Hi, my name is Meaghan and I'm an online dater.

I did it.  After a few weeks on hiatus from the site, I chose to reactivate my OkCupid account.  I created the account back in May at the recommendation of a coworker and a friend.  Both said that it could be a great way to meet people.  So, I set up my account, tried to answer the questions to the best of my ability while attempting to be adorable, intelligent, charming and funny, all in a few sentences.  I posted a few of the best pictures of myself, and set my location to Madison.  Within days people were “checking me out” and rating me with 4 or 5 stars.  A few message conversations began, but it didn’t take me long to become bored and turned off by some of the crazy country boys.  It was going to be another two months until I moved, and the few message chains I started felt silly. 

When I arrived in Madison I reactivated my account for all of 30 seconds, before realizing that life was a little too busy to be flirting online. 

A week ago, I reactivated again, making a conscious decision to take it seriously.  Lo and behold, I was asked on a date!  Monday night I went on my first OKC date!

Rory picked the bar and suggested we meet at 6:30.  When I tweeted about how early that was I received an informational email from my mother explaining “that is how dating works.”  She told me that two people will meet for a drink after work, and if it is going well, then the two can choose to continue the date and move onto dinner.  My mother hasn’t worked a full-time job in this century, so I had to respond to her email by saying that I usually don’t get home until 6:30, so yes, that would be too early for me.  Rory had no problem meeting at 7:30.

Luckily I ate lunch with a friend of mine that day and she was able to keep me from wearing the outfit I was planning, because she knew the bar better than I did, and I would have been very overdressed for the locale.  I left my house a little after 7 in a pair of wedges, jeans and a black top.  Does the outfit sound familiar?  It’s because that is all I own, and all I continue to buy for myself!

I made sure to arrive early because I didn’t want to do the approaching.  Instead, I wanted to be approached.  I sat at the bar and ordered myself a beer, wishing the bartender wouldn’t ask to see my ID.  My avoidance of eye contact must have come off as guilt, because she asked to see my ID.  The second I let out “shoot!  I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me for it!” I knew I had said the wrong thing.  I tried to recover as gracefully as possible, but my nerves began to pour out in my explanation, “I’m sorry!  I just got my Wisconsin license today, so I am carrying around a very embarrassing 8 ½ by 11 sheet of paper and a NY license with a hole punched in it!  I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to pull out all of this stuff because I look ridiculous!”

I did look pretty ridiculous.  Unlike New York temporary licenses that are printed on official DMV cards about twice the size of a license, Wisconsin’s look like an amateur Word document, printed off of a cheap printer in my basement.  The bartender didn’t seem fazed by the documentation, but the man sitting next to me was intrigued. 

“Ooooh!  New York?  Really?  Look at that name!  You have so many consonants in it! Gs and Hs galore!”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling him that all Megans have one G in their names, the same number of Gs I have.  And there is only one H, a far cry from galore. 

Our conversation lasted only a few more minutes before he ran outside “for a fag.”  I didn’t turn around to make sure he was going out for a smoke. 

I was about halfway done with my beer when Rory came up from behind and asked, “are you Meaghan?”

Oooh, you’re cuter than the photos!  Yay!  Stay cool.  Stay cool.

“Yes.  It’s so nice to meet you, Rory.”

Our conversation immediately morphed into a competition of who had been to the better Dave Matthews concerts.  I was happy to be able to hold my own in a music conversation, but by 8:30, I was done talking about Dave, Carter, Boyd, and Stefan.  I tried to talk about his dog, but that lasted all of thirty seconds.  We were on to talking about our jobs.  He is a chef.  I decided to run with the food thing, and mentioned my inability to cook, but my love of baking.  Then he said something that made me wince as soon as the words hit my ears.  He said, “oh, yeah, you wrote about owning a bakery someday in your profile.”  Yikes.  Maybe I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but it irked me.  While I sat there trying to have a completely natural conversation, he brought up my online profile.  Obviously he and I had both looked at each other’s profiles- we wouldn’t be having this date had we not- but it felt so wrong when he brought it up in a face to face conversation.  I let it go, and carried on describing my elaborate plans for my bakehouse. 

When we had both finished our beers, Rory suggested we try a different place.  I went along, grateful for fresh air and a change of scenery.  When we stood up I realized how short he was.  5’10”?  You must have lied on your profile.  Jerk.  Yes, my wedges are exceptionally tall, but I’m not going to stop wearing tall shoes, and he isn't going to grow, so this may be a problem.  As we left the bar he politely held the door for me and then put out his elbow for me to lock my arm in.  I did, but I wasn’t impressed.  Instead of feeling that spark when our skin first touched, I felt nothing.  Nada. 

We walked two blocks to another restaurant/bar and sat outside with all of the other couples enjoying a Monday evening date.  We each ordered fancy drinks and continued our increasingly awkward conversation as the pauses between topics became longer. 

When the waitress came around to ask if we wanted more drinks I immediately said no.  I knew I was done drinking for the night, and I was ready to call it a night.  When I saw Rory’s hesitation, I told him that he was more than welcome to have another drink, but I was done for the evening.  He asked for the bill and paid while I went to the bathroom. 

I came back outside, thanked him for the drink and was ready to get back to my car.  But Rory had different ideas.  He wanted to go for a walk.  I was feeling exhausted, but I didn’t want to be rude.  We walked down the street, to the terrace, and down to the water.  When we arrived at the lake Rory wanted to go out on the dock.  So as I attempted to get myself onto the rickety dock, without falling, I noticed the bird poop… everywhere.  Rory wasted no time and sat right down on the edge of the dock.  I stood there for a minute, before asking if it was wet.  When he reassured me it wasn’t wet but made no mention of the bird poop all over the place, I realized I wasn’t going to get out of it.  I reluctantly sat down poop.

We continued to chat on the dock before I finally decided to call it quits and be very obvious about it.  I glanced at my watch and made it clear that it was time for me to go home.  We got off the dock, he walked me to my car, and we said goodnight.  And that was that.

Next!

Musical Memory Lane

I was running along the lake last week listening to my iPod shuffle.  There aren’t many songs on my shuffle, and I basically know the playlist by heart, but I hadn’t listened to it in a while, so one song caught me off guard.  It was one of Beyonce’s songs from her latest album, 4.  While the song is an upbeat and fun song, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with a déjà vu-like feeling.  Of course for the rest of my run I was stuck thinking about this post, and how much I associate music with different situations.

 

I have a bad habit of becoming obsessed with songs and albums.  You know how when you turn on a top 40s radio station you can count on one of three songs being played at any moment?  That top 40 radio station is my life.  I don’t only listen to top 40s hits, but I do obsess over songs and albums.  At any time in my life, I can pinpoint the three songs I was listening to. 

I had a coach in college who told me about life soundtracks she made.  For certain semesters, seasons or years she would make a soundtrack.  As soon as I heard this, I wanted to steal the idea.  But as soon as I went to put it into action, I realized my problem.  I couldn’t create a soundtrack, I could create a single, and an EP if I was lucky.  I quickly gave up that plan, and went on with my music obsessing ways. 

When Beyonce’s beat started filling my ears, I was in Garden City.  I was running.  I was running as many laps as I could before I absolutely had to go into John and Jane’s house to shower.  I didn’t want to get ready for another funeral.  I didn’t want to wear another black dress.  I didn’t want to be in St. Joseph’s again.  And I really didn’t want to cry anymore. 

It’s a bummer, because I loved that album.  I loved that album until I ruined it.  At the time, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.  I must have listened to Schoolin' Life on repeat over 15 times while I ran one morning.  It kept me from crying, but now it makes my heart hurt. 

I have songs that remind me of everything.  And it’s what makes putting my iPod on shuffle so much fun.  So, let’s take a little trip down Meaghan’s Music Memory Lane.

The Ben Folds Live album:

This album will always remind me of the summer after my junior year in high school.  I am sitting in Jen’s black VW Cabrio.  The top is down, and I don’t know where we are going, but does it matter?  We are in high school in a convertible, and there aren’t parents around.

Milkman:

Milkman is what is known as a mash-up artist.  Take completely unrelated songs and mash them together and you ended up with some of the most awesome and fun music to party to.  Josh introduced me to Milkman while I was in Thailand, and of course I went through my obsession.  Now I cannot listening to a song without being transported to my 625/55 house in Piman Chon 1, listening to the music especially loudly on my impressive sound system and drinking Leo beer with Cait and Paul. 

James Taylor's New Moon Shine Album:

This is the song that Garvey and I had a dance to.

This album throws me back to Annapolis, dancing in the family room.  I can feel the afternoon sun beaming through the windows as Garvey and I performed our choreographed dance that he refused to remember the steps to, in hopes of making my parents laugh, and infuriating me.  Then there was the JT concert the family attended at Tanglewood, and one of my favorite weekends in my entire twenty-five years. 

Brett Dennan:

Somehow I came across Brett Dennen immediately before I began traveling alone last fall.  I had four albums downloaded and loaded on my iPod before I took off for Koh Lanta.  As I lounged on the beach, studying for my scuba exams Brett Dennen filled my ears.  And now I cannot listen to that red headed artist without seeing the Thai coastline, tasting the plastic of a regulator in my mouth, feeling the sun on my face, and glancing down at my arm hoping to see freckles that have long gone since my return to a non tropical locale.

Like a G6:

There was a brief period of time in Thailand when I had a cool phone.  Cool is a relative term as my students with iPhones quickly began to outnumber those without.  I thought my telephone was cool because it held music and had a small speaker.  So, when Paul and I both became obsessed with the song Like a G6 it only seemed logical to illegally download it and put it on my phone.  When Paul and I got into his Suzuki Caribbean on our way to pick up Cait for a coworker’s party with our matching telephones and playlists, the stereo wasn’t working.  What else was I to do than play Like A G6 on repeat from my phone?  And when the car broke down, I continued to repeat the same song.  Looking back, I’m surprised that Cait continued to be my friend after being forced to listen to that noise in a AC-less car for over two hours...

Call Me Maybe:

This is our HBB version, check it out.

I was first introduced to this song through facebook stalking.  Heather had posted the video on Cici’s wall, and, well, the rest is history.  I was quickly obsessed with the song along with the rest of the world.  And in similar fashion, I preferred the Justin Bieber lip syncing version to the actual music video.  When my boss at Hot Blondies Bakery began talking about her love of Justin Bieber, I immediately shared the video.  Who doesn’t love the Justin-Selena romance?  Sure enough, Laura was hooked.  And when Lorin returned from vacation she was thrilled to jump on the bandwagon.  When the cinco de mayo party rolled around, it only made sense to create our own music video, German videographer/ commentator and all.  For the rest of my short-lived career as a baker, the song was a constant presence in my brown sugar- filled life, and will always be associated with my days at HBB.

Fergie's The Dutchess:

I went through a ridiculous time during my sophomore year in college.  As though taking 18 credits and rowing for more than 20 hours a week wasn’t enough to keep me busy, I began working at the Starbucks on campus.  I absolutely loved my job.  And when I developed a minor crush on the fitness center’s evening supervisor, I would do anything to pick up hours.  And when my minor crush became a serious flirt fest, I would do anything I could to stick around the fitness center after I had closed the coffee shop.  Naturally, I took to working out even more.  After I would finish closing up I would bat my unimpressive eyelashes and head to the locker room to change into possibly my third workout outfit of the day.  I would then jump on the elliptical and listen to Fergie’s album, The Dutchess.  I would sweat a little, jam out to Fergie a lot and hope that Matt would come to “check on the floor."  The album played a pretty big role in the rest of my life that year, from dance parties to driving to practice, but from the moment I hear one of those songs begin I am transported to the same elliptical, crushing hard on a completely unavailable boy.  I think I’m still crushing…

I have many more songs to add to this post, but I think that is enough for now.  Maybe a second installment?

The Next Stage in Our Relationship

Madison and I have entered the next stage of our relationship.  We are now at the point in our love affair when I can give someone directions.

Whenever I move to a new city, I have a fear that someone will ask me for directions before I know the answer.  I must subconsciously send out a vibe to people in my immediate area that screams, "please, oh please, ask me for directions!  I am too nice to ignore you!  And even though I am avoiding eye contact, it is just my coy way of getting you to talk to me," because people ask me all the time.
Someone in NYC would ask me for directions on a daily basis.  At least.  I was fortunate enough for most places to be tourist traps, and therefore I knew exactly which direction to point people in.  You want to know where Times Square is?  No problem.  The High Line?  I got this.  The Empire State Building?  Grand Central?  The Williamsburg Bridge?  Come on, give me a hard one!  By the time I left New York, I felt confident.  Driving played a huge role in that confidence, and it was a great feeling to have.  Oh, Philippe....

Living in Madison was a whole new can of worms.  Where is the Square?  Good question!  Because if I can't see the Capitol building, I don't know.  Where is the Terrace?  The what-ace?  Where is the lake?  Ooh ooh!  I know this one.  Oh, the other lake?  It's, uhh, that-a-way... I think.

Walking Wilbur around the city has helped me to learn my way around.  I try to take different routes on our walks.  We walk to the dog park one way and a different way home.  Sometimes we get lost, but we always end up back at the apartment.  And I end up with a few new streets added to my ever-expanding mental map of the world.

But walking a dog makes you an obvious local.  I'll admit that technically I am a local, but I don't feel like one.  So every time I walk past the obvious tourists in town, I drop my gaze, talk to my dog, and keep on walking. 

Over the weekend, everything changed.  My eye-contact-averting tactics didn't work, and the man on the bike asked me if I could point him in the direction of a street.  My eyes lit up and I said "oh my gosh!  Yeah!!"  I think I probably came closer to yelling it than saying it based on his reaction, but I was so excited I could say yes!

Sure enough, the biking tourist wanted to go to my street!  Of course I know where it is, because I live and walk on it every day!  With an ear to ear smile I pointed him down the hill and to the left.  He rode away and I walked in the opposite direction, becoming increasingly more confident in my relationship with Madison.

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I want to write

Yesterday I tweeted about how my job is getting in the way of my recreational writing, and I meant it.  How am I supposed to publish all the blog posts I think about, write notes about and begin writing when I am now required to work for at least 8 hours a day?

My mind is always filled with blog post ideas.  As I walk the dog, take a shower, grocery shop, eat my lunch, sit in meetings, ride the bus, watch television, read, and just about everything else, I am thinking of blog posts.  I wish I could hire someone to transcribe all of my thoughts. 

Just after Wilbur finishes his breakfast, a little after 5:15 am, as we cross the street on our walk, I begin thinking in writing.  How I will begin the story, what quotes I do not want to forget, and how I will describe each of the characters races through my head as Wilbur tries to find the next tree to sniff. 

On an unrelated note, there must be a new dog in the neighborhood, because Wilbur has been stress-sniffing every single tree for the past two days.  Someone is new in town.

Not all of my posts reflect the amount of effort I described.  Let me correct myself, most of my posts don’t reflect the effort I described, but I wish they could.  If you could read all the reams of thoughts in my mind, I’m sure you would be impressed.  Unfortunately, the time to write doesn’t exist at the moment.  I wish I could sit around and write all day and every day, but as soon as I say that, I realize how ridiculous it would be.  If all I did was sit and write, where would my stories come from?  It’s my trips to the grocery store, days at work and random real-life experiences that make this blog what it is.  My real life is what gives me my material and my desire to write.  Some posts are deeper than others, but they all stem from the same thing: my every day. 

So as much as I would love to devote my life to writing, I don’t know what I would write about! (I also don’t know how I would pay for anything, but that is beside the point…)

Until then, I guess I’ll keep going to work (and getting a paycheck), writing blog posts in my mind, making lists in my notebook, and writing when I have the chance.

My Carless Life

No, not my careless life, my carless life.

My mom and sister stole my car.

They flew into Chicago, forced me to drive over three hours to pick them up, let their suitcases vomit their belongings all over my apartment, and then left with my car.

This has been planned for a long time, but oh my goodness, these have been some long days. 

My mom and sister took my car to drive to Jackson, WY.  Two ladies on the road in a sexy convertible...  Am I jealous?  Absolutely.  Am I excited for them to come back to Madison?  You know it!

The only issue right now is the silly bus schedule.

There is a direct bus that goes from Capitol Square to my office, but its schedule is quite limited.  With class all last week, I had to be on the 6:10 bus every morning.  As a shout out to my time in Thailand, I will say that it was "supahh suppah early!" 

For five days I was at work from 6:49 am until 5:37 pm.  This really means that I was out of my apartment from 5:45 am until 6:45 pm.  They were very, very long days.  My poor puppy has not been happy with me.  I was used to waking up at the crack of dawn to take him for a long walk before I left for work.  But, this past week I was waking up at the crack of dawn just to catch the bus, and the long walks were saved for after work.

I got a lot done at work, but I have felt trapped.  Even yesterday, Saturday, I wanted to go into the office for a few hours to finish a project, but I couldn't.  I was on a roll Friday evening, but I had to leave it to catch the bus.  When I arrived home, I realized my internet wasn't working.  And so I was stranded.  No internet, no chance to finish my project, and no car to run errands left me with lots of time for walking with the pup.

Wilbur and I spent the entire weekend together.  We walked, played, tried to learn new tricks, did laundry and broke the iron.  Well, Wilbur only participated in the tricks, playing and walking, but he was close by for the rest of the thrilling weekend.

I felt a bit trapped this week, but I know this next week will be much better.  Without class at 8 am, I can take the 7:40 bus.  That gives me more than enough time to go for a walk in the morning and take my time getting to the square.  It also gives me the opportunity to get to work after 8 am and not have to worry about a parking space!

The bus schedule may not be perfect for my 8am mornings, but so many things about taking the bus are wonderful!  I love that I can read on my way to work.  I love that I don't have to think about parking.  I love that I don't have to worry about traffic.  And gosh, I love how inexpensive it is!

I will love having my car back, but I'm not giving up this whole bus thing yet.  I'm a mass transit lover, and so far Madison's is just fine with me.

Garvey, think of all the gas I'm saving!  And I didn't buy a Prius to do it!  Aren't you proud?

Who Knew Grocery Shopping Could Be So Challenging?

Where did I move again?

Last time I checked, Wisconsin is in the same country as New York.  But every time I have gone to the grocery store I have thought otherwise. 

Moving to a new city and finding a grocery store is challenging enough without dealing with Crazy Grocers, Inc. of Madison, WI. 

There are probably six different Targets around the Madison area, and I have been lucky enough to go to most of them.  As my lists grew longer I would break down and take a trip to Target.  While I was there I would usually end up walking through the grocery section to pick up the few things I needed.

But two weeks into this game I knew it was time for a change.  My fake grocery shopping wasn’t going to cut it forever.  And, I wanted to learn and feel comfortable with a grocery store before I lived here for six months and would only shop at Target.  And, let’s be honest, Target is fantastic, and the fact that they have grocery sections is wonderful, but real grocery stores are so much better.

So I sucked it up and went to my first grocery store.  I went to Metcalfe’s.  Before you ask, yes, I went to a grocery store next to Target.  I guess I used it as a security blanket.  Maybe I was thinking that if I was too nervous to shop at the real grocery store I could park in the lot, and just stroll right into Target.

Am I sounding like a crazy person?  Am I the only one that stresses out about shopping in a new place?  Because I do!  I get nervous when I’m trying to find a new store.  To help defend myself, think of your grocery shopping experience.  I am going to assume that you usually go to the same store, or possibly one of two stores.  You know which door you will walk in before you arrive.  You park your car closest to that door, take a cart or basket from the same place you always do and shop for the things on your list.  When you think of your grocery store, can you picture where your favorite type of apples are?  Do you know where to get peanut butter?  How about your ice cream?  Do you know which brand of milk to purchase?  And what color the 1% milk is?  Because I have news for you, different milk percentages have different colors in different places.

You probably all passed that test with flying colors, so now take a moment to feel my pain.  Walking into a brand new grocery store you don’t know any of those answers.  Heck, I couldn’t figure out which milk to buy!  And in America’s Dairyland, that is a little bit of a problem.  We have all tried plenty of new grocery stores, but there is a very big difference between a home shopper and a visiting shopper.  The home shopper knows all of the answers and usually fills a cart or basket with the basics and essentials.  The visiting shopper is on vacation or just headed to a party on the other side of town, only breezing through the store to buy beer, potato chips, and maybe a birthday cake.  I’m the home shopper, or at least I’m trying to be, but I’m the girl blocking the aisles, flipping u-ees, and walking the entire store three times before completing my trip.

Now that I feel I have your sympathy, I’ll continue. 

I walked into Metcalfe’s and immediately felt under dressed.  The employees were wearing collared shits, ties, and full aprons.  It was nice, but far from Price Chopper polos or Target red.  The floors were beautiful and the lighting was pleasant.  I paced back and forth through the produce section, almost being tricked into purchasing organic items on more than one occasion, before making my way to the deli counter.  With no numbers in sight, I stood directly in front of the display case, deciding on the turkey that wasn’t the absolute cheapest, but pretty darn close.  The deli ladies were both busy, but saw me standing there, each saying, “I’ll be right with you.”  Then, one by one, female shoppers walked up to the counter, placed their orders and were served before me.  This happened three times!  What happened to “I’ll be right with you?”  Or what happened to a simple, “I’m sorry, this woman was here before you, I’ll be right with you.”  Are women in Madison blind?  Or does the whole Midwest nice thing not apply within grocery store walls?  Luckily a man was the next to approach the counter.  While I glanced over at him he kindly said, “oh, go right ahead.  You were here first.”  It must have been my staggering good looks that finally got me my turkey.  And the wedding ring on his finger that didn't get me the date.

When I arrived at the checkout line the sixteen-year-old pimply stick of a girl started ringing up my items as she asked the famous paper or plastic?  When I said plastic she and her equally pimply and awkward bagger looked at me like I had three heads.  I didn’t feel the need to defend myself, but in my head I thought, don’t you know that dog poop has to be picked up?  The bagger boy began putting my items in fancy schmancy plastic bags- the kind of heavy duty plastic bags that don’t even work for dog poop.  When I noticed that the bagger also had normal plastic bags, I asked if he would use those.  He gave me a look like I was completely crazy.  Okay, I was going to have to explain myself…  I simply said, “I use the bags when I walk the dog, so I don’t need really nice ones.”  He looked at his cashier counterpart who gave a typically teenage eye roll and then back at me.  He said, “uhh, we only use those bags for frozen things.”

I knew I wasn’t going to win this one, so I gave up.  When the last of my fancy plastic bags were in my cart the cashier mumbled, “you want a drive up?”

“Excuse me, a what?”

“A drive up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is…”

Major sigh in disgust….“We stand with your cart and you drive your car up”

“Oh, gosh.  That won’t be necessary.  Thank you.”

And I left Metcalfe’s with my tail between my legs, absolutely exhausted, and with only one dog poop bag holding my ice cream.

When I told coworkers about my experience they all agreed that they had never heard of a drive up, and that maybe Metcalfe’s was too upscale for my taste.  I was told to go to Copps.

The next week I went to Copps.  I got myself a Copps card and had a decent enough experience.  The next week, I returned.  When I checked out, I felt confident handing over my card, and excited to be acquiring gas discounts.  As the woman finished ringing me up and I swiped my credit card she said, “are you playing Monoploy?”  I thought I must have misheard her. 

“What was that?”

“Are you playing Monopoly?”

Nope.  I was right, she did ask me about Monopoly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means…”

“It's a game.  Monopoly.”

Think, Meaghan, think.  Of course Monopoly is a game, but why would I be playing it?  What does this mean?  And why are all grocery store cashiers crazy?  Oh!  I got it!  My telephone is in my hand!  Maybe there is a Monopoly app that is popular!  That has to be it!

“Oh, no, my telephone is off.  I’m not playing.”

With that, the cashier rolled her eyes so hard I thought they would get stuck, picked up a random piece of paper from behind the register and said, “no!  Monopoly.” 

"Oh."

I pushed my cart away. 

After speaking with my office mate the next day he informed me that Copps is playing Monopoly, similar to the way McDonald’s has done it in the past.

… and I was supposed to know this how?

Needless to say, I am still searching for a grocery store.