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!

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.

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!

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.