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 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!

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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!

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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!

I miss Paul

When I visited New Zealand I was going through a very tough time.  I was leaving Thailand, knowing that I had only 48 hours left with my best friends for more than 2 years.

Jennifer and I talked a lot.  She could clearly see the internal demons I was fighting.  I was struggling with emotions from all different continents, corners of the world and different relationships.  The first thing she addressed was the issue of Paul.  And to be perfectly honest, I don’t know if Paul reads this blog or not, but either way, it won’t change the story.  

Jennifer first asked me what the real relationship was between the two of us.  So, to clear the air for all of you wondering, (I like to pretend I have people following me out there) we are best friends.  From the moment we began spending time together, Christmas eve of 2009 to be exact, we were instant friends.  Something between us clicked.  We understood each other.  We understood each other’s sense of humor, and at times, lack thereof.  There was something about us that worked.  From the moment it happened, I was thrilled.  Yes, I had Koreana in my life, and living right next door nonetheless, but I craved male friendship.  I had spent the majority of my life having a male best friend, and I missed it.  Throwback to the years in grade 4 and 5 with Garret, 7 and 8 with Joey, 10, 11 and 12 with Kareem and Devin, university with Drew, and Dave when I would come home for the summers... Well, you see the pattern.  I always have a male best friend in my life.  And yes, while in the past I have had some trouble with mixing friendships with attraction, I have always had man friends, and I am still in contact with all of them.  

So when I arrived in Paekakariki and Jennifer said, “tell me about Paul” I responded as I would to anyone: “he is my best friend.”  

I told Jennifer a little about him, how we first met, where he is from, etc.  And for those of you who don’t know, he is from New Jersey.  Yes, as my mother said in her loudest, and most motherly voice, “you went all the way to Thailand to meet a boy from New Jersey?!”  Yes, I did.

After I finished the basic explanation, Jennifer waited, allowing me to finish my thoughts, hoping the silence would coax me to continue.  When I didn’t she asked, “is that it?”  I think she, just like everyone else in my life, thinks that he and I have had something more than just friendship going on.  She eventually broke the silence by saying, “well, from reading your blog, he clearly plays a huge role in your life.  I thought there was something more there.”  (Jennifer, please forgive me if I have misquoted you, but this is how I remember the conversation) 

She was right.  Jennifer was completely right.  He did play a huge role in my life.  He was my best friend.  He was my coworker.  He was my drinking buddy.  He was the owner of my Manao’s dog friend.  He was my business partner with the after school program.  He was my exterminator.  He was my Didine- eating, movie- watching companion.  He was my moving company.  He was my taxi company.  He was my voice of reason.  He was my voice of immaturity.  He was my everything.  Nearly.

Coming back to New York was thrilling.  I was beside myself when I was able to see Kareem again.  My eyes welled up with tears when I saw Devin.  And Dave, well, he made a few inappropriate comments, I blushed and told him he was embarrassing me, and we were back right where we had left off.  Now all of these boys are short phone call or text away; I don’t have to dial internationally, use precious minutes and  hold my breath for the off chance he may pick up the telephone.  But with Paul, I have to do all of those things.

I’m incredibly grateful to be back in the States and close to so many of my friends and family members, but I still miss Thailand.  And I still miss Paul.

Unfortunately, there are zero photos of the two of us.  So here is a dark, blurry and cropped PhotoBooth photo.  

We have better photos of our dogs than we do of ourselves.

I have a type

We cruised on Holland America.  Now, while it was absolutely fabulous, you need to know a few things about Holland America.  For one, the most common form of identification to get back on the ship is an AARP card.  Two, there are more than a handful of motorized wheelchairs on board.  Well, with those two facts alone you can easily see how many oldies are on board.  But, there is one fact that says it all: of the 2,100 passengers on board, there are only 78 between the ages of 18 and 34.  Hmmm...

Now, we all know that I am on a family vacation.  But, if my family of 6 makes up 3 of that statistic, and the fourth is underage in regards to, well, everything, then what does that leave?  I’ll tell you.  It leaves a handful of very awkward cousins who smuggled a small bottle of rum on the ship from Puerto Rico.  It also leaves a pair of brothers that like to dance.  Very nice boys, but nothing to write home about.  It also leaves a few 15 year old girls that have realized the dance club doesn’t enforce the 18 + rule, and they come out at night to booty pop.  

But don’t worry, readers, I found some cute boys.  I just also happened to find something out about myself: I have a type.  

The perfect example is a man I found to be quite attractive on our first day on the ship.  Yes, he was with his pregnant and waddling wife, but that didn’t stop me from noticing how cute he was and pointing it out to my mom and sister.  When my mom finally saw him, and after she had said that he looked old, she said, “he looks like everyone else you like.”  I didn’t know exactly what she meant, but I knew Cute Boy has a pregnant wife, so I kept looking.

I found DJ George.  DJ George is adorable.  He is unbelievably nice and engaging.  And while I know that is his job to chat with the passengers, he and I really enjoyed taking to each other.  He is the DJ at the dance club in the evenings and runs various musical activities on board throughout the day.  For example, Erin and I did cute DJ George’s line dancing activity by the pool.  We also played his game of Name That Tune.  

So prego’s husband and DJ George are the cute boys on board, and I started to understand what my mom meant.  I like tall boys.  I like brunette boys.  I like boys who always look put together, preferably those that consider polo shirts to be casual.  I like boat shoes.  I like khaki.  I like good haircuts.  I don’t like facial hair.  And by God, I love good teeth.  So there it is, Meaghan has a type.  Meaghan likes preppy brunettes.

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