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.

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. 

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.

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…

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.

My One Year Anniversary

Can you believe it? It has been a full year since I moved back to the USA. I don't know if it feels like I just moved back yesterday, or if it feels as though I have been back in the States for years.

In one year my sister was accepted to Alvin Ailey (her audition was on 12/12), moved to New York City, got her learner's permit, transferred to Joffrey Ballet School and moved into a dorm room (without parental supervision) in Greenwich Village.

In one year my brother graduated from college, got an awesome job, moved to Wyoming and somehow became a grown-up.

My other brother, in one year, worked his tail off, spent his 13th summer at camp as a counselor and started going back to school.

My father moved to Abu Dhabi.

My mother has cleaned out the basement and the attic, replaced the roof, visited her three children in new homes and I'm sure I'm missing things...

Wilbur lost 7 pounds.

Tupper started eating a new brand of dog food.

As for me, I have lived in NYC, Saratoga Springs, and Madison. I worked in an amazing bakery and as a cabbie for models in Manhattan. I dabbled in online dating and snagged myself a fantastic boyfriend. Yes, friends I have boyfriend. I have a wonderful job that I am enjoying more and more every single day. I ran two half-marathons, raised a lot of money for Crohn's and Colitis Foundation, turned 25 and got bangs.

As I mentioned earlier, on one hand I think oh my gosh, has it already been one year? But on the other hand I can't help but think, all of this stuff... it's only been one year?

Happy 12/12/12!

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Happy Aaron Rodgers Day!

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Happy Hump Day!

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Happy Anniversary!

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Whatever you are celebrating, happy day to you!

 

Me? I'm celebrating wonderful memories from abroad, great opportunities in the US, and fantastic friends all over the world.

Dear Potential Suitor

Dear Potential Suitor,

You may have come across this blog by Googling me. You may have Stumbled Upon me or you may be madly in love with me from afar. Maybe you are a person from my past that closely follows my blog for no reason in particular or you might not even know me. There is a chance you could be doing some research after reading my incredible OkCupid profile and before sending me a message. No matter your reasons for ending up on this blog, I have something very important to tell all of you.

I am not a horrible person.

I realize that my recent Dating Game series of posts may come off on the verge of man eater status (especially the posts to come), but I promise this isn't the case.

I signed up for OkCupid with the very best of intentions: I want to meet people. Correction: I want to meet someone. The site came highly recommended by a few friends and I am new to the area. I don't have the time or energy to frequent bars in hopes of meeting the man of my dreams over dollar drafts.

When I wasn't fully invested in OkCupid, I removed myself from the site. I have been on the site, giving it my all in hopes of meeting that special someone. My hard work, witty messages and amazing photos paid off because I was asked on dates. This is where I would like to repeat: I am not a horrible person.

Every single date I went on, I went with the best of intentions. I went into every date with a perfectly planned outfit, minty breath, a powdered nose and a fresh application of lipstick or gloss (just as Melanie taught me to do back in high school). I went into every single date with butterflies in my stomach a racing heart and fidgety hands. I went into every date with nerves, excitement, anticipation, high hopes and high energy.

Every date I went on, I brought my A- game. I was on. I listened. I talked. I laughed. I questioned. And after every single date, I was exhausted. Dating is hard work. I go into every date wanting to give my date the chance he deserves.

So, potential suitor, don't be scared away by my writing. I write about what happens, and yes, everything I have written about has happened, but I change the names! Your identity is safe here. Date me, entertain me, and give me something to write about! Because yes, I will write about what we do. I will do everything in my power to make things work between us because I think you deserve that. And goodness knows, I know I deserve that! But sometimes things don't work out, and stories are created.

Potential suitor, I want to date you. I want to have fun stories to write about you. I want to have fun stories to write about us. I want to be so busy having fun with you that I don't have time to write. I want to have a really big crush on you. I want to walk my dog with you. I want to bake for you. Maybe I'll try to cook for you. Or better yet, maybe you will cook for me. I want to talk about my day at work with you. I want to not talk at all with you. I want to try something new with you. I want to not check my email with you. I want to go for bike rides with you. I want you to fix my sticky deadbolt for me. I want to drink wine with you. I want to let you drive me places- not after drinking the wine, of course. I want to laugh with you. I want to date you. As Jef-with-one-f Holmes from The Bachelorette would say, "I want to date you so hard."

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I think I would enjoy feeling a million emotions as well. Jef seems to be enjoying himself.


Love,

Meaghan

Bachelor Number 3

Bachelor Numero Tres: The Fizzler

There once was a boy named Caleb. Caleb sent me a message on OkCupid. His photo wasn't bad, his profile was better, and his witty messages won me over. When he finally worked up the courage to ask me out to dinner I happily agreed. And so, on a Wednesday night we met at Abuelo's. (Strike #1)

If you don't know Abuelo's: The Flavor of Mexico, I'm a little surprised. To put it simply, there are about 40 locations nationwide and they are often located directly next to a P.F. Chang's. Now don't get me wrong, for a chain restaurant, it's good. But we aren't in Bricktown in Oklahoma City. We are in Madison, a town with hundreds of small, interesting, and creative restaurants to choose from. Instead, Caleb chose an over sized Mexican restaurant with dishes on the menu named Salmon Santa Cruz and Durango Burrito, with an entire page labeled Fajitas Fabulosas.

I got myself in the car, drove the 25 minutes out to Middleton, and got off the highway to find Abuelo's sandwiched between a Ruth's Chris Steak House, P.F. Chang's and Quaker Steak & Lube. I went inside and was not at all surprised to find how large everything was. Similar to the humongous horses of P.F. Chang's, or the 25-foot ceilings in The Cheesecake Factory, everything in Abuelo's was over sized. There was a fountain in the middle of the restaurant, and I will conservatively estimate that it was 12 feet in diameter.

I pulled my favorite move, showed up for the date about 15 minutes early, sat at the bar and ordered a drink. I ordered a Dos Equis. I felt like a child having a tea party with my parent's glassware, too large for my hands, when the bartender handed me the hugest beer in the heaviest glass I have ever felt. Great. Now I am going to look like some kind of crazy drinker when Mr. Number Three shows up and sees my swimming pool of beer. I sipped slowly, using both hands, of course.

Caleb was ten minutes late. (Strike #2)

I checked my telephone. The text message read: "I'm here. Let me know when you get here." I quickly glanced around the empty room, triple-checking the faces of the twelve patrons crazy enough to drive to Middleton to eat while being scattered around "The Flavor of Mexico." No, I didn't see Caleb. I texted him back: "I'm sitting at the bar."

Thirty seconds later, he walked through the doors.

He walked up to the bar introduced himself and said, "I was sitting in my car waiting for you to get here."

Sitting in your car? What a weirdo! You couldn't have walked inside alone?! 

Let it go, Meaghan. Give him a chance. Give him a chance. Be nice.

"Oh, haha. I have been here for a little while and I didn't check my phone! Whoops! Let's get a table."

We walked around the gigantic fountain while I carefully cradled my pool of beer with two hands. We sat down in a booth large enough to hold a party of ten comfortably and the waitress handed us our gigantic menus. Before I could look at the dishes offered I thought about what kind of printer must be used to print the menus. Does each restaurant have their own printer? How much would a printer like that cost? What size paper is this? Huge by Exceptionally large? Do they special order the paper?

Caleb was talking.

I snapped out of my concern with eating in a restaurant designed for giants, and started participating in the date.

The conversation flowed well, but not impressively. Caleb has a college education, a good job, a good family, friends, and he lives at home. Red flag! Red flag! 27 and living at home? And why? Because his lease ended and he decided to save money by living at home? Where do his parents live? Over 45 minutes outside of Madison! (Strike #3)

I ate way too much Mexican food, as the portions were scaled to match the menus, fountains and general decor. And when we embraced in an awkward one armed side hug outside of the restaurant I realized that through all of my outrageous judgements Caleb had managed to come out the other side unscathed and not half bad. We said goodbye, went to our respective cars and drove the twenty-five minutes home in opposite directions.

Within forty minutes I had a text message from Caleb telling me he had a great time.

Fifteen minutes later he asked me on a second date.

The invitation made me smile, so I said yes. (Apparently in my game, you are allowed more than three strikes)

When the day of our second date came around I was very excited to see him again. After a week of exchanging text messages I was looking forward to giving Caleb a second chance. I am always extremely nervous for dates and I'm sure I don't act like myself, maybe we both needed a second chance to see how things would go. Obviously living at home with his parents was a big no-no, but for the right guy, maybe even I could make an exception. Maybe.

At 10:37 am I received a text message.

"I'm so sorry, but I won't be able to do dinner tonight. I stayed home from work. I'm really sick. I'm sorry."

Shoot!

When he sent the text, I was really bummed. I had been looking forward to the date.

After that, we continued texting, he asked me out to dinner again, but the night he asked me I already had plans (read: another date).

I never made an effort to plan another night or text him back with any type of urgency or consistency. Texting is terrible. Then you put only one date into the relationship, and the texting is borderline painful.

Over the next week and some change the texts became less frequent. The last one he sent me was one week ago. I never responded.

The Fizzler.

Next!

Bachelor Number 2

Welcome back to The Dating Game!

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In case you missed the first post in this series, Bachelor #1 was less than impressive. That sums that up. Moving right along...

Bachelor #2: The Musician

After three weeks of OkCupid messages, I bit the bullet and asked Ken if he would like to meet me for drinks. (Side note: when I told this story to Stephen, Maureen, John, and Jane, John smacked my hand when he heard I asked a boy out.) Ken accepted my invitation, and at my suggestion, we met at The Coopers Tavern, a bustling beer place on the square. I had never been to Coopers before, but when I arrived thirty minutes early, I was pleasantly surprised by the ambiance and please I had taken my office mate's recommendation 

I sat at the bar, ordered a beer and immediately eyed a very attractive man sitting kitty-corner from me. He wasn't the person I was meeting, but I couldn't help think that I wouldn't mind being stood up.

Fifteen minutes after our scheduled meeting time (which he had pushed back by an hour earlier in the day) I was still sitting at the bar, nursing my beer. I begrudgingly took out my telephone and as though it was magic, received a text message. Ken wrote: "I'm here. Where r u?"

The text speak made my hair stand on end. The fact that he didn't see the girl he was looking for, the girl who was sitting directly in front of the door looking exactly like her photo made me want to walk out (or scoot closer to cute kitty-corner boy). And the fact that he was 15 minutes late, well, we won't go there. I responded to the message: "I'm sitting at the bar- close to the front door."

Ken The Musician came from the back room and sat down in the empty chair next to me. My heart sank. His photos online must have been some strain of glamour shots, or of his extremely attractive twin brother, because he didn't look nearly as handsome in real life. Ken ordered a beer and the chatter began. As it turns out, he doesn't have a European accent. He wasn't born in some far off land of amazing accents and stories, he was born in small town Wisconsin. Online lie #1. When I asked where he was born and heard his response I said, "hmmm, that isn't in Europe" and I finished my beer.

To keep the conversation rolling, and to give the Online Liar another chance, I asked what type of music he taught at the university. I told him that I had taken piano lessons for fun in college, and absolutely loved it. His response was, again, less than impressive. "Well, technically I don't teach at the university. I am a substitute accompanist for the ballet classes. They only need me once or maybe twice a semester. Sometimes I teach kids too. Oh, and I go to Nashville a lot to play gigs." Online lie #2.

For some crazy reason I decided to give this boy one more chance. I asked Ken where he saw his career in five years. When he told me he had no desire to accomplish any more than he already had, I was ready to walk out. A liar without any dreams or goals? No, thank you. I didn't immediately jump up from my chair, giving Ken enough time to ask me about NYC. I had recently received a call from Phillipe asking me to return for fall fashion week, at the models' request, so I told him about my time working with the models. I told him that I was responsible for chauffeuring very famous Chinese models around. I told him "I know nothing about fashion, so I was shocked to find out how influential these women are in fashion!" Ken gave me the side eye, interrupted me, and in a quite accusatory tone said, "you aren't into fashion? Really? That's not what it looks like."

Oh no you dih-int!

{source}

You did not just accuse me of being fashionable and make it out to be a bad thing! I will take that as a compliment, and I will be on my way, sir.  

I glanced at my watch, realizing that being in bed would be far more productive and enjoyable than this conversation. It didn't take long for the evening to wrap up, although Ken The Lying Musician couldn't seem to take the hint of my clock-watching. I think he finally understood when I said, "gosh, look at the time! I have a very early morning tomorrow, I should really be heading home." 

We walked out of Coopers and I took a left toward my car. When we hit the corner I thanked Ken for the drink, kept my arms crossed, and crossed the street. I got into the car knowing that I would need to go back to Coopers, but not with Ken. I also knew that the feeling was mutual, and there would be no second date.

Three days later I received a text:

"It was really great to meet you. I enjoyed our time together. Would you like to go out again next week?"

What? Heck no! Were you not on that date?! It was terrible!

Side eye. {source}

My response:

"Thank you so much for taking me out, it was nice to meet you as well. Unfortunately, I didn't feel the connection that I was hoping for. I don't want to lead you on by going out again."

Next!

There are highs and there are lows

I may have upset a few people with my post about making friends. One person, who will remain nameless, called me for clarification. The post upset her for a few reasons. It made her sad to think that I was struggling with making friends. The post also resonated with her, and her current situation in a new place, trying to make friends. The post must have come off more sad than I had intended.

Yes, I am trying very hard to make friends in this area. And no, it isn't easy in any way, shape or form. But, I am doing my best to enjoy the ride.

With that said, I will admit that there are highs and lows. The past two weeks, in general, have been really great. I have been very busy with work and various social commitments. This weekend I was excited at the prospect of laundry, cleaning, yoga, and studying. Sure enough, Saturday afternoon rolled around and I found myself sitting in the parking lot of Bed Bath & Beyond in tears. I received this email from my mom:

The tears that had slowly been filling up my eyes during the week spilled right over the edge and onto my cheeks in the parking lot.

I intended for this post to have a much happier tone than the last, but unfortunately, today isn't one of the highs. I have had plenty of highs since moving to Madison, but today isn't one of those days. I want a hug. I think I'll have to settle for making cookies to mail to someone, in hopes of making his or her day a high.

How do adults make friends?

I'm trying really, really hard, but at the end of the day, I'm all alone.

Moving to a new city is very challenging.  I don't have any friends.  I have been through more emotional highs and lows than one would experience on a roller coaster.

Last week was great!  I was very busy.  I had rowing in the mornings, an ice cream date with coworkers, trivia night, and an online dating date. 

I was thrilled for the long weekend and the prospect of sleeping in and relaxing.  Saturday morning I rowed, took Wilbur for a long walk and then treated myself to a Groupon pedicure.  Immediately after my pedicure I went to buy myself speakers for my apartment.  Unfortunately, I walked into Old Navy first.  There were tons of sales going on (and a very attractive employee encouraging me to try on more items) and I got a little carried away.  Needless to say, I am still using my computer speakers to listen to music, but I am rockin' a great new top right now.

After my little shopping spree I headed to Capitol Square to work at Taste of Madison.  I was volunteering with the Jaycees at one of the beer tents.  I had researched the group at my mother's recommendation and signed up for the first activity I could.  I showed up to the beer tent in an awesome new pair of pants ready to serve some beer, enjoy the vocal stylings of Mr. Kix Brooks of Brooks and Dunn, and meet some new friends. 

Four hours later I had a minor crush on a repeat beer buyer with a perfect smile, and plans for an evening out with the Jaycees.  We traveled in a pack to a nearby brew pub for cheese curds and beer before going to the one and only nightclub in town, if you could even call it that.  I walked home a little after midnight to find Wilbur sleeping on my bed.  His plan for me to come home too late and too inebriated to notice was a failure, and he was immediately scolded and sent to his own bed.

The next morning I pried the pup out of his bed and for a walk so I could report to half marathon training before 9 am.  I ran my prescribed 4 miles and hung around for a while after the run in hopes of sparking an amazing friendship with one of my fellow trainees.  I was home before 11 am without any new BFFs. 

Wilbur and I took another walk, sans headphones and sunglasses, with the intention of locking eyes with anyone awesome and starting a great conversation, and naturally, a lifelong friendship.

We were home within an hour.

I vacuumed my apartment, cleaned my bathroom and kitchen, listened to music from my telephone horn and eventually got ready for the Day Before Labor Day Barbecue I was invited to.

An iPhone horn.  It only costs about $5 and it is really awesome.  If you can't control your spending at Old Navy and therefore don't buy yourself real speakers, I highly recommend this.  It's also really great for using in the bathroom when you take a shower. 

With the top down and my passenger seat empty I sang my heart out all the way to the middle of nowhere for the barbecue.  I brought my standard brownies and impressed the crowd with my Wisconsin beer.  Beer chicken, buffalo dip, tomato mozzarella salad, and many conversations later, I drove home.

Monday morning I was ecstatic to wake up, see the clock read 6:04 am and turn over.  After 10 am I jumped out of bed with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.  With nothing on the agenda and an amazing night of sleep under my belt, the day was destined for greatness.  Wilbur and I walked the long way to the dog park.  No amazing connections were made on the way there, but the small pack of humans at the park looked promising. 

While awkwardly standing and watching our dogs sniff each other's butts, we humans laughed and made small talk.  My phone buzzed in my pocket.  A text message.

Heather sent a mass text that her surgery was scheduled. 

I hadn't finished reading when the only person that regularly calls me started flashing across my screen.

"Hi, Mom."

I clipped the leash to Wilbur and we left the park. 

After my mom accompanied me on my walk home and asked me more questions about Heather's surgery than I could answer, I was back in my air conditioned apartment and all alone again. 

I spoke to Heather just last week and she told me surgery was the next step, but having a date scheduled made it real.  My heart hurt.  My heart hurt for Heather.  I wanted a distraction from my racing head and hurting heart, but I didn't have one.  My day was open, and I was all alone in Madison.  I am always alone in Madison.

So this is where I ask for audience participation!  How is an adult to make friends in a new city?  I have been trying all sorts of things and I still haven't found that person or those people, so any advice will be welcomed with open arms.  How am I to make friends?

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!

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.

{source}

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.

One week down...

... and ? more to go.

I may have only worked four days, but I can honestly say I'm loving it!  And I'm loving more than just my job.  I'm loving my apartment.  I love the location, the size, the kitchen, and, oh, I could go on.  I am loving the people I work with.  My office mate is fantastic.  He is a University of Wisconsin Madison graduate and knows all the secrets of the town.  He also has lots of friends in the area: score!  I am also loving Madison in general.  People are so friendly here.  And everyone loves Wilbur, so that is a fantastic conversation starter.  (Maybe he'll score me a date?  Fingers crossed...)

But don't worry, it isn't all rainbows and unicorns.  And I am not looking at the world through rose colored glasses. 

My apartment is incredible, but I don't know if it is mine yet.  My mortgage is still pending.  So, at the moment I am renting the apartment on a nightly basis in hopes of closing on the 16th.  All of my things were delivered by the moving company on Friday.  This is amazing!  .... except for the mortgage.  Now, if I don't get this apartment, I have 2,000 pounds of stuff I have to move in a very small car.  With all of my stuff in my apartment I was psyched to begin the process of unpacking, but once again I don't have my mortgage.  So do I really want to unpack everything and repack in two weeks?  Nope, not exactly.  For the time being, I have unpacked a few dishes, my DVD player and more clothing.  I also found my roller blades and my iron, so I'm set for a while. 

Oh, and my things arrived, but from the two boxes I have opened, my moving company is not on my good side.  I found one broken wine glass, one broken baking pan and a broken picture frame.  I did all of my own packing, so I didn't want to blame those things on them.  But then I noticed two of the four corners on my dining room table are completely chipped and there is a massive scratch on the leaf for the table.  My dresser has a huge chunk taken out of its foot and one of the feet on my bookcase is falling off.  I know my things had to travel 1,000 miles, but, really?  Don't you carefully put it on a truck, drive, and then carefully take it off the truck?  That's what I think a moving company should do...

Luckily I don't own anything of significant value.  My dressers are who knows how old, and the bookcase was from Target in high school.  But, I still care!  I have always tried to keep my things in good condition, and I hate that they look like this now.  The biggest chip on my shoulder is the dining room table.  It's a gorgeous table my mom gave me.  It is a really nice table that she doesn't have a home for anymore.  And it isn't cheap or old!  And now it has a massive scratch and chips.  Total bummer. 

But what are you gonna do? 

That was a real question. 

What was I to do?  When the movers came to pick up my things they wrapped and packaged my furniture as they saw appropriate.  So how was I to keep this from happening?  As much as I love Madison, I do believe that I will move again in my life.  I don't plan on dying a crazy old dog lady in this apartment, so how do I keep my furniture from being destroyed?  Any suggestions?

Okay, enough with the furniture chatter.

Madison is fantastic.  Life is looking good. 

Now, I'm going to do some of my homework before taking Wilbur to the water ski show on the lake.  And maybe treat myself to some ice cream?  Yes, I think so.

Day One in Numbers

Time I woke up: 5:15 am
Time Wilbur broke up (grumpily): 5:23
Miles I walked with Wilbur: 2.6
Time it took to drive to work: 23 minutes
Time I parked in the Yoda lot: 7:07 am
Number of July new hires: 360
Number of new hires in my same job: 5
Number in the TU incoming class when I entered: 780
Number of new hires in the smaller, more intimate class: 90
Number of students in my largest class at TU: 67
Hours spent in class: 6
Cups of coffee consumed by me: 1.5
Number of times I signed my signature: 7
Buildings I entered on campus: 8
Wrong turns I took: too many to count
Hours spent away from home: 11
New computers I have and need to learn: 2
Number of seats in the current auditorium on campus: 5,700
Number of seats in the new auditorium (still under construction): 13,000
Beers drank after work (with Wilbur): 2
Time I went to bed: 9:30 pm

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a guest in town!  Cait!!  We are going out with my new work friends for a few drinks and then spending tomorrow enjoying Madison.  I'm loving this city...

This one time...

This one time, a new month was about to begin, June of 2012 to be exact, and I had nothing planned.  I knew I would have lots of free time, so I promised to blog every single day.  Then, before I knew it, I took two trips to New York City to work, one trip to Annapolis/ Baltimore, a trip to Maine, and I moved.  The next thing I knew I was all alone in Madison, Wisconsin, and it was July.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is July.  And I failed miserably with my month of blogging.  When I realized that June had suddenly gotten out of control (and I received a text encouraging me to give up the lame posts) I decided to stop until I had the time.

Here I am, blogging from my new apartment, in my new city, on the eve of beginning my new job!  Yay!

I am absolutely thrilled to begin work tomorrow.  And for some reason, I don't feel very nervous.  I don't want to jinx myself, but I am feeling quite good about tomorrow.  I guess it helps that I already have the job.  The night before the interview, I was a complete mess!

It is 9 pm here (an hour earlier than the east coast) and I'm going to try to sleep.  I have a very early morning tomorrow, and I want to be all bright eyed and bushy tailed for work! Yay!  I can't believe I actually get to say that!

Hopefully I will have nothing but great things to tell you tomorrow evening.  Well, sometimes the not-so-great things make the best stories, so hopefully I'll have a few of those to throw in as well.

Until then, goodnight from Wisconsin!

-Meaghan (and Wilbur)

I'm so excited!!

First of all, let me apologize for the formatting. I am borrowing my mom's iPad for a few days, and it does not like paragraphs or tabs... I am really excited for Madison. Correction: I am really, really, really excited for Madison. Last week my dad and I went out to visit and to find a place for me to live. I had us booked with a few different apartment showings on the first day we arrived.  Some were better than others.  But after two full days of searching, visiting and deciding, I found a place! It is absolutely beautiful and in the most perfect location! The apartment is on Williamson Street, or Willy Street, as it is affectionately known by the people of Madison.  Directly below my apartment is an Apple store with a very nice selection of products and male employees!  Across the street is a coffee shop.  A few doors down from me is a cafe. There is a pet supply store one block east and a delicious restaurant with an impressive happy hour one block west. Behind my apartment runs a bike trail. And two blocks south is the beach. Come on! Does it get any better? While in town we went to multiple restaurants and multiple happy hours.  The food was delicious and the beer was awesome.  One morning my dad had duck confit hash, and I thought he was going to change his mind and skip Abu Dhabi for Madison.  The beer took his love of Madison to a whole new level. On Wednesday morning we headed out to Verona to visit the Epic campus. I had forgotten how big and amazing it was! And with the weather in our favor we were able to explore the grounds more than I had during my interview. We took a self- guided tour and explored places that I had not yet seen! There is an entire wing modeled after New York City! It is complete with a delicatessen, subway car, and even a rat! My dad was clearly overwhelmed by the campus and referred to it as Disney World a few times.  I only became more excited for my move.  I can't wait to find more hidden treasures in the office, to be able to work in such an interesting and creative environment. Three different moving companies came to my house to give me quotes for the move.  And after approval from Epic, everything is booked!  Yes, I'm a little nervous, but mostly, I'm just excited for June 26! Two days of driving before setting up my new life in the land of cheese.   I'm excited just writing about it! And please come out to visit me! I plan on getting an awesome pull out couch, so guests will always be more than welcome! Is it June 26th yet?!