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. 

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: Part Two

Continued from this post.

But for those of you that don't feel like catching up on past posts, let me recap:

1. I am catching up on forgotten posts.
2. Boy named Rob messages me.
3. Boy named Rob is not my boyfriend.
4. Boy takes me out to dinner and drinks.
5. Boy can make good conversation.
6. Boy asks me out again.
7. I accept said invite, but hesitate due to lack of chemistry.
8. I cross my fingers for sparks.

Rob was taking me out to dinner followed by dancing. He was going to pick me up in twenty minutes, and I was still debating what to wear. The jeans I was wearing made my butt look great, but maybe I should wear a dress instead. I put on a dress. I took off the dress. I put on my jeans again. Yes.

With my hair done, my awesome jeans, new necklace and rockin' patent leather heels, I was ready to go.

I met Rob downstairs and my heart sunk. He gave me an awkward one-armed hug and I cringed.

Come on, Meaghan! There is still potential here, give the poor guy a chance.

I stood on the sidewalk next to Rob looking for his car.

"Since we are so close, I thought we could walk to dinner."

I responded by saying, "sure. Sounds great!" When deep down I was thinking, are you kidding me?! You told me you were picking me up! Do you see my heels? It is at least half a mile to the restaurant. Don't get me wrong, I love a good walk, but again, did you see my heels?

And so we walked.

Well, he walked while I scurried, ran, jogged, speed walked and generally struggled to keep up with him and his short legs which managed to take extremely long strides.

We arrived at Sardine and were brought to our table. I had received tips from a coworker about what to get and had been salivating all day in anticipation, so I immediately ordered a drink and an appetizer. Rob ordered his own appetizer and drink and our table was instantly filled with food, drinks, conversation, and confirmation that I wasn't attracted to the man sitting across from me.

We shared a bottle of wine and ate an outrageous amount of delicious food while I hoped that the date would end immediately after dinner. I was not so fortunate.

Rob suggested we head up to the square to go dancing. And somehow, I couldn't say no. I don't know if it was the wine or my inability to simply tell Rob I wasn't interested, but next thing I knew, we were walking.

Rob walked the half mile uphill without an issue while I struggled to keep up. The road was uneven, the sidewalks were littered with cracks, and my incredibly high and brand new heels could not be classified as appropriate walking shoes. At one point Rob turned to me and asked if I wanted him to slow down.

I didn't even hide my frustration when I snapped, "Uhhh, yeah. That would be nice."

We finally made it to a great bar on the square and I made a beeline for the bartender. I ordered some fancy drink and didn't even offer to pay when we got the check. After the trek up the hill, I was not pleased with Rob and his lack of manners in the walking department. He didn't offer me an arm during the entire walk and ran across one of the streets before I was even with him, leaving me stranded on the other side. I decided that he could pay for my drink... all twelve dollars of it.

While we stood by a high table and sipped on our drinks the music switched from cocktail hour tunes to dancing jams. In a normal situation I would have loved to dance, but Rob beat me to it. The second he began dancing I knew how very over we were. I looked around the bar hoping to find chairs for us where I could keep him from doing whatever it was he was doing with his hips. When I couldn't find any I took another sip of my drink and excused myself to the bathroom.

I went to the bathroom, washed and lotioned my hands, primped, reapplied my lipstick, fixed my makeup, checked my email, considered leaving the bar on my own, decided against it, checked my OkCupid app, found a message from Bachelor Number 5, grinned from ear to ear, responded, checked my makeup again, and went back to my date.

It didn't take me very long for me to finish my drink. Rob asked if I wanted another. I told him that I needed to go home. I had a half-marathon training run in the morning and I just wanted to go home. I offered to go home on my own, but he told me that he would walk with me. I rolled my eyes at his misuse of the word 'walk' and started for the door.

When we got outside Rob offered me his arm. I gratefully took it thinking that I could slow him down while simultaneously using him for support as I navigated the sidewalks and streets downhill.

With Rob on my left we walked on the sidewalk heading back to my apartment. As people walked towards us in the opposite direction Rob moved to the right to give them room. What Rob failed to notice was that he was pushing me off the sidewalk. On a Saturday night, the sidewalks on the square are thoroughfares, and this night was no exception. With each approaching person I was sent dodging mailboxes, and traversing the grate around the planted trees, getting my heel caught only twice.

When I saw the group of four women coming towards us, I knew I was in trouble.

As Rob sidestepped to the right I held onto his arm and kept walking. But Rob moved over further.

Before I knew what had happened my heel was off the edge of the sidewalk and I was rolling in the gutter of the street with one shoe off and one shoe on. (Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John)

Rob stood above me on the sidewalk and before asking if I was okay or if he could help he said, "what happened?"

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

He offered me a hand, but I knew what help that had been, so I refused the help and got up on my own while the smoke billowed out of my ears. I stood up only to have to wait for the walk signal to change, giving me enough time to see the three corner bars and all of the smokers standing outside watching me.

One of the smokers called out, "nice job, dude! You're not getting any tonight!"

I was too angry to chuckle.

I ran across the street and down the hill, leaving Rob in my dust.

He caught up to me and walked next to me quietly the rest of the way home.

"That was unbelievably embarrassing."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed."
"Well, I am. And you should be too."

When we made it back to my building I thanked Rob for dinner and said goodnight.

And then he did it. He went in for a kiss! I was completely caught off guard, knowing that no man in his right mind would attempt to kiss me after a date like that. I did my very best to avoid it, and only partly succeeded. He got an awkward corner of my lip but mostly cheek and an overall signal that I wasn't interested.

I walked upstairs and changed his name in my telephone to "Curb Pusher."

Needless to say I woke up bruised. I had bruises on my knee, hip, butt and the heel of my hand. But I also woke up with a great story.

Next!

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!

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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!

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!