometimes this began an email discussion of the episode. Mostly it didn't. But it did make me feel closer to them somehow.

This season, since I have a few blog-reading friends who watch Survivor (but who aren't in on the emails), I've decided to post my comments on this here blog. If you're not into Survivor, then just don't bother reading the entries with the Survivor logo at the top. Otherwise, enjoy...

Thoughts on Episode 1:

- I don't know if it was because of Jeff Probst's notable lack of presence in this episode or what, but for one reason or another, I didn't feel like there were quite as many funny quotables in this episode. For this reason, this particular list of thoughts is kinda lame. Don't judge. I promise to be more entertaining as we get to know our cast of characters.

- I think it's wonderfully cruel that they all built the best shelter/kitchen/bathroom ever, but only half of them get to live there. Seriously - hammocks, cups, a COUCH!??!!? - the only thing missing is the "Casa de Charmin'" sign (apparently not a sponsor this year???).

- I'm also thinking this Exile Island thing is entirely too mean. I mean, it sucks enough that you get stuck out on an island alone. But then to know that you're not alone, and in fact are surrounded (even when you're up in the lookout tower, the camera people were kind enough to point out) by sea snakes... Mean.

- I think Erica had better watch her attitude. Her whole "I don't know what they're so happy about" thing was just rediculous. Does she have a peanut for a brain!? Of COURSE no one was happy about not being able to enjoy the luxury beach, but they were making the best of it, because otherwise, they would all just go crazy. For that reason, I see some crazy in Erica's future.

- I always hate the first vote, because it is rare that anyone actually deserves to go home. I like that so many people got votes, though, this time around - made it interesting, and hopefully will make for some interesting conversation in Episode 2.

- Overall, I'm happy to see that Survivor has continued the trend of diversifying it's contestants (well, not so much with age, but I'll take any progress on this front). Can't wait to see what insanity each and every one has in store for us this season...

24% Dixie

I'm a Yankee Doodle!

http://www.alphadictionary.com/articles/yankeetest.html

The Paper that Wouldn't Die

Let me just say this: if I were to choose a movie to watch when the mood struck me to sit down and watch a movie (you know - with all my free time), Requiem for a Dream would not be it.

Yet 2 weeks ago, I found myself sitting in class, watching this disturbing film, all the while taking notes so that I could write a paper on it. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of watching this movie some highlights include: an obscene amount of drug use, electro-shock therapy, prostitution for drugs, manic episodes, a refrigerator that comes to life, and an amputation. Yeah, good times.

So sorry about the lack of updates. I've been too busy retraumatizing myself by replaying the scenes over and over in my head in order to be able to write about them, and haven't been able to post anything fun, lighthearted, and entertaining for you all to read.

For those of you who are interested in rediculousness, feel free to check out the Vienna Vegetable Orchestra Website.

Match.com Match.com Make Me a Match...

So I’ve actively re-joined the dating world through the great social networking tool of Match.com. I realized towards the end of last semester that I was spending 99% of my time with either a) women (my classmates and internship coworkers are almost all females) or b) children age 5 and under (through babysitting jobs and my internship), and that neither of those social circles was steering me in the direction of a boyfriend.

A few essays and photo uploads later, I had myself a profile, and the next night, my (very not single) friend J. and I sat together in Berkeley, browsing profiles of eligible bachelors in the Boston area. Over the course of the next few weeks (after I had returned to the East Coast), I emailed back and forth with a few people and even went on a few dates.

Disclaimer: I have decided that because I actually have enjoyed most of the dates I’ve been on, I won’t write about the good ones, but will instead save this blog as a place to share with all of you (mostly not-single) people the great disasters of my dating career.

Now, up until this point in my life, I haven’t had many dating disasters (unless you count the time I was in 6th grade and went to the movies with my “boyfriend” and he got mad at me before we went into the theater, so he and his friend sat in one section of the theater, and I sat with my friend in another section of the theater, and when the movie was over and he and his friend walked by us to leave, I dumped the ice left over from my coke on top of his head). I have been lucky in that I’ve dated pretty great guys (even the ones who only lasted one date). I knew going into this Match.com thing that my luck would not always be so good, and I kind of looked forward to the bad dates – just for the stories that I could then share with all my friends.

Stories like the one I’m about to tell you now (go to the bathroom, get a drink, get comfortable – this is gonna be a long one):

Red Flags + Red Flags = Dating Disaster

So a week or so ago, I got an email through Match.com from happy_fun_guy* telling me my profile looked interesting and asking if I’d like to grab dinner or drinks sometime. I checked out his profile, and he looked fun (silly photos, good sense of humor), so even though he was 38 (I don’t officially have an upper limit (who am I to put limits on love!?), but 38 is a little older than my ideal) and divorced (I had actually been on a great date with a divorced guy recently – who am I to judge?), I figured it was worth a date to meet him in person, and I emailed him to tell him so. In his original email, he had sent me his phone number, so in my response, I sent him mine.

He called me back that day (Thursday) within the hour, asking if I was free that night or that weekend “to have a tall, handsome, guitar-playing man take me out for a nice dinner.” I wasn’t, so after examining the insanity of both of our schedules, we decided to meet after my class on Tuesday night.

That night (still Thursday), I arrived in class and told my friend A. (who is also on Match.com) that she should find someone to meet up with for a date after class on Tuesday at the same bar I was going to and we could walk over together. She said sure, and then asked about the guy I was going to meet.

Me: “Well, I don’t remember his screen name, but he’s 38, and he seems to be pretty fun.”

A: "You said he called you?”

Me: “Yeah… it was kind of weird – he called me right after I emailed him, and said something like ‘I’m calling to see if you’d like to have a tall, handsome, guitar-playing man take me out for a nice dinner’”

A: “Wait – you said he’s 38??? Does he have a photo of him playing guitar??? – Is his screen name happy_fun_guy?!”

Me: “Yeah – that’s it!… Why??? What do you know about him??!!”

A. proceeds to tell me that happy_fun_guy has emailed her 4 times telling her she’s beautiful and that he would really like to take her out, but she has never written back to him. I begin to get nervous about this guy (ok, more nervous - I already wasn’t completely psyched about him),

A.: “Um, so I won’t be going with you to that bar, then.”



That weekend, at brunch with my parents, aunt and uncle, I weighed my options:

1. Cancel the date. Put up with happy_fun_guy emailing (and calling – remember, he had my number) me over and over to reschedule (as he would inevitably do, as evidenced by his enthusiasm for emailing A. multiple times, despite her lack of response).

2. Go on the date. Potential problem being that I would be coming straight from school, which I walk to and from on Tuesday nights, and would therefore be without a quick getaway if the guy turned out to be lame/crazy/unsatisfactory in any way.

Thank God for relatives, because they came up with the winning option:

3. Reschedule the date for a night when I would have my car.

So I emailed happy_fun_guy to reschedule for Thursday night after class at 9:15pm. Done.

In the meantime, the three single friends I have in class (including A.) decided that it would be fun/wise to go hang out in a corner of the bar and keep an eye on this potentially strange man and me while we were on our date. Already not looking forward to the date, I agreed to this plan, if only for the reason that they would be good moral support.

Thursday night rolled around, and I arrived at the bar to meet happy_fun_guy outside. Introductions were made, and then happy_fun_guy (from here forward, to be referred to as HFG) said, “Well, your bar (Editor’s note: I had chosen this bar because it is usually quiet and is close to school) is rather crowded (Editor’s note: it was.). If it’s too noisy, it makes it hard to hear the other person, and how will you be able to decide if you want to go home with me then?” (Editor’s note: this is not exactly what he said, but I was so shocked by what he did say that I think that my brain immediately erased it from memory. The above comment is in the same vein as his original comment.).

I laughed nervously, mentioned that I needed to stay in the area because my ride was picking me up from there later, and then suggested we check out the bar across the street. It turned out that bar was even louder, so we returned to the first bar, and were lucky enough to get a seat at a table. We ordered drinks and then he ordered hot wings. (Editor’s note: HOT WINGS!? On a first date!? Really!? I mean, I love wings. I really do. But the way I see it, he was either making a lot of assumptions about me (that I eat chicken, that I like spicy things) or he was testing me (to see if I eat chicken and spicy things). Either way, kinda lame to not ask my input on the one dish of food we ordered. Also, wings are messy. There were multiple points throughout our conversation when he had sauce on the corner of his mouth. Was that a test to see if I’d tell him? (If so, I didn’t pass.))

So we conversed about typical first-date stuff (What do you do for work? What do you want to do with your social work degree? Tell me about that photo on your profile. Have you always lived here?) and not so typical first-date stuff (that his mother had cancer when he was little, and that she died a few years ago would both fall under this category). By this time, I knew I wasn’t interested in him, and set my sights on finishing the date so that I could go hang out with my school friends (who, by the way, were at the only other table that had been free when they walked in – yes, that’s right – the one right next to ours).

HFG: “Listen, I know you have to work tomorrow, but if I told you that there was this amazing thing that I could show you that would take about 90 minutes, could you give me 90 minutes?” (Editor’s note: This may or may not be as sketchy as it sounds. He runs a website that finds and lists all kinds of random events and attractions around the state, so it’s entirely possible that he knew of something really, validly cool that he wanted to show me. It’s also entirely possible that he was being sketchy.)

Me: (alarm bells going off in my head left and right) “Honestly, no. I have to be at work by 7:45 tomorrow to meet with a parent I haven’t seen in a month, and it’s the end of the week and I’m tired, and I just don’t think it would be a good idea.”

HFG: “I could drop you at home after.”

Me: “Well, you know, I have my friends picking me up here after.” (pause – feel the need to explain) “It’s just that I have this group of friends who are all single, and we all kind of look out for each other, you know, and check in after dates… in case of psycho-killers – ha ha!”

HFG: silence accompanied by intense stare

HFG: “You know, by saying that…”

Me: “Wait, are you a psycho-killer?” (laughing – to make it clear that I was joking before)

HFG: silence accompanied by intense stare

HFG: “You know, by saying that, you are putting yourself in a certain group of women.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

HFG: “You know most women aren’t quite so paranoid – or at least they don’t share that inner-monologue with their dates. I’d say about a quarter of women are that paranoid and it says a lot about someone…”

Me: “Wow, I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I…”

HFG: “I’m just telling you, because you know, you’re going into social work, and it’s a field where you are going to be getting a lot of feedback, so I’m just giving you some here. I thought you were more adventurous than that.” (Editor’s note: Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?”)

Me: “Ok… Well… Like I said, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that in this group of friends, some people have had some pretty scary experiences with men, and so we look out for each other, and on these first dates, we…” (Editor’s note: yes, I was lying. But this guy was a loser, so I really didn’t care if he knew I was lying or not, or if I was hurting his feelings or not. I just wanted the date to be over.) (Editor's note: No, I don't know why I didn't just walk out then.)

HFG: “I’m just telling you that by saying that to me, you put yourself into a very specific category of women in my head.”

Me: “How do you mean?”

HFG: “Well, it’s like if I jumped into talking about sex with you – that would put me into a category of men in your mind – a not very good category of men.”

Me: (Internal monologue: “Do I say it? Do I not say it? Yup – gonna say it.”) “Well, actually you did.”

HFG: “Did what?”

Me: “Talk about sex.”

HFG: “When?”

Me: “Right when we first met – when we were standing outside of the bar.”

HFG: “No I didn’t."

Me: silence accompanied by intense stare

HFG: "Ok. Yes, I guess I did.”

Me: “But I didn’t judge you for that. I came inside and we had pleasant conversation.”

HFG: “Yes, we did. And besides, you’re really hot.”

Me: “Thank you. Your phone is ringing again. “(Editor’s note: his phone had rung twice earlier, but he had not answered it)

HFG: “Yeah, it is. Three times – It looks like someone is really trying to get in touch with me.”

Me: “Yeah.”

HFG: “I might have to take this, since it seems like we’re done here???”

Me: “Yeah, I think so.”

HFG: “Ok then, well thanks.”

Me: “Thanks for the date.”

HFG: “Ok, take care.”

HFG exits, I pretend to fiddle with my phone until he leaves, and then sit down at the table next to ours with my school friends, and proceed to tell them the details of the disastrous date.

If you’re still reading, thanks. Also, I'll try to make future dating horror stories (more of which I'm sure will be waiting for me in the future) a little shorter. As my coworker pointed out today, anyone after this guy is going to look pretty good, so it may be a while before another blog-worthy dating tale comes my way, but I’ll be sure to keep you informed (and hopefully entertained) if one does.


* Name has been changed to protect the crazy.

Happy _____ Day!

So I was standing around the kitchen, finishing my breakfast this morning, and commenting on the weather and general lack of snow considering the fact that it's mid-winter. I realized it was February (how did THAT happen!?) and said out loud (with great enthusiasm), "Oh - it's Groundhog Day today!"


To which my roommate replied, "It's also the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord."





Ahem. Very similar holidays, those two.