The day started with a delay. It had been a few months since I had flown and I wasn't bothered by the 20 minute delay at first. I had lots of work to do and a perfect spot and a chai latte to send my hundreds of emails. Okay hundreds might be a little exaggeration, but 100 would not be. I still can't believe I'm that girl, the girl tied to her email because they never ever stop.
My phone rang with the number that I will always remember, because it calls at all the worst times. It was the Delta automated call, informing me that my flights were being rebooked because of the delay. Well, this delay just got a lot less fun.
When I saw the line at the gate desk I took it upon myself to call Delta, as the gate agent had recommended. The woman on the other end of the line was very kind as she told me I could take a direct flight to Laguardia at 5:07 pm. It was 10:00 in the morning.
"Oh."
"It's a direct flight," she said, trying to make it sound like it was a good deal.
I quickly thought through a few scenarios. I didn't have my car at the airport, but I could take a cab home for a while.
"Hmmmm..."
"We also have a flight leaving at 3:30"
It was now 10:01 in the morning.
"I very much appreciate your help, but I'm going to need to think about this and speak to the gate agent here."
I got in line at the gate desk and the woman very quickly booked me on the next flight from Detroit to NYC. She didn't take me off of my original flight in case it was also delayed and I could make it, but my flight would only be less than two hours later than the original. And so I awarded another point for human interaction and face-to-face conversations!
I sat back down at my table, sorted through more emails and downloaded documents to my desktop so I could work while we were in the air, waiting to board the flight.
It seemed like only a matter of moments until I boarded the first flight and checked my bag plane side, not needing to worry about finding a place for it overhead. I found my seat and promptly slept through the entire 42 minute flight. I woke up as we were landing in Detroit, confirming that I must have been kidding myself to think I was going to do work on the plane. It had been a late night the night before and a plane for me is like a bouncy rocker and a white noise machine for a baby. I was out.
In Detroit I nearly froze exiting the plane. I stood on the jet bridge cursing the arrival of winter while I waited for my bag. Plane side checking can be such a pain!
I was able to head to a familiar restaurant in the terminal while I waited for my flight. My friends (and petsitters) sent a photo of Wilbur eating his breakfast letting me know what a good boy he was being. Phew. Let's hope it lasts!
I arrived at the gate early hoping to give my telephone enough juice to make it through the entire flight. As this was the first flight I had taken that allowed me to keep my music on for the entire flight, including those first 10,000 feet, I wanted to make sure I could take full advantage. Also, there had been a screamer on my first flight and the Bastille album got me through. I didn't want to take any chances with round two.
It was a larger plane so I had to lift my carry on over my head, all the while wishing they had plane side checking! The seat next to me was left empty, so I crossed my legs, not worrying about kicking the person next to me and closed my eyes.
I woke up to the sounds of cans cracking open. I opened my eyes to realize that the cart was right next to me. Yes! My throat felt incredibly dry and a Diet Coke sounded delicious. The woman on one side of the cart was helping the rows in front of me. The man on the other side of the cart was helping the people behind me. With every cracked can and pour of water, juice, or soda I got a tiny bit closer to dehydration. Each person was receiving a cup of a delicious beverage and two packets of pretzels. I'm not sure why the famous Delta cookies weren't making an appearance on this flight, but two packs of pretzels sounded perfectly fine. The man helped the row directly behind me, and I knew my turn was nearly here. The woman made some motion about the rows directly in front of me and walked away. The cart was in motion! And it kept going.
What? Stop! Come back!
The man who was going to be my saving grace, providing me with the gift of a cool beverage, began serving the two rows ahead of me. Okay. Be patient, Meaghan. Be patient. My throat became smaller and smaller.
Finally it was turn for my row. The man started with the A and C seats, the only two people on the other side of the aisle. The C-seat woman refused her ginger ale when he gave her a cup with ice in it. Apparently she didn't want ice!
I would take ice. I won't be picky.
The man had to crack open another can for a new cup of ginger ale. Then after handing C-seat her two bags of pretzels, she asked for cookies instead. The man walked to the back of the plane to look for cookies. It felt like an eternity when he finally came back with a handful of Biscoff cookies.
I'm dying over here, lady. Hurry it up already!
I was a little excited to know that there was potential for cookies, but come on, the world was starting to look foggy and tunnel-y. I. Need. Diet. Coke. The woman returned to her post at the front of the cart, and the cart was in motion again.
No. No! Please help me.
I was about to say something to the woman just as she was about to walk away, but she beat me to it. I was the only person left on the plane without a beverage. She quickly asked me, as though it wasn't obvious that I was about to die, what I would like to drink. After hearing my response she handed me a cup filled with ice an entire can of Diet Coke.
"Here. You can just have a full can."
Then she handed me a pack of cookies and a pack of pretzels.
Yay! An entire can? I can savor this one for a while.
I had just filled my cup with soda and allowed the fizz to settle down when another woman walked by with a trash bag. The captain came over the speaker system alerting us that we were preparing to land.
You have got to be kidding me!
It usually takes me a good hour to drink an entire can of soda- if I can even finish it. I didn't want to put a full cup of soda in the woman's trash bag, so I drank it as quickly as I possibly could, cursing my sensitive teeth all the while. I did my best to place the half-full can at the bottom of her trash bag before putting my seat back and tray table in the upright and locked position. Before I knew it, we were in New York.
As we were waiting to deplane and people were crowding the aisles, I couldn't help but stare at C-seat. What a piece of work. And why in the world was she still wearing her neck pillow? What is it with people and neck pillows? Just because you are traveling does not mean you are allowed to look like a complete and utter fool who happens to also have a broken neck. But, I'm beginning to think I am in the minority with that opinion.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Big Mistake. Big. Huge.
I
often try to relate my life to movies or television. The only shows and movies
I truly know well enough to play this game with are Friends, The Office, My
Best Friend’s Wedding, and Step Brothers. Therefore, if I am relating any event
in my life to these big or small screen classics, it must be pretty darn
hilarious. I will be the first person to tell you that I love telling stories. The
stories often have some type of funny spin on them, because if they didn’t,
well, I probably wouldn’t tell it. One of the things I love about telling stories
is the ability to relate it to something everyone knows. And yes, I am using the
term “everyone” loosely. I am ecstatic
when I can relate my life to the Friends episode when Rachel catches up on her
correspondence, The Office scene when Michael Scott can’t parallel park, or the
scene in Step Brothers when Brennan and Dale build bunk beds and are thrilled
to have more room for activities.
While
I was in Chicago, I had a movie moment. I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I
skipped the over-the-knee hooker boots and cutout dress (even though both of
those styles are surprisingly popular and mainstream) and was simply refused
service at a store.
Bri, who you have
all read many stories about, is getting married! She and her fiancee will be
getting married in May, and I am lucky enough to be part of their wedding, so I
need to buy a bridesmaid dress. Bri has been going a little Pinterest crazy
since the engagement and at least a hundred of her pins have been devoted to
bridesmaid dresses. She thought she had narrowed down her search to a single
designer, and asked another bridesmaid to go try on the dresses. Samantha went,
tried on the dresses and sent her feedback and photos. The dresses seemed fine,
but Samantha might not have been the best man for the job. Samantha is probably
5- foot-nothing and a size 00. The dresses she tried hung on her tiny frame. Bri
thought they were okay, but she wasn’t sure. Knowing that I was going to
Chicago and there was a store that sold this designer’s dresses, I offered to
go try them on for her.
Saturday morning
Erin had rehearsal, so my mom and I had time to kill before her performance. We
wandered around a bit before deciding to head to the bridesmaid dress store. The
website said they were open 10 – 5 on Saturdays, so we started walking. About a
mile later we found the address and waited while three girls with humongous
sparklers and their posses exited the elevator. My mom and I got in the
elevator with another giggly group of girls. I put on my sunglasses, because
the massive rocks they were all rocking were catching the light and too bright
for my unprotected eyes. We got off the elevator, turned right and I saw the
script writing on the door “By Appointment Only.” Shoot! It definitely did not
say that on the website.
We walked in the
door and the small shop had a few racks of dresses, and a few people milling
about. There was a group of women on the sofas on the far side of the store
looking at books and magazines, I assume getting ideas for dresses. There was a
woman in a wedding dress surrounded by five other women comparing veils and
sashes. No one acknowledged us when we walked in, so we walked further into the
store. When I finally locked eyes with a woman that appeared to work in the
store, she came over with the most fake smile, tan, hair and, well, other things,
that I had ever seen.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi. I am a
bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding and she would like us to get the Alfred Sung
D500 dress. I live in Wisconsin and can’t get the dress there, so I was hoping
to try on the dress while I am here.”
“Do you have an
appointment?”
“No, I don’t. I
saw your hours online and didn’t realize it was by appointment only. Do you
have that dress here?”
The woman rolled
her eyes a bit.
“Let me check.”
… long pause…
“Yes, we do.”
… long pause…
“Would I be able
to try it on?”
“No, I’m sorry, we
are completely booked today.”
I looked to the
right and the two dressing rooms that were completely empty, and then back at
the woman.
“Okay, may I see
the dress?”
The woman didn’t
respond but started to walk to the other side of the store. I assumed this
meant that she was going to show us the dress, so I followed.
“Here it is.”
“Thank you very
much. So all of these dresses are in the same line, correct?”
She looked annoyed
with me before giving me an answer.
My mom and I
looked at the dresses, felt the fabric, and compared the different available styles.
As the two dressing rooms remained wide open, my mom held up different dresses
which I then stuck my head through the hanger and pulled around the front of me
so she could see.
The two dressing
rooms were still wide open.
After a few
minutes we were impressed by the dresses, but knew that there wasn’t much else
we could do.
As we started to
walk out I walked slowly to try to get the attention of one of the women
working. When no one wanted to help I was able to stop the original meanie
while she was about to walk past me.
“Will you be open
tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come back
to try on the dress tomorrow?”
“No. We are
totally booked tomorrow as well.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s
a bummer.”
My mom and I walked
out and the open dressing rooms were still open.
When we got in the
elevator my mom said what I was thinking, “that was unbelievable! Was she
serious? You wanted to try on one dress!”
“I know! It wasn’t
as though I walked in and said, ‘oh, I just need a navy dress.’ No! I knew the
ONE dress I wanted to try on. And I can’t buy it in Wisconsin! I would have
paid the $200 right there to buy it from them. Ridiculous.”
I wasn’t wearing
hooker boots, but I was refused service by a very snotty saleswoman. When I
told the story to my friends, I told them that I felt like Julia Roberts.
“How much is this?”
“I don’t think
this would fit you.”
Well, lady, if you
don’t let me try it on, I will never know!
I hope she works on commission. It wouldn't be a huge mistake, but it was a mistake!
Thursday, October 17, 2013
The Chatty Attorney
We met at an Irish pub across town. I arrived a few minutes early and began looking over the extensive beer list. The bartender asked me what I would like, and when I said I love Smithwicks, but wanted to try something different, she began explaining all sorts of crazy beer combinations. She talked about mixing Guinness with a cider and a shot of some liquor. She then told me about mixing Smithwicks and who knows what.
When Mr. Chatty arrived, he came up next to me, slapped his hands on the bar and said, "you've already started drinking?!"
"Oh, hi. No, I haven't started drinking, she was just telling me about all sorts of fancy mixed beer..."
"Can we get a table?" he asked as he cut me off and waved his hand at a nearby server.
"Do you want a table?" he asked me.
"Ummm... sure."
I knew immediately that this wasn't going to go very well. He didn't make eye contact, he had already cut me off, and he barked at a server.
He decided we would sit outside by the fire pit. Yes, technically he asked if that would be okay, but I knew it wasn't a genuine question; he had already made up his mind. It was warm enough, but I began to question my decision to leave my jacket in the car.
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, stared off into the distance and began going through his life story. Before he got too far he rattled off a few facts he remembered about me from my online profile. I didn't find this charming. Instead, it was a bit bizarre. Here we are, sitting next to each other, and you would like to quote my profile? Shouldn't we be having a real conversation now?
He went on about living in southern California, moving back to Wisconsin, taking the bar in Iowa, surfing, and the condo he owned in town. I listened and did my best to remain engaged while Mr. Chatty rarely paused to take a breath. I used a lot of typical "reallys?" and "oh, wows!" He didn't give me much opportunity to say anything more.
When there was a pause, and the man in the purple shirt stopped talking for long enough to take a sip of his embarrassingly girly beverage, I didn't know how to react. We weren't having a conversation. I didn't know what to say. I did, however, have a laundry list of things that he had done with his life and things he hated about Madison!
After he put his fancy drink down (all the while keeping his pinky up), he said "so, what else do you want to know? I'm an open book! Ask me anything you want!"
I chuckled before deciding there was no reason to sugar coat things. "Hmmm. Well, I didn't prepare a list of questions to ask you on this date, so you will have to give me a moment to process the ridiculous amount of information you just shared with me."
"Okay. So, let me tell you more."
He then proceeded to rattle off a thousand and one more facts while I became chillier and chillier and thought about all of the things on my to-do list. When I got home I needed to respond to a few emails. I needed to set up meetings with a few different groups of people regarding upcoming projects. I needed to continue working on one of my documents for the version upgrade. I should probably change my sheets. I have enough whites to do a load of laundry when I get home, right?
He paused again.
"Ask me anything. Really, I am an open book."
"Wow, you really keep putting me on the spot here. Again, I didn't prepare a list of questions for this date."
"Okay, well then I have one for you."
"Shoot."
"When was your last relationship?"
Whoa! That is the first thing you ask me? Here you have done nothing but talk about yourself and the first thing you ask me on our first date is about my last boyfriend? I think there are a few articles about this being a no-no.
"My ex-boyfriend and I broke up about two months ago."
"How long were you together?"
"Less than a year."
"So am I a rebound?" he asked in a very accusatory tone.
What?! Dude, I have news for you, you are no rebound. You are nothing but crazy!
"No, you are not a rebound."
"When I was living in LA I just loved it. The people there are so amazing. Everyone is so outgoing and active. The one good thing about Madison is my condo. I bought it for $107,000. I decided just to write a check for it. It seemed silly to pay a mortgage. Why did I need that money sitting in the bank?"
And off he went again on his me, me, me, me, me spree.
He called me out for "nursing my beer," but by that time I had pretty much tuned him out. What time do I have to be at work tomorrow? Will I have enough time to take Wilbur for a long walk in the morning? I should go grocery shopping tomorrow because this weekend is going to be really busy.
Towards the end of my beer he told me he had never had such a great and in-depth conversation with someone. I wanted to laugh out loud.
He definitely went in for a kiss and got the cheek at the end of the night. He asked about my weekend plans, and I gave very vague excuses for being busy.
The next day I received a text:
"Hi, Meaghan. I would agree that there probably isn't a love connection between us, but I think that we could be really great friends. You seem very cool and I think we could both use some awesome friends in the area."
Well, excuse me, but if you had let me say anything during the course of this evening you would have learned a lot about my awesome friends! And who said I need a friend that does nothing but talk about himself, avoid eye contact, talk about the amount in his checking account, or ... well, you get it.
Needless to say, he didn't receive a response.
When Mr. Chatty arrived, he came up next to me, slapped his hands on the bar and said, "you've already started drinking?!"
"Oh, hi. No, I haven't started drinking, she was just telling me about all sorts of fancy mixed beer..."
"Can we get a table?" he asked as he cut me off and waved his hand at a nearby server.
"Do you want a table?" he asked me.
"Ummm... sure."
I knew immediately that this wasn't going to go very well. He didn't make eye contact, he had already cut me off, and he barked at a server.
He decided we would sit outside by the fire pit. Yes, technically he asked if that would be okay, but I knew it wasn't a genuine question; he had already made up his mind. It was warm enough, but I began to question my decision to leave my jacket in the car.
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, stared off into the distance and began going through his life story. Before he got too far he rattled off a few facts he remembered about me from my online profile. I didn't find this charming. Instead, it was a bit bizarre. Here we are, sitting next to each other, and you would like to quote my profile? Shouldn't we be having a real conversation now?
He went on about living in southern California, moving back to Wisconsin, taking the bar in Iowa, surfing, and the condo he owned in town. I listened and did my best to remain engaged while Mr. Chatty rarely paused to take a breath. I used a lot of typical "reallys?" and "oh, wows!" He didn't give me much opportunity to say anything more.
When there was a pause, and the man in the purple shirt stopped talking for long enough to take a sip of his embarrassingly girly beverage, I didn't know how to react. We weren't having a conversation. I didn't know what to say. I did, however, have a laundry list of things that he had done with his life and things he hated about Madison!
After he put his fancy drink down (all the while keeping his pinky up), he said "so, what else do you want to know? I'm an open book! Ask me anything you want!"
I chuckled before deciding there was no reason to sugar coat things. "Hmmm. Well, I didn't prepare a list of questions to ask you on this date, so you will have to give me a moment to process the ridiculous amount of information you just shared with me."
"Okay. So, let me tell you more."
He then proceeded to rattle off a thousand and one more facts while I became chillier and chillier and thought about all of the things on my to-do list. When I got home I needed to respond to a few emails. I needed to set up meetings with a few different groups of people regarding upcoming projects. I needed to continue working on one of my documents for the version upgrade. I should probably change my sheets. I have enough whites to do a load of laundry when I get home, right?
He paused again.
"Ask me anything. Really, I am an open book."
"Wow, you really keep putting me on the spot here. Again, I didn't prepare a list of questions for this date."
"Okay, well then I have one for you."
"Shoot."
"When was your last relationship?"
Whoa! That is the first thing you ask me? Here you have done nothing but talk about yourself and the first thing you ask me on our first date is about my last boyfriend? I think there are a few articles about this being a no-no.
"My ex-boyfriend and I broke up about two months ago."
"How long were you together?"
"Less than a year."
"So am I a rebound?" he asked in a very accusatory tone.
What?! Dude, I have news for you, you are no rebound. You are nothing but crazy!
"No, you are not a rebound."
"When I was living in LA I just loved it. The people there are so amazing. Everyone is so outgoing and active. The one good thing about Madison is my condo. I bought it for $107,000. I decided just to write a check for it. It seemed silly to pay a mortgage. Why did I need that money sitting in the bank?"
And off he went again on his me, me, me, me, me spree.
He called me out for "nursing my beer," but by that time I had pretty much tuned him out. What time do I have to be at work tomorrow? Will I have enough time to take Wilbur for a long walk in the morning? I should go grocery shopping tomorrow because this weekend is going to be really busy.
Towards the end of my beer he told me he had never had such a great and in-depth conversation with someone. I wanted to laugh out loud.
He definitely went in for a kiss and got the cheek at the end of the night. He asked about my weekend plans, and I gave very vague excuses for being busy.
The next day I received a text:
"Hi, Meaghan. I would agree that there probably isn't a love connection between us, but I think that we could be really great friends. You seem very cool and I think we could both use some awesome friends in the area."
Well, excuse me, but if you had let me say anything during the course of this evening you would have learned a lot about my awesome friends! And who said I need a friend that does nothing but talk about himself, avoid eye contact, talk about the amount in his checking account, or ... well, you get it.
Needless to say, he didn't receive a response.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Fake it till you make it
As long as I keep going through the motions and pretending everything is okay, then eventually it will be, right?
Work is insanely busy. I am trying to start dating again. I am responsible for finding 25 volunteers per night for nine nights over the next three weeks to work in a haunted house. I don't spend enough time with my dog. I haven't been working out. I am helping to build a haunted house this week. I don't sleep through the night. I am supposed to go away for the weekend.
Life is a little crazy right now.
Keeping myself busy sounded like a great idea back in August. And suddenly, I don't have enough time to think. Without even trying to bury myself in work and volunteering, it just happened. Now, here I am, without enough hours in a day, without enough experience to be completing the projects I have been assigned at work, and without enough guts to walk through the haunted house I helped to build!
Work is insanely busy. I am trying to start dating again. I am responsible for finding 25 volunteers per night for nine nights over the next three weeks to work in a haunted house. I don't spend enough time with my dog. I haven't been working out. I am helping to build a haunted house this week. I don't sleep through the night. I am supposed to go away for the weekend.
Life is a little crazy right now.
Keeping myself busy sounded like a great idea back in August. And suddenly, I don't have enough time to think. Without even trying to bury myself in work and volunteering, it just happened. Now, here I am, without enough hours in a day, without enough experience to be completing the projects I have been assigned at work, and without enough guts to walk through the haunted house I helped to build!
People continue to ask me how I am. We both know that they are asking about post-breakup, totally stressed Meaghan, but don't say it. They look at me with a tilted head and sad eyes that say "breakups are hard and you are definitely still struggling." Every time I am asked, I respond with "I'm fine. Work is busy, but I'll get through it. I'm dating again!" Instead of discussing how I am really doing, I have found that it is much easier to use my recent suitors as comic relief. All of a sudden the pressure to discuss the ex, work, and my emotions is gone. Instead, I can make people laugh while describing the man who significantly lied about his height, the man who refused to make eye contact, or my favorite story so far, the man who never stopped talking about himself.
Dating has been interesting, to say the least. I have been out on three first dates, without the hint of a second date in sight. With every date I learn more about myself, what I want in a man, and the art of conversation. I have two dates scheduled for this week and I am looking forward to both of them. I go into every date with an incredibly hopeful demeanor and open mind. So far I have only come away from each with a blog post, but I'm confident that will change.
I will continue to put myself out there and go on dates. I will continue to field the hundreds of emails and calls about volunteers and donations for the haunted house and make it through the month of October. I will carry a flashlight as I go through the haunted house. I will work lots of hours and I will do the best that I can. I will tell my boss when I need help before I become buried. I will keep telling people that I am fine and then share dating stories. I will keep faking it and eventually I'll make it. Sooner rather than later would be ideal, but either way I'll make it, and that is all that matters.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
The Single Life is Different
Friday night I went for a long walk and watched a movie. Saturday I ran errands alone. Sunday I wasted too much time before being invited out with friends.
I have been trying to blog. I have been trying so hard to write. I currently have eleven blog drafts that I have started in the past two weeks and can't seem to finish. I think it's because of the boy. When I start writing and get deep into my thoughts, he is always there. So many of my drafts have nothing to do with him, but I can't stop. This is the one blog that I have been able to finish, so I'm sorry that it isn't all rainbows and butterflies, but I wanted to write something.
I'm doing fine. You could probably say that I'm doing well, but I constantly second-guess myself and the progress I have made.
Life in Madison has been different. When I first moved to this town I was forced to be independent. I went out, made friends and joined clubs. I played the online dating game and I met a great guy. That great guy became a wonderful boyfriend, and I became comfortable with my built-in best friend. And now I am back to where I was one year ago, attempting to navigate this town alone. It's fun and it's terrifying. I became so accustomed to being in a relationship that I somehow forgot how much time I have when I'm alone. Since we broke up about a month ago I have watched an entire season of Orange is the New Black. I have walked a lot. I go to bed earlier. I bike to and from work a lot. And the two times I have run into him at work I have felt physically ill. This is why I didn't want to date a co-worker.
Tonight is another Friday night. I plan to bike home from work and make food for a football party this weekend. Tomorrow I will be going back to yoga with a friend and then cleaning my apartment before Chip comes to visit. Sunday I am thinking brunch and a long bike ride with Chip. In the evening we can explore more of Madison together.
I'll continue to take it day by day. It is bound to get better.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Thirty Minutes
Thirty minutes was all it took for everything I called normal to drastically shift and be flipped upside down. Thirty minutes was all it took for a ten month relationship to end and for every piece of my now ex-boyfriend to be removed from my apartment. His contacts case is gone, my apartment keys have been removed from his key ring (and his from mine), and his bike is no longer next to mine in the garage sharing a bike lock. That was it. It's over. And my heart hurts.
I know in the long run it is the right thing to do, but that doesn't stop my heart from aching or my fingers from automatically calling him when I leave work.
As I drove out of the garage at work a few days after the thirty-minute incident I pressed the green call button on my steering wheel.
"Call. Say 'by number' or 'by name'" said the voice coming out of the dashboard.
"Name"
"Who would you like to call?"
"Mr. Good Grammar."
"Call Mr. Good Grammar? Say 'yes' to proceed. Otherwise say 'back' or 'cancel.'"
"Yes."
"Calling Mr. Good Grammar."
Ring. Ring...
"No! Stop! Ah!"
I frantically hit the red button on the steering wheel hoping with all of my hardest hopes that his phone hadn't yet started ringing.
I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask how his day was. I wanted to tell him about my ridiculous trainee in class. I wanted to tell him about what a pill Wilbur had been that morning before work. I wanted to ask him to come over and take a walk downtown with me. I wanted a hug. But I knew I couldn't. I ended the relationship and I had to suffer the consequences of my choices.
My eyes started to well up with tears, so I pressed the green button again. I tried calling my mother, a co-worker, a friend from Thailand, a friend in California, and a friend back in New York. No one answered. I didn't leave messages.
By the time I arrived home my head hurt. My head hurt from trying not to cry. My head hurt from trying not to think about the guy that I had spent the better part of my life in Madison loving.
I am now able to count the time since the breakup in weeks, so hopefully I will soon stop counting the minutes.
When my friend Jeff asked if the breakup was bad I hesitated before saying, "well, no..." It wasn't bad, but I definitely felt far from good, or even okay. I was grateful when Dan chimed in with, "good or bad, it's still a breakup."
Thank you, Dan.
I didn't need the justification for my roller coaster-like emotions, but it was nice to feel a little less crazy.
I came into my office on a Monday morning to find the few items I had left at his place in a bag under my desk. He had warned me it would be there, but that wasn't enough preparation for the ache my heart felt. That was it. My stuff was with me and his stuff was with him. The end.
I have my good days and my bad days. Heck, I still have my good minutes and my bad minutes, but I will be just fine. I know that much crazier and more significant things have happened in shorter periods of time, but for me, and for my right now, those thirty minutes rocked my world.
I have my good days and my bad days. Heck, I still have my good minutes and my bad minutes, but I will be just fine. I know that much crazier and more significant things have happened in shorter periods of time, but for me, and for my right now, those thirty minutes rocked my world.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Bachelor Number 5: Mr. Good Grammar
After the bruises on my hip, knees and ego healed, I felt
like I could finally muster the confidence to face another date. This also
happened to be right around the time Mr. Good Grammar asked me out for a drink.
I sent Mr. Good Grammar a message a few weeks prior during one of my lunch break Ok Cupid sessions. His photo looked nice and his grammatically perfect profile and mention of his similarities to the Cookie Monster melted my heart. My blood pressure increased every time I logged into the site in hopes of receiving a message from Mr. Good Grammar. It took a few days, but it eventually came through. Not only was it short and sweet, the message kept up with the grammatically correct precedence he had set. Over the next two weeks his responses were erratic. Then I received the message that I had been dreading: “Life has been a little crazy lately. We had our annual conference this past week.” Oh no. I had been afraid of this. My sneaking suspicion of him working for the same company was confirmed and I closed my browser.
Amy, a coworker who had been very interested in my dating shenanigans, asked if I had heard from Mr. Good Grammar. I lowered my eyes, and hesitated before saying, “yes, but that’s over.” She had a look of genuine concern when she asked, “what happened?!” I told her that my greatest fear of him working for the same company had been confirmed, therefore, we could not date. Her look of concern turned to a look of disgust. “Are you kidding me? You aren’t going to write back to him because you work at the same place? That’s ridiculous. Do you know how many people in our age group work here?” Over the next few minutes we bickered back and forth until I caved and begrudgingly agreed to respond to his message. And later that evening, I did just that.
As our messages were exchanged over the next few weeks, I enjoyed the conversation, but was still hesitant about working at the same place. On the other hand, I was thrilled by the speed at which our messages were being sent back and forth. He clearly wasn’t sitting like an anxious puppy just waiting for my messages, but he was polite in the amount of time it took him to respond. My mind began to wander. He was probably busy at work with a life outside of surfing the internet, had lots of friends that kept him from constantly updating his profile and was dashingly handsome.
I knew that his office was in a different building than mine, but I frequently worked in his building and had a fear I would run into him at work before we had planned to meet each other. Sure enough, my fear materialized as we passed in the hall weeks before we planned to meet.
While walking through the halls with a coworker I saw two men walking toward us. I had the sneaking suspicion, lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach that told me Mr. Good Grammar was one of the approaching men. My face burned and the nervous sweats kicked in when I was close enough to confirm that he was the person I had seen in a handful of photos. I did my best not to make eye contact, and Margaret and I turned the corner. We returned to the classroom to find a note from Mr. Good Grammar and his friend, and yes, I was correct, Pete and Mr. Good Grammar signed their names. I only hoped he hadn’t noticed my name tag in the front row.
It was about two weeks later when Mr. Good Grammar decided to ask me out for a drink, just as I was beginning to think he didn’t want to go out with me. He sent me a message asking if I would like to meet him for a drink at The Mason Lodge. Umm… Mason Lodge?
I asked my office mate, Mr. Madison, what and where The Mason Lodge was. He replied with a question, asking why I would need to know. I told him about my prospective date and he gave me another funny look before answering, “isn’t that the men’s secret society? Whoa. Could he really be taking you there for a date? Are women even allowed?”
I did some googling and questioning before finally sending Mr. Good Grammar a message. “Sure! I would love to meet for a drink. How about Friday? Where is The Mason Lodge?” I felt a little silly asking for the address of a place that anyone with a computer would have been able to google, but the prospect of being invited to a secret men’s society and lodge warranted the address request and possibly an escort into the building.
Mr. Good Grammar responded with the address, I copy-pasted into google, and everything made perfect sense! The Mason Lodge was really The Mason Lounge! Mr. Good Grammar wasn’t so perfect.
We met for drinks and I instantly knew that despite the slightly confusing autocorrect error from “lodge” to “lounge,” he was pretty darn perfect.
To be continued…
I sent Mr. Good Grammar a message a few weeks prior during one of my lunch break Ok Cupid sessions. His photo looked nice and his grammatically perfect profile and mention of his similarities to the Cookie Monster melted my heart. My blood pressure increased every time I logged into the site in hopes of receiving a message from Mr. Good Grammar. It took a few days, but it eventually came through. Not only was it short and sweet, the message kept up with the grammatically correct precedence he had set. Over the next two weeks his responses were erratic. Then I received the message that I had been dreading: “Life has been a little crazy lately. We had our annual conference this past week.” Oh no. I had been afraid of this. My sneaking suspicion of him working for the same company was confirmed and I closed my browser.
Amy, a coworker who had been very interested in my dating shenanigans, asked if I had heard from Mr. Good Grammar. I lowered my eyes, and hesitated before saying, “yes, but that’s over.” She had a look of genuine concern when she asked, “what happened?!” I told her that my greatest fear of him working for the same company had been confirmed, therefore, we could not date. Her look of concern turned to a look of disgust. “Are you kidding me? You aren’t going to write back to him because you work at the same place? That’s ridiculous. Do you know how many people in our age group work here?” Over the next few minutes we bickered back and forth until I caved and begrudgingly agreed to respond to his message. And later that evening, I did just that.
As our messages were exchanged over the next few weeks, I enjoyed the conversation, but was still hesitant about working at the same place. On the other hand, I was thrilled by the speed at which our messages were being sent back and forth. He clearly wasn’t sitting like an anxious puppy just waiting for my messages, but he was polite in the amount of time it took him to respond. My mind began to wander. He was probably busy at work with a life outside of surfing the internet, had lots of friends that kept him from constantly updating his profile and was dashingly handsome.
I knew that his office was in a different building than mine, but I frequently worked in his building and had a fear I would run into him at work before we had planned to meet each other. Sure enough, my fear materialized as we passed in the hall weeks before we planned to meet.
While walking through the halls with a coworker I saw two men walking toward us. I had the sneaking suspicion, lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach that told me Mr. Good Grammar was one of the approaching men. My face burned and the nervous sweats kicked in when I was close enough to confirm that he was the person I had seen in a handful of photos. I did my best not to make eye contact, and Margaret and I turned the corner. We returned to the classroom to find a note from Mr. Good Grammar and his friend, and yes, I was correct, Pete and Mr. Good Grammar signed their names. I only hoped he hadn’t noticed my name tag in the front row.
It was about two weeks later when Mr. Good Grammar decided to ask me out for a drink, just as I was beginning to think he didn’t want to go out with me. He sent me a message asking if I would like to meet him for a drink at The Mason Lodge. Umm… Mason Lodge?
I asked my office mate, Mr. Madison, what and where The Mason Lodge was. He replied with a question, asking why I would need to know. I told him about my prospective date and he gave me another funny look before answering, “isn’t that the men’s secret society? Whoa. Could he really be taking you there for a date? Are women even allowed?”
I did some googling and questioning before finally sending Mr. Good Grammar a message. “Sure! I would love to meet for a drink. How about Friday? Where is The Mason Lodge?” I felt a little silly asking for the address of a place that anyone with a computer would have been able to google, but the prospect of being invited to a secret men’s society and lodge warranted the address request and possibly an escort into the building.
Mr. Good Grammar responded with the address, I copy-pasted into google, and everything made perfect sense! The Mason Lodge was really The Mason Lounge! Mr. Good Grammar wasn’t so perfect.
We met for drinks and I instantly knew that despite the slightly confusing autocorrect error from “lodge” to “lounge,” he was pretty darn perfect.
To be continued…
Thursday, January 17, 2013
13.1 Miles (well, a few more...)
40,000 people racing is outrageous. I realized this when I was at the starting line with all of them. Throughout the 19 miles of my half marathon I never stopped being amazed by the number of participants.
For those of you that are thinking, "wait a minute... since when are half marathons 19 miles?" Well, let me tell you.
Dressed and ready for the race!
Starting around 2 pm the Team Challenge participants began lining up for the shuttle to the start line. The strip was closed and traffic was a little crazy, so the three-mile trip to the starting area took nearly 45 minutes. While I was on the bus with Team Wisconsin Heather (of Team DC) sent me a photo of her with Sean.
Let me also add a little fun fact. Sean came to the event as the token celebrity for the CCFA Team Challenge half marathon. He forgot his running shoes and had to buy a pair Sunday morning. The Bachelor doesn't pick its contestants based on intelligence? Weird.
When I arrived at the start line I was nervous, jittery, excited and looking for Heather. And a bathroom. In my search for Heather I found the tent of wedding runners. There were at least a hundred couples that were running the half marathon to renew their vows or get married. They had ridiculous outfits and ran through officiants stationed along the course. Oh, Las Vegas, you are not my favorite place in the world for anything other than people watching.
I found myself an "in honor of" bib, filled it out, pinned it on, and headed for my corral. While I was waiting I received a text message from my mom saying that she and Ann had found a perfect viewing spot.
We ran about less than a mile before turning around and heading back up the strip, passing the start line. I frantically looked for Heather, but I couldn't find her. As I scanned the crowd and saw all of the runners in the orange tank tops I was completely overcome with emotion.
I couldn't believe that all of my training had led up to this moment. I couldn't believe that I had raised as much money as I had. I couldn't believe that six months had already passed from the time I first agreed to the race. I couldn't believe I wasn't running with Heather.
I kept on racing.
I was right on pace and proud of myself. The wind was brutal, but I felt great.
At around mile seven I started thinking about Heather and how badly I wanted to cross the finish line with her.
At around mile eight I started to think about how annoying the wind was and how much my knees were starting to bother me.
At mile nine I awkwardly retrieved my telephone from my SpiBelt and tried to call Heather. Her telephone was off. How would I find her?
At mile ten I saw Team Wisconsin people cheering us on. I told Becky, one of the WI coordinators, that I was going to turn around to find Heather in a little while, and if she saw Heather, to please tell her.
At this point in the race, the course was taking us back down the strip. There were thousands of people running in the opposite direction on the other side of the street. I ran down the course looking for Heather. I decided that if I didn't see her by the time I hit the 12-mile mark, I would just turn around, start walking back, and wait for her to catch up to me.
But at about 11.7 miles I saw her! I yelled her name and jumped across the median to hug her. I was ecstatic. I started walking with her and her friend.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm walking with you."
"What?"
"I want to finish the race with you, so I'm going to walk with you."
"Meaghan, how far were you? We have over seven miles left."
"That's fine. I don't care about my time, I just want to finish with you."
So the three of us walked.
I had a few moments when I thought I was going to die, or at the very least pass out, but we made it.
My coach found us at the 12- mile mark and was thrilled to see me.
"What happened to you? My wife was at home tracking you, she told me you were doing well, and then your chip wasn't registering any more times. I couldn't find you!"
"Yeah, I decided to find Heather."
"I thought that might happen."
As Heather and I crossed the finish line I wanted to cry, fall down, throw up, and go to sleep. I didn't want to have my photo taken, but at the same time all I wanted was a photo of us.
We met our moms in the finishers' tent and had plenty of photos taken.
I announced my half-marathon retirement and we discussed our plans for the evening.
Heather and I went out, danced, gambled and drank a few well-deserved beers.
Heather won.
Two weeks later I heard from the group I volunteer with, the Jaycees. The president received the donation we were waiting for from working at BeerFest, and she had the check made out to CCFA. She told me the amount and I started shaking.
I called Heather.
I called my parents.
I called Matt.
I was speechless and amazed. I picked up the check the next day to submit to CCFA. I opened the envelope and was in complete shock all over again.
$4200 for CCFA
Thanks to everyone for the support. This was an absolutely amazing experience.
A fun fact about the donation: My parents met Heather's parents when they were in the Jaycees together in Annapolis. They became best friends and Heather and I were friends before we had any choice in the matter. Life is funny like that.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Bachelor Number 4: Part Two
Continued from this post.
But for those of you that don't feel like catching up on past posts, let me recap:
1. I am catching up on forgotten posts.
2. Boy named Rob messages me.
3. Boy named Rob is not my boyfriend.
4. Boy takes me out to dinner and drinks.
5. Boy can make good conversation.
6. Boy asks me out again.
7. I accept said invite, but hesitate due to lack of chemistry.
8. I cross my fingers for sparks.
Rob was taking me out to dinner followed by dancing. He was going to pick me up in twenty minutes, and I was still debating what to wear. The jeans I was wearing made my butt look great, but maybe I should wear a dress instead. I put on a dress. I took off the dress. I put on my jeans again. Yes.
With my hair done, my awesome jeans, new necklace and rockin' patent leather heels, I was ready to go.
I met Rob downstairs and my heart sunk. He gave me an awkward one-armed hug and I cringed.
Come on, Meaghan! There is still potential here, give the poor guy a chance.
I stood on the sidewalk next to Rob looking for his car.
"Since we are so close, I thought we could walk to dinner."
I responded by saying, "sure. Sounds great!" When deep down I was thinking, are you kidding me?! You told me you were picking me up! Do you see my heels? It is at least half a mile to the restaurant. Don't get me wrong, I love a good walk, but again, did you see my heels?
And so we walked.
Well, he walked while I scurried, ran, jogged, speed walked and generally struggled to keep up with him and his short legs which managed to take extremely long strides.
We arrived at Sardine and were brought to our table. I had received tips from a coworker about what to get and had been salivating all day in anticipation, so I immediately ordered a drink and an appetizer. Rob ordered his own appetizer and drink and our table was instantly filled with food, drinks, conversation, and confirmation that I wasn't attracted to the man sitting across from me.
We shared a bottle of wine and ate an outrageous amount of delicious food while I hoped that the date would end immediately after dinner. I was not so fortunate.
Rob suggested we head up to the square to go dancing. And somehow, I couldn't say no. I don't know if it was the wine or my inability to simply tell Rob I wasn't interested, but next thing I knew, we were walking.
Rob walked the half mile uphill without an issue while I struggled to keep up. The road was uneven, the sidewalks were littered with cracks, and my incredibly high and brand new heels could not be classified as appropriate walking shoes. At one point Rob turned to me and asked if I wanted him to slow down.
I didn't even hide my frustration when I snapped, "Uhhh, yeah. That would be nice."
We finally made it to a great bar on the square and I made a beeline for the bartender. I ordered some fancy drink and didn't even offer to pay when we got the check. After the trek up the hill, I was not pleased with Rob and his lack of manners in the walking department. He didn't offer me an arm during the entire walk and ran across one of the streets before I was even with him, leaving me stranded on the other side. I decided that he could pay for my drink... all twelve dollars of it.
While we stood by a high table and sipped on our drinks the music switched from cocktail hour tunes to dancing jams. In a normal situation I would have loved to dance, but Rob beat me to it. The second he began dancing I knew how very over we were. I looked around the bar hoping to find chairs for us where I could keep him from doing whatever it was he was doing with his hips. When I couldn't find any I took another sip of my drink and excused myself to the bathroom.
I went to the bathroom, washed and lotioned my hands, primped, reapplied my lipstick, fixed my makeup, checked my email, considered leaving the bar on my own, decided against it, checked my OkCupid app, found a message from Bachelor Number 5, grinned from ear to ear, responded, checked my makeup again, and went back to my date.
It didn't take me very long for me to finish my drink. Rob asked if I wanted another. I told him that I needed to go home. I had a half-marathon training run in the morning and I just wanted to go home. I offered to go home on my own, but he told me that he would walk with me. I rolled my eyes at his misuse of the word 'walk' and started for the door.
When we got outside Rob offered me his arm. I gratefully took it thinking that I could slow him down while simultaneously using him for support as I navigated the sidewalks and streets downhill.
With Rob on my left we walked on the sidewalk heading back to my apartment. As people walked towards us in the opposite direction Rob moved to the right to give them room. What Rob failed to notice was that he was pushing me off the sidewalk. On a Saturday night, the sidewalks on the square are thoroughfares, and this night was no exception. With each approaching person I was sent dodging mailboxes, and traversing the grate around the planted trees, getting my heel caught only twice.
When I saw the group of four women coming towards us, I knew I was in trouble.
As Rob sidestepped to the right I held onto his arm and kept walking. But Rob moved over further.
Before I knew what had happened my heel was off the edge of the sidewalk and I was rolling in the gutter of the street with one shoe off and one shoe on. (Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John)
Rob stood above me on the sidewalk and before asking if I was okay or if he could help he said, "what happened?"
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
He offered me a hand, but I knew what help that had been, so I refused the help and got up on my own while the smoke billowed out of my ears. I stood up only to have to wait for the walk signal to change, giving me enough time to see the three corner bars and all of the smokers standing outside watching me.
One of the smokers called out, "nice job, dude! You're not getting any tonight!"
I was too angry to chuckle.
I ran across the street and down the hill, leaving Rob in my dust.
He caught up to me and walked next to me quietly the rest of the way home.
"That was unbelievably embarrassing."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed."
"Well, I am. And you should be too."
When we made it back to my building I thanked Rob for dinner and said goodnight.
And then he did it. He went in for a kiss! I was completely caught off guard, knowing that no man in his right mind would attempt to kiss me after a date like that. I did my very best to avoid it, and only partly succeeded. He got an awkward corner of my lip but mostly cheek and an overall signal that I wasn't interested.
I walked upstairs and changed his name in my telephone to "Curb Pusher."
Needless to say I woke up bruised. I had bruises on my knee, hip, butt and the heel of my hand. But I also woke up with a great story.
Next!
But for those of you that don't feel like catching up on past posts, let me recap:
1. I am catching up on forgotten posts.
2. Boy named Rob messages me.
3. Boy named Rob is not my boyfriend.
4. Boy takes me out to dinner and drinks.
5. Boy can make good conversation.
6. Boy asks me out again.
7. I accept said invite, but hesitate due to lack of chemistry.
8. I cross my fingers for sparks.
Rob was taking me out to dinner followed by dancing. He was going to pick me up in twenty minutes, and I was still debating what to wear. The jeans I was wearing made my butt look great, but maybe I should wear a dress instead. I put on a dress. I took off the dress. I put on my jeans again. Yes.
With my hair done, my awesome jeans, new necklace and rockin' patent leather heels, I was ready to go.
I met Rob downstairs and my heart sunk. He gave me an awkward one-armed hug and I cringed.
Come on, Meaghan! There is still potential here, give the poor guy a chance.
I stood on the sidewalk next to Rob looking for his car.
"Since we are so close, I thought we could walk to dinner."
I responded by saying, "sure. Sounds great!" When deep down I was thinking, are you kidding me?! You told me you were picking me up! Do you see my heels? It is at least half a mile to the restaurant. Don't get me wrong, I love a good walk, but again, did you see my heels?
And so we walked.
Well, he walked while I scurried, ran, jogged, speed walked and generally struggled to keep up with him and his short legs which managed to take extremely long strides.
We arrived at Sardine and were brought to our table. I had received tips from a coworker about what to get and had been salivating all day in anticipation, so I immediately ordered a drink and an appetizer. Rob ordered his own appetizer and drink and our table was instantly filled with food, drinks, conversation, and confirmation that I wasn't attracted to the man sitting across from me.
We shared a bottle of wine and ate an outrageous amount of delicious food while I hoped that the date would end immediately after dinner. I was not so fortunate.
Rob suggested we head up to the square to go dancing. And somehow, I couldn't say no. I don't know if it was the wine or my inability to simply tell Rob I wasn't interested, but next thing I knew, we were walking.
Rob walked the half mile uphill without an issue while I struggled to keep up. The road was uneven, the sidewalks were littered with cracks, and my incredibly high and brand new heels could not be classified as appropriate walking shoes. At one point Rob turned to me and asked if I wanted him to slow down.
I didn't even hide my frustration when I snapped, "Uhhh, yeah. That would be nice."
We finally made it to a great bar on the square and I made a beeline for the bartender. I ordered some fancy drink and didn't even offer to pay when we got the check. After the trek up the hill, I was not pleased with Rob and his lack of manners in the walking department. He didn't offer me an arm during the entire walk and ran across one of the streets before I was even with him, leaving me stranded on the other side. I decided that he could pay for my drink... all twelve dollars of it.
While we stood by a high table and sipped on our drinks the music switched from cocktail hour tunes to dancing jams. In a normal situation I would have loved to dance, but Rob beat me to it. The second he began dancing I knew how very over we were. I looked around the bar hoping to find chairs for us where I could keep him from doing whatever it was he was doing with his hips. When I couldn't find any I took another sip of my drink and excused myself to the bathroom.
I went to the bathroom, washed and lotioned my hands, primped, reapplied my lipstick, fixed my makeup, checked my email, considered leaving the bar on my own, decided against it, checked my OkCupid app, found a message from Bachelor Number 5, grinned from ear to ear, responded, checked my makeup again, and went back to my date.
It didn't take me very long for me to finish my drink. Rob asked if I wanted another. I told him that I needed to go home. I had a half-marathon training run in the morning and I just wanted to go home. I offered to go home on my own, but he told me that he would walk with me. I rolled my eyes at his misuse of the word 'walk' and started for the door.
When we got outside Rob offered me his arm. I gratefully took it thinking that I could slow him down while simultaneously using him for support as I navigated the sidewalks and streets downhill.
With Rob on my left we walked on the sidewalk heading back to my apartment. As people walked towards us in the opposite direction Rob moved to the right to give them room. What Rob failed to notice was that he was pushing me off the sidewalk. On a Saturday night, the sidewalks on the square are thoroughfares, and this night was no exception. With each approaching person I was sent dodging mailboxes, and traversing the grate around the planted trees, getting my heel caught only twice.
When I saw the group of four women coming towards us, I knew I was in trouble.
As Rob sidestepped to the right I held onto his arm and kept walking. But Rob moved over further.
Before I knew what had happened my heel was off the edge of the sidewalk and I was rolling in the gutter of the street with one shoe off and one shoe on. (Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John)
Rob stood above me on the sidewalk and before asking if I was okay or if he could help he said, "what happened?"
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
He offered me a hand, but I knew what help that had been, so I refused the help and got up on my own while the smoke billowed out of my ears. I stood up only to have to wait for the walk signal to change, giving me enough time to see the three corner bars and all of the smokers standing outside watching me.
One of the smokers called out, "nice job, dude! You're not getting any tonight!"
I was too angry to chuckle.
I ran across the street and down the hill, leaving Rob in my dust.
He caught up to me and walked next to me quietly the rest of the way home.
"That was unbelievably embarrassing."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed."
"Well, I am. And you should be too."
When we made it back to my building I thanked Rob for dinner and said goodnight.
And then he did it. He went in for a kiss! I was completely caught off guard, knowing that no man in his right mind would attempt to kiss me after a date like that. I did my very best to avoid it, and only partly succeeded. He got an awkward corner of my lip but mostly cheek and an overall signal that I wasn't interested.
I walked upstairs and changed his name in my telephone to "Curb Pusher."
Needless to say I woke up bruised. I had bruises on my knee, hip, butt and the heel of my hand. But I also woke up with a great story.
Next!
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Bachelor Number 4
Bachelor Number 4: The Two-Parter
Yes, you read that correctly, Bachelor Number 4 requires two posts!
Bachelor Number 4: Not my boyfriend (My boyfriend is number 5... that post is in the works)
Let me start at the beginning.
Rob sent me the first message on OkCupid. His sent a one-liner about me being a Jason Segel fan. I looked at my profile and realized that yes, in fact, I had listed my favorite show and movie as those with Jason Segel. For Rob to read my profile thoroughly enough to notice that, and also be confident enough to send a single sentence as the first message was intriguing.
After a few weeks of bantering back and forth through the website I decided that Rob had passed my screening for creeps and seemed like a genuinely nice and normal guy. He asked me out for dinner and I excitedly accepted the invitation. He picked a restaurant just down the street from me (don't worry, he didn't know it was just down the street from my place) and I was to meet him there at seven.
Naturally, I was stuck at work later than I had anticipated, came home and took Wilbur out and scrambled to get dressed. I threw on my leopard print shoes, a loud red scarf, huge gold earrings and ran out the door. As I scurried down the street I called Erin, willing her to answer the phone with every ring. She finally answered and knew that I was on my way to a date. I explained to her that I was super nervous but hadn't even had enough time to process it. I had to give up on my original plan of arriving twenty minutes early so I would be the approached, and instead I would be doing the approaching. I expressed my frustration with the situation.
"I don't want to have to walk up to him! He needs to find me. I need to be sitting at the bar and he needs to find me and walk up to me!"
"Well, you need to get over that. You're late."
"Ahhh! I know. Yikes. What time is it?"
"7:58."
"I only have two minutes to get there!* Maybe he'll be running late and I'll be there first. But I hope he isn't running late! I hate when people are late. I. Am. So. Nervous."
"Clearly. Get over it. You'll be fine. What are you wearing?"
"My leopard shoes."
"My sister has leopard shoes? Who are you? Did you go shoe shopping again?"
"Yes! And these shoes are awesome, you would be jealous. Your sister is more fashionable that you think."
"Ha. Fashionable? Well, okay. Have fun in your shoes. I gotta go."
"What?! You are going to leave your own sister freaking out and running to her date?"
"Yes. Have fun!"
I held the phone in my hand, obsessively checking the time as I speed walked the last few blocks. I checked the time just as I was walking in the door. I was only three minutes late. But I was completely out of breath. I put my telephone in my purse and tried to slow my breathing.
I walked into the restaurant and immediately saw Rob at the bar. He was cute, but nothing special. He looked exactly like his photos. Shoot. I was hoping he would look better than his photos.
Get over yourself, Meaghan. He could think the exact same thing about you.
I walked up to Rob just as the person on the bar stool next to him was leaving.
"Hi. Rob?"
"Yes! Meaghan, it's nice to meet you."
We awkwardly shook hands, I ordered a drink and we stayed at the bar for the few minutes until our table was ready.
The conversation during dinner was easier than any date I had been on so far, and I was pleasantly surprised. We chatted about our jobs, our families and the online dating stereotypes. I told him I had heard that one website was for people only interested in, well, the physical stuff. He told me that he heard if a girl sends a message first she must be crazy.
Uh oh. Maybe that was why I received so few responses from people I had messaged...
During dinner the conversation flowed as smoothly as the bottle of wine we split.
When we were finished we went down the street to another bar for another drink. I made it home much later than I anticipated with a smile on my face.
Two days later Rob asked me out again. I accepted, but I was hesitant. As wonderful as our conversation had been, I hadn't felt the spark I wanted and needed. Maybe that would come during the second date. I was hoping so.
To be continued...
*I know how to tell time. For my sister on the east coast it was 7:58, meaning that it was 6:58 for me in the Central Time Zone.
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