Eating Crow

Brave Guy 8 and I are walking down the street- strained small talk, and I can’t figure out why he hasn’t told me he doesn’t want to see me anymore- I’ve already deleted his number from my phone and although I appreciate him doing this in person the tension is building and it’s almost painful for me at this point.
I keep flashing back to the last blog post- a blog I know he reads…
Queue the dread.
I keep wondering why he hasn’t just ditched me yet…
He asks how I’ve been…
And it’s all I can take.
“I’m kind of annoyed at you actually…”
The total shock on his face gives me pause.
I think there might have been a slight over reaction… I may have gone from 0-60 without looking… I might have possibly been, ever so slightly, premature in my assumptions...
My neurosis could have come out of hiding and waved their war banners, stomped their feet and gnashed their teeth for no reason what so ever…
And Ms. K could have been right.
“Umm… so, have you read the blog lately?”
He hasn’t- He pulls out his I-phone and starts typing in the web address.
“NO- Stop!” Oh crap this is bad. “Ok, so I hadn’t heard from you… and I thought… (insert verbal diarrhea regarding my insecurities here)…”
He’s shocked… apologetic for the misunderstanding and now reading the blog in front of me. I’m mortified.
He chuckles at something as he scrolls though the page and then…
“You deleted my number?!”
(Insert more incoherent babbling on my part here)
Then the most shocking thing of all happens.
He puts his phone back in his pocket, smiles over at me and says, “It’s ok, I understand- I’ve done it too.”
Just like that everything is fine again.

Sugar on the Phone...

I’ve made a mistake.
Not entirely sure what it was, or when it happened, but as I stand here rolling out cookie dough and glaring at my cell phone I realize I’ve clearly made a mistake.
When actually calling someone you don’t expect to talk to them all that often so if you leave a message and don’t get a response right away it’s no big deal.
Yesterday I checked my voice mail. One from my mother and one from the lovely Ms. K... Ms. K will call back when she can and we will eventually catch up with each other- no sweat. My mom will call at some ungodly hour of the morning because she knows she will reach me (she’ll blame waking me up on the two hours time difference). I also had a call from my boss (“To delete, press 7”) and I have a missed call from my little brother (he doesn’t leave messages- ever) and I’ll call him back when he gets back from his business trip.
If you are seeing someone, and don’t have a message from them for a few days- it’s no big deal.
On the other hand, you may not know things aren’t going well for days.
When I didn’t ever text message it was easier.
My current mistake becomes strikingly apparent because we haven’t been communicating via phone, but via text. So when his text messages went from a “Hi! How are you?” with frequent responses back and forth every day to a brief response 24-48hrs after I’ve sent a question, unlike an un-returned phone call, problems becomes apparent very quickly.
Yep, something definitely happened.
Deep down, I suspect it’s something I’ve done (More serious than that polyester mini-dress I bought at H&M- and then lost the receipt for- trust me when I say that was a huge floral print mistake), but I couldn’t tell you what it was.
I find myself starting to make excuses… maybe his phone isn’t… well I’m sure he’s busy working on… aliens..?
But that doesn’t last long and I fall back on my ol’ stand by of “Well he’s just not interested…”
I still have that nagging feeling that it was something I did.
I’m left to wonder what it was.
In a somewhat rash “band-aid ripping” move, I delete his number.
After all, it wasn’t as though either one of us was looking to jump into a relationship… we were just enjoying each other’s company… If he wants to hang out, he still has my number. (Ms. K is- as usual appalled by this move and begs me to write it down somewhere before I hit delete).
I hate text messages.
(But just in case I’m wrong there are ten digits on a slip of paper in my Joy of Cooking)

Being Open...

This was written after two dates with Brave Guy 8.

Brave Guy 8 and I have had a few awkward moments at this point. I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m too shy, too closed off (we’ll leave that one alone for the moment) or he’s just super open.
The other day he asked me about other people I might be seeing, what other plans I had for the 100 dates and about date Guy 9 date 96 in particular.
I can only imagine the deer in headlights look I gave him.
Found myself looking for an escape rout…
I didn’t really know what to say- something slightly unintelligible came out of my mouth about keeping options open…
I absolutely didn’t want to talk about it.
He on the other hand, seemed completely comfortable with the topic- even mentioned the date he was going on a few nights later.
Cough... Sputter... Ok...
So I understand we aren’t in a committed relationship- and I’m all for honesty. I also understand that Brave Guy 8 doesn’t want me to get the wrong idea about what’s going on here and I respect that… but I’m not really sure I want to have it as a regular topic of conversation.
Is this denial? Is not wanting to talk about it going to come back and bite me in the ass? Is it sticking my head in the sand?
And what is he going to think when I change the subject every time he brings it up?

Things Left Un-Posted

My Posts have been crap lately.
After writing and re-writing and writing again I’ve been left with a series of unsatisfying blurbs- unsatisfying to write and unsatisfying to read.
I was on the phone yammering about baking cookies and my loathing of text messages when Ms. K finally called me on it.
“Why aren’t you writing about that?”
“Well things have changed I guess…”
“Sure, two people have started reading the blog- one you aren’t speaking to, the other…” In my head Ms. K is sitting on a couch, cozy sweater, perfect jeans, argyle socks, looking like she fell out of a J-Crew add. I can almost see her shrug her shoulders over the phone. “Besides, you always feel better when you write...”
She has a point.
So here are some things written, but left un-posted…

99 Luftballons

Two farmer’s markets, a hockey game, a bar in Oakland, an evening of “Arrested Development”, 20 songs on a juke-box, another walk through Berkley, playing with pets, a questionable card game, the discovery of “Grout Puns” and an Iron Chef competition later (I now know how much winter squash can two people can eat), I’ve gone on dates 97, 98 and date 99 (I’ve been busy). So has Brave Guy 8.
I’m not sure any of the dates were intended to cover as much as they did (frankly I’m not sure either one of us figured we would go one more than one date together), but considering the fact that I had planned date 94 to be a quick trip to the Seward Slides- I’m hardly going to complain about hanging out with a fun and interesting guy more than once.
And I have one more date- as of yet unplanned- until I reach the illusive 100.
The more I think about it, the less I want to make it a big deal, after all, I had hoped to have come to some profound insight by this point.
I haven’t.
I had hoped to have found myself in a serious long term relationship.
Although there have been moments of potential over the past year, that hasn’t happened either.

I'm shockingly OK with the way things have turned out.

I have learned about parts of the city I might not have otherwise seen, discovered I enjoy going out, and realized I have some neurotic tendencies... I know that comes as a surprise.

As for Date 100- Ms. K thinks I should do something I’ve always wanted to do on a date (Sky Diving? Dinner in Paris? Underwater Basket weaving?). Although the possibilities are limitless, I can’t think of anything I’ve ever really wanted to do on a date.
Brave Guy 8 thought I should call up all previous dates and have one massive date hopping evening- he even said he’d play along with it- but frankly there were a few in the bunch best left back in the past.

Ms. R thought I should plan some sort of "Flash-Mob" date- frankly I'm not sure I'm cool enough for that but it could make an interesting YouTube video.

I'm open to other suggestions...

Now that I think about it "being open" could also be added to the list of things I've learned.

Sequins and My Bad Attitude

Have you ever bitten down on a piece of aluminum foil? There’s this flash of shock when you realize something isn’t right almost the exact moment your teeth hit it. The scrape of foil against the side of your tongue, the metallic taste and the influx of saliva and slight ache from the back of your front teeth, a sudden pitch in your stomach and the sound, this foreign crunch and crackle; it’s a jolt.
But it’s just a bit of foil.
Your body’s reaction to it is sort of ridiculous. Chances are you’ve bitten down on foil before. No harm usually comes from it.
But your reaction (or at least my reaction), always seems to be the same.
Brave Guy 8 canceled on me- he isn’t feeling well. It’s happened before- one other time with him, but more importantly, it’s happened with other guys I’ve dated.
My reaction is always (at least at this early and somewhat casual stage of the game), the same- I forget about previous experiences, great past dates, fun conversations...
There is slight ache from the back of my front teeth… a sudden pitch in my stomach…
Leading smoothly into a toss of the hair, the raise of an eyebrow, pursed lips, and the astounding ability to look down my nose even the tallest of men…
Then a very terse “Umm… Seriously?”.
Can you feel the sarcasm dripping off those two little words like acid?
I’ve never considered myself high maintenance but in a moment like this my inner diva comes on so fast it would make Diana Ross jealous.
Frankly, even though I try to tamper it, even though I know it's a total over reaction- it’s gotten me into trouble more times than I’d like to admit.
A harmless scrape of foil against the side of my tongue…
My own bit of aluminum foil in the teeth…

Date 96 Guy 9

Guy 9 lives down the street. After two years of hello’s and nods on the train he asked for my number last week I was surprised- but gave him my e-mail address instead. A week later, asked me for coffee and I hesitantly accepted. He seems fragile and inexperienced- socially awkward. He’s not an unattractive guy and I’m left to wonder what’s going on.
So when I met him for coffee two things become very clear. I have the feeling he does not get out much. And he’s really nervous.
He wears a leather jacket and matching leather cap pulled low over his wire frame glasses and he has on a tie. He won’t make eye contact and he laughs with a jolting bark at almost everything I say- it feels forced on his part and it makes me uncomfortable. I manage to pull out of him a little information- he likes to go rock climbing, he went to school to be a sommelier but it just doesn’t seem to be working out- he doesn’t like wine, and serving people makes him angry. When I politely inquire about other things I find apparently a lot of things make him angry. I’m not feeling inclined to open up so I keep asking him questions- he doesn’t seem to notice that I’m not talking about myself at all- fine.
We lapse into silence toward the end. He still hasn’t looked me in the eye and I don’t feel much like putting in the effort to make him feel comfortable any more.
I finish my coffee- he finishes his.
I thank him and leave.
I’ll probably see him on the train again soon. We’ll be back to hello’s and nods.

Late Night Thoughts

Something changed. I might be able to pin-point it to breaking up with Mr. Burly, but even before that I was having bad moments. As it turns out, I have gotten used to the company of another.
It may be that I just miss him. His dry sense of humor, his bright blue t-shirt, the sound of his voice, his smell.

Funny, it’s the smell that gets me more than anything. When we were dating I expected it. It made me smile. Now it sneaks up on me- a moment of memory hitting me simultaneously in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach- none of the anger, or reasons why we broke up, just that ache of being without.

Tonight, it was a sweater I was putting into the laundry- the act of pulling it from the basket seemed to dislodge just the enough of his scent to throw me, make me hurt for more… when I pulled the soft fabric to my face, that scent was impossible to find again. Gone.

As I started to put the sweater into the wash it occurred to me it was probably the last thing I had that still had him on it. It made me feel even more alone.
I have moments- more frequently than I’d like to admit, when the thought of going out with someone else makes me cringe. Not because I don’t want to spend time with someone, not because I don’t enjoy spending time with a guy and getting to know him a bit- I like that part. No, it’s because in the moments when I’m alone, when I’m not in the date that I'm left to wonder what I’m doing.
So tonight I’m not out with someone, I’m just left to my thoughts and a memory of what it would smell like if someone was there.
I looked down at the washing machine, the water- almost finished pouring in, it looked full… maybe tonight it’s too full for one more sweater... maybe tonight I need the company...
We’ll see how I feel about it tomorrow.

Bring on the Queso!

When I mentioned where I was planning on going that evening my roommate literally gasped.
“Why on earth would you go down there?”
His faced wrinkled in horror because there are parts of town where locals just don’t go. There are some areas so frightening, just the mention of them strikes fear and revulsion into the heart of those who live in the city. An area the residents of San Francisco avoid with such single minded determination that most may have only stumbled there, “Once, years ago when I was trying to watch the fireworks…”
Guy 8 didn’t seem to bat an eye when I mentioned my plan- but he is from outside the city and may not have realized the horror I was about to subject him too. I’ve decided he’s very brave.
We were headed into the heart of Tourist Central.
Tourists as far as the eye can see- old ones, young ones, foreign and domestic, they all seem to show up wide eyed and cold (because they think they are in California -isn’t it always warm in California?), to see some of the historic sights- of which there are in reality only two (and I don’t think anyone pays attention to them).
So we played tourist. We went to an arcade- I got my butt handed to me in the worlds fastest game of air hockey. On the plus side I managed to hold my own on ski-ball (till the very end) and our combined ticket pile got us one temporary tattoo- a tooth gnashing dinosaur. Off to a museum of the odd filled with… well an odd mix of believe-it-or-not stories, wax figures and cheese-tastic pranks that had us both a little jumpy- ok had me a little jumpy but it was a nice excuse to hold hands again. Off to Indian food at one of my favorite spots (sports bar/curry house/Irish Pub), with a fantastic beer menu. Brave Guy 8 sat next to me rather than across the table (there is something very appealing about flirting with someone next to you while munching on Tikka Masala- I had no idea!).
And then we went for a walk.
And he kissed me.
And said he wanted to see me again.
I know, I know- after I dragged him into Tourist Central too!
Like I said, he’s very brave.
As for the temporary tattoo, I’m toying with putting it on as a tramp-stamp – I’m classy like that…

Coffee Talk

"You are seeing him again, right?"

"Well..."

"You have too!" "Oh Yes!" "He sounds sooo sweet!"

"Yes, he..."

The truth is I really don't know these women very well and I'm not totally comfortable spilling my guts to them (I know, I know, I write a blog- I spill my guts to anyone who wants to read it...). Lucky for me they really aren't interested in an answer.

"Did he call?" "Or Text?" "He didn't just send an e-mail did he?" "Oh that would be the brush-off." "Never text- too much opportunity for misinterpretation..."

"I..."

"Don't you think you're a little old for him?" " Leave her alone, your husband is six years younger!" "She's right, don't be so Age-est!"

"Oh god... ugh..."

Three sets of eyes stare at me from around the table...

"My dates this year..."

They blink...

"Well..."

They lean in... half a croissant crushes between the table and Mrs. R's t-shirt.

She doesn't even notice. Ms S nods her head as if encouraging me to continue. The future Mrs. E tilts her head to the side. Coffee cups poised mid-air.

I blink back- not really sure what to say. Maybe it's time for a change of tactics...

"We were going to go out tonight, but something came up..."

I realize this is the wrong tactic as soon as it's out of my mouth.

Here comes the look... Mrs. R's eyebrows go up, Ms. S makes a pained expression and the future Mrs. E whispers "Oh..." like she just stepped in something unmentionable...

Maybe, if I'm lucky the floor will swallow me.

"Well I'm sure it's nothing..." "These things happen all the time!" "You are Soooo cute and super fun... if it doesn't work out you'll can always..."

They laugh, nod at each other as if they've said something wise. Mrs R brushes crumbs off her blouse and I notice a grease spot in the green silk.

"Your hair looks fantastic!" "Sooo fantastic..." "Oh, thank you- I had it done yesterday..."

And just like that- I'm off the hook.

Date 94, Guy 8

I’ve never been known as a rebel. Sure, I’m comfortable in gray areas but a rule breaker? No. I like rules- even the ones I bend-because they give structure and when push comes to shove a little structure isn’t a bad thing.
…And there are rules to dating- rules I subscribe to because I have always felt they were useful and when in doubt, gave you an easy way to handle what could be a difficult situation.
So I went on Date #94 with a clear idea of what rules would be followed.
1. Have a set plan and stick to it- that way you have a very clear beginning and end to the date. (yeah…that one- not so much with the set plan)
2. Don’t go somewhere where it would be difficult to hear each other… (Like a Bart train… or a bar where the world series is playing?)
3. On first dates you should stick to neutral topics of conversation. No Politics ( humm… that didn’t happen...we were already talking politics on the first phone conversation…), No Religion ( oups… covered that in the first hour in the bar…), No past relationships ( damn… yeah broke that rule too…)
4. You should always stay lady like and maintain an air of dignity and grace…( I guess that shoe change in the middle of the street may have messed up that one… or maybe it was when I kept stacking napkin after napkin in my lap at dinner… or the hic-ups… )
5. Play your cards close to your chest- maintain a bit of mystery… (seriously? Because I was neither sneaky nor had much mystery… and he’s read the blog…)
Basic rules really- I broke every one.
And I didn’t care one bit.
Because when he smiled and talked about his pets, or laughed at my less than lady like moments, or brought me into a comic book store and passionately convinced me that they were more than “just comic books”, when he taught me to play chess in the middle of a bar and then took my hand on the bart ride home… breaking the rules didn’t seem all bad…
It felt a little rebellious… and I liked it.

Unanticipated Paranoia

"Oh- good luck on Sunday..."

Such a friendly little phrase, such a seemly encouraging one. Used all the time. Nothing unusual- shouldn't be at all surprising to hear...

Except with that little phrase- muttered as I'm walking down to my car at the end of a mellow evening filled with take-out and a comfortable sense of ease...

Comes total horror.

It means one thing.

The man who has muttered it has read the blog.

And has read it recently.

I once walked across an entire restaurant with my skirt tucked into the back of my tights- not just a little- the entire back of my skirt was mashed in them- exposed to a restaurant full of diners. Wrinkles and folds of taffeta held glued to my ample tush by nylon and spandex- how I didn't notice as I left the restroom is still beyond me. I marched through a room of strangers back to my seat with my head held high- thinking not a hair was out of place and (because I'm that girl) what a great entrance I'd make coming across the room. All sweet and sass.

Not even a hushed "Um... you have a problem with your skirt... " from my dinner companion as I got to the table phased me.

No, it was the moment when I went to sit down, when my hand went to brush my beautiful purple skirt out of the way and found... no skirt... that the truth really sunk in.

The Blog- a total exercise in self indulgence... a way for me to keep my friends in the loop and to somehow document my odd little resolution, has been read by others. It may have been read by friends of friends. It may have been read by my sister... and Oh, lord perhaps even my brother. But what really throws me for a loop is it has been read by people I've written about- and I'm not just talking Ms. K.

And just like that purple taffeta moment- I'm oddly exposed... and a little bit horrified.

The Three B's of the Bay Area

Cardboard boxes, stolen fast food trays and one extremely dangerous two story cement slide located in the heart of the city- Seward Street Slides. This was my date idea. The plan was to channel my inner 7 year old... I thought it would be great- despite the danger of minor bodily harm and a vicious tongue lashing from a cranky neighbor. It was something I hadn't done, it was something that made for easy conversation, it was quirky and charming and fun (or at least I had hoped it would be). I was excited for it. Toss in a smattering of fun little text messages and a beautiful day...

My plan- so carefully thought out, so perfect (at least in my head) has been waylaid by a falling chunk of steel and a tragic accident on a Bart platform. Damn.

My date was very apologetic and the fact is he couldn't make it into the city due to issues beyond his control. No one's fault. Well maybe Cal-Tran's fault. I'll choose to say Bart & the Bay Bridge have conspired against me today... On the other hand, maybe it was just a quick reality check- combined with a good reminder on the lost art of rolling with the punches.

We'll re-schedule.

Hello Horse

Four weeks ago I would have said I was taken… maybe not forever, but taken for now.

Two weeks ago I would have avoided the question by changing the subject…

“Did you know I can make kitty ears out of a dinner napkin?”… or “Look, it’s Elvis!” Just call me the queen of smooth conversational re-direction.
Four days ago if someone had asked me if I were available I would have raised my hand, flashed some pageant queen teeth and said “Yes I am!” with enthusiasm… possibly faked enthusiasm but I’ve never felt shame at falling back on my brief high school theater career if I had to.
Today, I realize I have a date on Sunday. I booked it- so it’s not as though it appeared out of nowhere but I’m surprised nonetheless. It’s not because of the timing… my only concern is that it’s the day after Halloween and after an evening of Costume makeup and false eyelashes I could look more like a reject from Thriller than I’d like…
No, what surprises me is that I’m excited to be going.
Getting back on the horse…

And on that note...

I have gotten spoiled. Up until now, when talking about this 100 date thing the comments have been fairly positive- yes, everyone thinks I'm nuts but positive none the less. I've come to expect it I guess. I enjoy the fact that the people who read the blog (and I realize there are not legions of you) are doing so because they are friends and/or find me mildly entertaining.

Great boost to the ego by the way- thank you.

I got this comment today...

Seriously,

You can't be serious. Not trying to be mean and its your right to do what ever you want. But i must say any man with a little class would not stand in line with a 100 guy's for one women. Women talk about men being all about themselves. You can't possibly find the right man dating 100 men. Most of all letting them know there will be 99 more. Who the hell wants that. Sweetie it takes time to get to know someone. It may take a year or more. Sorry to rain on your parade but someone should council you in how to find a man.

Peace Out.

I am left with a sour taste in my mouth (and not just for the condescending "Sweetie" comment). Despite the fact that there was clearly some miscommunication regarding my intentions, this person seems genuinely upset about what I'm doing. My gut reaction to reading the it was horror- am I as selfish as this person thinks? Have I deluded myself into thinking this was somehow liberating when in fact it is simply a low-class exercise in self absorption?

What I wanted to say- what I'm kicking myself for not saying is-

If you think I'm going about this wrong, ok- fantastic, I welcome the criticism but please, tell me what to do differently! At least make a suggestion because lord knows what I've done before didn't work and clearly you have a perspective that's different from my own.

However, if you are so convinced that I'm a selfish person and you are in fact "not trying to be mean" as you say, why are you even bothering to comment?

I didn't reply with that though (Thank you boarding school manners). Grace seemed the most prudent strategy-

I replied...

100 dates- this is not the same as 100 men. Although I understand your point of view, perhaps you should check out the blog before you judge. Best, M

Camp Ground Rules

In 3rd grade I was a Girl Scout (Ok, I made it as far as the Brownies but that's almost a Girl Scout). We earned badges and sang songs, sold cookies and roasted marshmallows over campfires- I was always a big fan of the cookies and marshmallow part- Regardless, we did Girl Scout stuff.

There were rules to being a Scout. You have to be nice to people, and help out your fellow girl and work hard in school (Mrs. Hawn also said we had to keep our rooms clean but I think she was taking creative licence with the rule book on that one).

In the summer we went to Scout Camp where we ran around like banshees and earned more badges and sang more songs and roasted more marshmallows. We set up tents and when making a camp fire by rubbing two sticks together didn't work, we always had Mrs. Hawn and her trusty Coleman Stove to save us.

And when we left Camp there was one rule we had to remember.

Camp Ground Rules- Leave it in better shape than you found it.

There is a point in a relationship when you can still get out with everyone keeping their fingers and toes. Usually it's when you can see down the road it isn't going to work but it's still working at the moment- before anyone leaves angry scarred and hurt. Before you say things you shouldn't or go too far. But if you time it right, after the sting of leaving has gone you might be able to be friends.

I've yet to manage this.

I have 93 Dates under my belt, 7 away from the illusive 100. Most of them have been with the same person and I could probably squeeze out the last 7 with him too but...

Maybe this time I can remember the Camp Ground Rules.

Something happened on the way to 100....

So I thought this little adventure would go something like this...
I’d date a bunch of different guys anywhere from 1-3 times each… maybe a little more depending on how it went but they would all would be temporary experiences- something to think about when I was an old lady- great stories to tell my friends over a beer or a good way to ensure I got out a bit more than I did last year (not a tough thing to accomplish if you look at my social life last year- but let’s not look too hard). I would get to know them- be charmed by them (or appalled as the case may be) and learn things about each guy, men in general, dating and ultimately myself in the process. I might have been hoping for something a little more long term, but I couldn't say I was expecting it.
6 Dates in, and I meet a charming guy at a Dive Bar. And I like him.
And I’m learning things about him (things like- he is more patient than any man has a right to be and he has more board games than I have shoes). One of the biggest things though is that I cannot imagine he’d appreciate being the subject of a blog. This is why I haven’t been posting as much as I was when I started the year. This is also why I’m going to stop posting until this thing has run its course. Knowing what I know about him and seeing as I really do like him, it seems only fair.
On the other hand, he’s coming over for dinner this week- if I give him food poisoning, have some sort of “chick” freak out or he discovers I’m actually as crazy as Date 1 Guy 1 thinks I am- I’ll be back to posting before the weekend is up.
Until then- I'll just keep counting dates.

Wish me luck.

Three Bags Full...

Guy 6, Date 20

A bit of background. I’m a clothes horse. When you’re a big girl you have two options- you either learn what works well on your body, search it out and work every angle your curvy ass has within an inch of it’s life, or spend the rest of your life wearing a muumuu. I went that rout for a while- the muumuu rout that is- ok so it wasn’t exactly a muumuu- instead it was a series of sarongs and oversized sweaters pared with Doc Martin Mary-Jane’s- tragic I know and frankly I don’t recommend. Long story short, I’ve become a shopper. One of the things I’ve learned about shopping is you have to be selective about who you shop with. Friends can (in a misguided attempt at being kind) tell you something looks good when in reality you looked like an overstuffed polyester sausage. This is how I ended up with a black spandex mini halter dress. Worse, I wore the black spandex mini halter dress (with an equally atrocious pair of pink plastic heals) to a swanky party my parents threw one summer. I’m sure my parents were just thrilled I was out of the sarong stage however looking back at pictures I cringe. Those of you who know me can imagine the photo- Chubby sausage girl in hot pink heals with Mom (Martha Stuart) on one side and my dad (Colonel Sanders) on the other.
I think about that dress when I go shopping with friends now. I’ve become the queen of “I’ve seen you in better…” or the famous “Well… that should work but clearly the designer was on crack…try this on instead…” At the same I’m the first person to push for someone to buy something that looks spectacular. I throw things into dressing rooms, make people try things on they don’t like on the hanger and pay less attention to price tags than I probably should.
That said I don’t have that much experience shopping with guys I’m dating. So when Mr. Burley asked me to go shopping with him I had a moment of uncertainty. He told me he hated shopping. He said he was only going because he had a coupon and hadn’t gotten any new clothes in years.
But needed a few new things and wanted my opinion.
And I was ridiculously pleased about it- dumb I know…
And I had fun! (God I hope he had fun too...) I was charmed by him when he asked my opinion in the shoe department, I was excited when he found a jacket he liked… bonus I liked it too… and when he picked up a silly pair of shorts because jokingly I told him they were “simply a must” and they made me laugh he managed to lodge me into smitten kitten territory...
Damn… smitten kitten over Hula Girl Shorts and a pair of good lookin’ shoes…

Testing....

So Guy 6 has been dates 9-17 (hence the infrequent updates), and I’ve been thinking about the beginning stages of getting to know someone more than I usually do. Yes, it’s all about getting to know someone- finding out what makes them tick- however, after the initial couple of dates, there seems to be a series of pass/fail exams.
He has a sense of adventure- Pass
Toilet paper and hand soap in his the bathroom- Pass.
Bottle caps, boxes and snowboard equipment strewn across the kitchen floor- Fail.
A kiss to say hello on a public street- Pass
Bringing a gift back from a trip out of town- Pass.
Not calling on Valentines day- Fail.
Inviting you over to hang out and watch a movie- Pass
Holding your hand while watching a movie- Pass.
Picking a good movie to watch while holding hands- Bonus
So as a girl who is spending an inordinate amount of time studying her dating habits it has occurred to me he is probably doing the same series of exams on me. In my head it goes something like this…
Likes to travel- Pass
She rolls with the punches- Pass
She knows nothing about music- Fail
Laughs at my jokes- Pass
She’s affectionate- Pass
Flirts in public- Bonus
She brings a six pack when she comes over to watch a movie- Pass
She is unfazed when I have to unload the laundry from my couch- Pass
When she falls asleep on my couch- she snores- Fail

But what if these aren't the things he's thinking about? Ok so I'm still seeing him and so I know I've got more Passes than Fails in my corner but what if his exams go something like this...

She's Blond- Fail

She can't hold her liquor- cheep date- Pass

She prances around on 4in heals all the time- Fail

She has a car- Pass

She's impressed that I'm a drummer- Pass

Ok so sure, everything I've seen thus far makes this seem unlikely but frankly the more dates I have the more crazy my Pass- Fail exams seem to be... wouldn't it work the other way around?

The art of the Choke...

Dear Guy I helped in the Shop,
You were about 30, tall, not unattractive and buying a dictionary. You were wearing the unfortunate dark glasses you get from the optometrist after an eye exam and when you removed them to ask me a question your eyes were watering. A few minutes after I’d helped you, you came back up to me, sweating profusely with this line…
“I’m not seeing good… very well… because my eyes are dilated, but I know an attractive woman when I see one…”
And I froze.
“Thanks, that’s so nice to hear…thanks, nice to hear…nice” then in a blur of movement I unfroze and I ran away. Literally ran away.
I can’t help but wonder what you might have been thinking at that point in time. It has to take a lot of stones to go up to a girl and say something- I completely lost all regard for your effort not to mention the compliment you was paying me while I was sprinting up the stairs in a panic. Ok sure this wasn’t the best delivered line ever, I was at work and not expecting anything but seriously- isn’t my resolution all about being open to the possibilities around me? A possibility arises and I freak-the-snot-out. Not just arises, falls into my lap and I choke.
My most humble apologies- I really mean it when I say it wasn’t you, it was me. I had a moment of insecurity tossed in with a good dose of shock at your timing. You should hit on girls more often and chances are other girls won’t freak out.
Maybe find another line though… that dilated eye thing probably won’t work on a regular basis.
Regards,
The streak of blonde- running in the opposite direction.

Date 8 Guy 7- let's keep this brief...

I want to go on 100 dates this year.
In case we weren’t clear, this does not mean I’m becoming the biggest slut in San Francisco. So when the first words (and frankly the least offensive) out of Guy 7’s mouth were “Can I ask you a personal question... Have you gone home with someone on the first date?” which was quickly followed by “Do you wear thongs?” I decided to drink my coffee very quickly, play up the fact that I’m not feeling well and book it out of there as fast as possible.

The Bridget Jones Dilemma

I’m home sick today but I have a date tonight. I’m keeping my fingers crossed I don’t have to cancel.
Sitting in bed under the covers with a cup of tea and some saltines gives me an opportunity to figure out what to wear. I have this ongoing date outfit dilemma though.

To Spanx or not to Spanx.

Lord knows I work to get the damn things on. Nothing like wiggling into a nylon cotton and spandex tube- writhing around the room pulling and tugging, shifting and checking for “issues” and bunching (FYI I did try this once with heals on- got a stiletto caught in the leg of the nylon tripped over the shoe box and almost knocked myself out on my bed post- I had visions of the Roommate finding me collapsed on the floor, spanx twisted to the point where it would have to be cut off to prevent the loss of circulation to my feet). Then after strapping on the right bra I check the mirror to see if I look ok (not with the dress on yet mind you). I squint a bit and I can at least get the idea of the shape but I’ve learned avoid getting a close and clear look at myself because Spanx and a bra is NOT attractive- I don’t care how fantastic the heals are. The dress goes on after and although one might think this would be the end of it, it isn’t- I start the movement test. Fast spin, bend over, sit down, reach up, smooth over all just to see if the damn thing can be seen, felt or yes even heard. Then, and only then do I step back, really look at myself and find I’m mildly disappointed. I haven’t become Kate Winslet but at least I’m lump free.
Is it cheating? Like busting out the push-up water bra or padded butt jeans? Maybe.
I choose to believe it’s more like a good make up application… mixed with a workout.

First dates are hard... second dates are something else...

Date 7, Guy 6 (my first second date- I was starting to get worried).
The bar was a fantastic mix of upscale old English pub and bordello- high backed seats in candle lit booths; velvet wall paper and strong drinks. Had it been a 3rd or 4th date I might have been tempted to lean in over the table and run my finger over the rim of my martini glass in an attempt at luring an unsuspecting gent into any number of naughty thoughts but as it was a 2nd date I decided to be modest.
Ok the truth is Mr. Burly is pretty darn funny and my martini glass seduction doesn’t go over particularly well when I’m snorting with laughter.
It was a good date. It was a second date.
It may even lead to a 3rd (knock on wood, don’t tempt the gods, praise be to Allah…)
There was one little thing though.
So in my head first kisses fall into two categories. The First is blissfully romantic- harts, flowers, city lights, violins- the kind that happen in Broadway musicals, the kind that happens with a crescendo of music and is followed quickly by the last few notes of a duet the kind that make a girl sigh and dance off stage with her skirts floating behind her. It’s a cross between Disney and the cover of a romance novel- Fabio strictly optional.
The second category of first kiss is dark and steamy- it’s a kiss so hot you can’t feel your face by the time it’s done. It’s a gasping for breath battle of teeth and tongues and clutching fingers. It’s the kind of kiss you have to jerk yourself away from only to go back for more. It leaves you raw and edgy and trembling.
Of course these are unrealistic- But I’m a romantic, I have certain expectations.
I turn to face Mr. Burly. He turns to face me…
I’m slightly tipsy, standing on the street in the middle of the Tenderloin at 2am. There is a very loud guy strung out at the corner screaming about karma to what I can only presume is a close personal friend of his on the other corner. She is a strikingly tall lady with a bit of facial hair.
There is a very awkward pause…
Not exactly Broadway but I can work with it.
He shrugs (yes he actually shrugged), leans in and kisses me.
Then we both step back and look at each other.
Huh…
“That was umm…awkward…”
“Well… yeah…”
I can tell he’s as confused as I am so we both decide to pretend it didn’t happen.
So much for second dates being less awkward than first…

Date 6 Guy 6

When you walk in and your feet peal off the floor at every step. The bar stools are so rough and cracked they would snag any material other than denim. The “lounge” furniture is a hodge-podge of miss-matched cast offs from a bad 70’s porno but you sit on it anyway while you wait for your turn at the dart board (or in my case my date to show up) and strike up a conversation with the 3 gals wearing too much makeup “slumming it” sitting at the booth next to you. The Regulars are a crew of two sitting over their beer in the darkest corner of the bar. They seem to embody both a hard life lived in the sun and one where they never saw the light of day- skin wrinkled, leathered and yet strikingly pale. The tv in the corner shows off season sports clips through the snow of a bad connection and the juke box is well stocked with rock ballads. The bartender greets you with a smile and if you stay long enough and tip well enough she will probably comp that last drink because you are now a familiar face.
There is something appealing about a dive bar and this happens to be one of my favorites.
Guy 6 is running late but because he has been calling every 5 min to make a joke about the reliability of muni or what a bad impression he’s making I’m willing to forgive his tardiness. After all, the ladies next to me are now starting to play a very entertaining game of quarters- I have agreed to serve as ref- how you referee a game of quarters is beyond me but that’s beside the point.
When he walks in he’s taller than I remember and just as cute, appropriately sheepish about being late and seems happy to see me- Guy 6 is Mr. Burly.
We belly up to the bar and order- the bartender seems relieved that I’m not here by myself- winks at me and smiles at Guy 6.
We chat and joke and I end up staying longer than I intended .
It was a good date.
And I got a few charming text messages the next day.
Maybe he had a good time too.

A Blonde, a Brunette and a Redhead Walk Into a Bar....

Project Mayhem April 2004. There was a lot of saki involved, a low cut shirt and a game of spin the bottle in the middle of a restaurant. Through devious means and brilliant manipulation, my Wing Man managed to maneuver not only a hot and heavy make-out session between me and my crush but was also able to make him think it was his idea. Ladies and Gentlemen may I introduce to you- Ms. K. - hilarious, lovely, brilliant 6ft tall Texas redhead, my best friend and The Perfect Wing Man.
January 2009 Ms. K. is in town- and having got wind of my 100 dates plan, she’s loaded for bear.
You might think girls on the hunt would get dressed up in their cleavage baring, leg showing, tight dress finest; head out to the clubs to bump and grind against the suave men of SF. You might think we would spend our time running back and forth to the bathroom to check our makeup/discuss boys/plan our escape route…whatever. Indeed, we had planned on doing just that.
But we didn’t. We had spent all day wine tasting (and flirting with young cute vintners) and frankly were feeling a little lazy. Running around the mission in tight dresses and 4inch heals seemed like a little too much work.
Instead we met up with another friend- the beautiful and charming Ms. N and headed out to the local (and cheesetastic) watering hole. We set up shop on three stools smack dab in the middle of the bar, smiled at the bartender and ordered a drink practically served in a trough. It came with 3 straws, fruit and umbrellas.
Yes, it’s perfect.
Funny thing about being three girls sitting in the middle of a very crowded bar- you have direct access to the bartender.
Funny thing about having direct access to the bartender- everyone has to go through you to order drinks… EVERYONE.
If you have a 6ft redhead around, she’s not going to be upset about all the interruptions. She is going to make the most of it.
“Oh, do you need a drink? Sure you do, what do you need? The bartender and I are tight… 10 beers? Fantastic, but you have to do me a favor…Bartender 10 coronas for this guy- Thanks! Oh, that favors- What’s your name..? Joe Dude, this is my blonde friend- cute isn’t she?”
In the mean time I’m making small talk about nail polish with some girl who has also bellied up to the bar in an attempt at ordering for her table- totally oblivious to what’s going on behind me.
The Bartender hands me the 10 beers Ms. K has ordered for Joe Dude. “I didn’t order these…”
“Hi Blonde Friend- I’m Joe Dude…”
“Hi Joe…”
“Help me with these beers?” Smile, Wink.
Did he just wink at me?
I look at Ms. K- she’s talking to some Big Bald and Burly- I hear my name mentioned…She looks over and smiles. Trouble.
“So, the beer?”
“Oh sure- yeah here you go…”
“Thanks Blonde Friend.” Wink…
And as he walks away I think-Yeah he totally winked at me…twice…I look at Ms. K. She’s chatting up a group of guys who just walked in…
Then the bartender puts a fruit and umbrella drink in front of me- trough size…
“Oh I didn’t order this…”
“It’s for me… I’m Mr. Burly… Hi Blonde Friend…”

Mr. Burly got my number- on a bar napkin.

Girl alone at Bar....

My canceled date got back in contact- I know I was totally shocked too.
We made a date, he was very apologetic for canceling. He’s charming- I decided to give him another shot.

Date 5 Guy 5
So I’m sitting in a hookah bar- I’m a little early and I go ahead and order a beer. It’s a place I haven’t been before and I’m liking the sultry mid-east vibe. I’m liking the wall murals, I’m liking the bartender. I sit at the bar and think about how much I like this place and what a good choice he made- dim lights and candles, good music- not too loud but a good beat, casual atmosphere but just sexy enough to make anyone feel a bit adventurous. Great place for a first date.
What I’m not liking is that I’ve been sitting here by myself now for 20min.

He did say he’d be able to get there between 8 and 8:30 so I’m not worried (Ok, I’m a little worried) but I do glance at my phone- 8:20.
The bartender comes by again- smiles- asks if I need anything- no, I’m good- so she wanders off. There is a magazine on the stool next to me and I snag it- one of the “What’s going on in SF” things and I start to flip through it-I have 100 dates to go on this year so it’s research right? Really it’s just something to do while I kill time.
My beer is ½ finished.
I glance at my phone again- it’s 8:30.
The door into the bar opens- I glance up- it’s not him.
My beer is ¾ finished.
The bartender comes by again, smiles at me and asks if there is anything else.
I finish my beer, pay my tab, look at my phone one more time.
It’s 8:50 as I’m walking out the door.
I get home and my roommates are sitting in the living room- they ask why I’m looking so cute- I growl something unintelligible and go to my room- They are guys, they know not to delve any further into that mess.
I boot up my e-mail and see this.

“Definitely a bit late, but here. Sorry if I missed you. Will find a way to make it up You pick a date and time, and I’ll make it happen as best as I can. Sorry again about tonight :-(”

It came in at 8:56pm.
So this is what I'm thinking...You canceled- last minute, and now you didn’t show- ok you showed up late- and didn’t bother calling… You want to try this again?
No, I don’t think so.

Look, this is supposed to be fun....

Double booking is in theory- exciting- a little naughty, a little exciting, a little dangerous. In this theory you are wearing stiletto heals and a red dress. In theory you bat your eyelashes at one man only to leave them wanting more and arrive just a few minutes late for the next date only to have the wondering why you look a little flushed- naughty, fantastic, the stuff of a fem fatal.
Funny thing, theory.

Date 3, Guy 3
“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you! I love this bar, it’s a fantastic choice- have you been here before?”
“No.” (One word answer right off the bat- maybe he’s shy…?)
“I hear you’re a (insert relatively cool job here), have you always wanted that?”
“It’s steady and pays the bills.”
“Huh… and you have lots of opportunity to travel- you must enjoy that…?”
“I don’t travel much.”
45min later…
“Ok well thanks so much for the beer- it’s been great to get to know you (in theory) and hey- you got to explore a new bar!”
“Yeah, can I call you?”
Excuse me?
Ok Guy 3 these questions are designed to give you the opportunity to expand, tell stories, ask questions of your own- they are easy questions with answers like- “Nope, never been here but heard it was cool and has a great selection of beer... Funny thing about my job- I fell into it but I’m sticking with it for a while because… I’m a home body- love to explore the city/my apartment/my naval…something”
You are looking at me, making good eye-contact, you even checked out the cleavage- score one for the girls- and it’s not as though I’m asking you to do complex mathematics.

Help a girl out!

Date 4 Guy 4
So, I’m early to the next venue of the day- big surprise- and make myself comfortable in a corner booth where I’m easily seen from the front door- My makeup is perfect (because lord knows I’ve had enough time to touch it up between dates), I’m arranged to look sexy, mysterious yet casual, I take a deep breath, toss my blonde hair over my shoulder... In walks Wicked Hot.
Minor panic attack- he is actually even hotter than I thought.
And he is frowning.
Ok, no problem- maybe he isn’t really frowning…
Nope, he’s frowning. Crap.
“Hey! This place is great! Your suit is fantastic! I’m pleased to meet you! I’m smiling like an idiot and over expressing excitement in an attempt to hide the fact that I’m very uncomfortable!” Stop talking….
“So, I hear they have great house drinks! I see a waitress over there!”
Please stop talking…
At this point Wicked Hot is looking at me as though I’ve grown a second head.
He has also ordered a vodka- no mixers, no ice, just vodka.
“Wow! I’ve never been able to do that- drink just vodka before!”
Shut Up!
We stare at each other in painful silence for the 20 minutes it takes for us to get our drinks, drink them, and pay the bill.
“Well, thanks!” Ugh- still over expressing excitement…
“Just out of curiosity, what number am I?”
“What number?”
“What number on your goal of 100?”
“Oh! Your number 4!”
“Huh…”

Double Booking

I have two dates tomorrow. For a girl who didn't get out all that much last year this is an exciting phenomenon- one my Dude Friends tell me is something to be proud of.
Ok I'll be proud.
I do on the other hand feel a bit like a date slut.
Luckily they are both at similar venues so I don't have to cart around another set of clothing- could you imagine me attempting to change in my car while driving a stick shift down Van Ness? Stockings flying, jacket wedged at the elbows behind my back, holding the steering wheel with my teeth while attempting to wiggle out of a pair of jeans? (I may bring another pair of shoes because I'm that girl but shoes don't really count). And while I don't have to worry about a costume change, they are at opposite ends of town. If date 3 lasts more than 2.5hrs I'm going to be late to date 4. Timing it seems, could be problematic. And how do you subtly check your clock to see what time it is? Or do you say at the beginning that you are going to have to leave at O-dark-Thirty? It seems either one of those options would set an uncomfortable tone.
The other issue is that both dates are at bars. Fantastic. I get to show up to date 4 smelling like stale beer- nothing says "I'm a classy girl you might like to get to know better" like the sent of Dive Bar.

'So I think I have to cancel tonight..."

I opened my e-mail today and read this...

'So I think I have to cancel tonight, I had an unusual insomniac night last night and I don't think I'll be much of a fun date tonight... Maybe we could reschedule for later this week?'

Ugh.

My gut tells me this isn't going to get rescheduled. Cheesy relationship books tell me this isn't going to get rescheduled. My dude friends tell me this isn't going to get rescheduled. I'm hoping I'm wrong. I'm hoping Sex and the City is wrong and god knows- I'm hoping my dudes are wrong (because I get a perverse sense of satisfaction when my dudes are wrong) but I really don't think they are.

I've got an outfit planned, So I'm going out anyway.

I'm also attempting to cultivate multiple options- sounds impressive huh? Much more so than what I've actually been doing which is flirting at every opportunity.
Example- Strudel Guy.
Strudel Guy is a twenty-something working at a local coffee shop. I chatted with him the other day, smiled, joked, got my coffee a bit of strudel moved on. Strudel Guy was flirty and cute and made a funny joke about whipped cream. Today I saw Strudel Guy again. I ordered strudel from him- didn't actually want strudel but that's beside the point. Today I smiled, made a joke about dropping my strudel all over the sidewalk before noon (it was funny at the time) and he said it's after noon somewhere and therefore totally appropriate to be dropping strudel (again totally funny at the time). We laugh, I walk out with a bag of strudel.

Now it's likely Strudel Guy flirts with everyone but for the second time this week I've walked out of the coffee shop feeling a little more charming and a little more confident to try this out on someone who doesn't sell me strudel.

So I’m sitting in the living room today talking to The Roommate and a friend of his about my 100 when this phrase was uttered-
“You are going to ask out men too, yes?”
Oh lord the thought never really occurred to me. Sure there was some vague notion somewhere in the outer recesses of my mind that I might have to ask someone out but it didn’t really connect with the fact that I’m actually going to have to approach, hit-on and ask for numbers. I’m not talking about flirting my way getting him to ask me, or meeting up with a friend of a friend a few times until I can find some excuse to invite him out to do something, i.e.: “Oh by the way I just happen to have these two tickets to the game and you said you liked… umm… sports… so I thought you might want to go… with me?”. I’m talking about the thing that just thinking about it makes me want to call the entire thing off.
I’m going to have to go out on the prowl.
How is a girl- an average girl- supposed to do this? The two schools of thought seem to be 1- You are totally honest and say hi, I like you and I’d like to get your number so we can hang out, or 2- you don’t ask, they either ask you, or they aren’t interested. The first seems almost too aggressive and the second isn’t anything- literally.

My standard approach of “Hi stranger, help me carry all the drinks I just ordered for my friends?” smile, charm, batting of eyelashes- may no longer cut it.
And where do I go to do this? Is there a part of town that’s better for this than another? Are there rules? (In the Marina you can only be approached, but in the Mission it’s ladies choice?).

Crap.

Not All Dates End in a Kiss

Date 2 Guy 2
I'll start by saying there was never any intention of romance in this date and then argue despite the fact that it was romance-free from the start it was still a date. Guy 2 is 79 years old. His granddaughters are my age. According to him people in my generation don't really date at all and that's why we "date" for so long only to find it isn't working. He met his wife, went on five "real dates" over the course of two months and then married her- they were married for over 40 years.
Maybe he's right. I've heard people talk about how fun dating used to be- how it wasn't a chore. How the first date was something to look forward to and how you did every thing you could to make the other person feel special. The way he talks about it- they way a lot of people talk about dating makes me feel a bit lazy. I like dating- I don't think of it as a chore or a requirement (talk to me again when I'm on date 63...) but I can't help but feel like I've been half ass-ing it.
When was the last time I went on a date where someones only focus was making sure I felt special?
When was the last time my only focus was on making my date feel special?
And could I pull it off without coming off as creepy?

One Down

Date 1 Guy 1- Brit, his mum worries

It's a funny thing when you meet up with a stranger for drinks- there always seems to be this awkward moment of staring at each other and smiling sheepishly. It's usually the worst moment of the evening- the point at which you have to decide who is going to say what first. It's a painful 30 seconds that often ends with you and your date both blurting out some stupid question at the same time.

"So what do you do for a living...?"

"Did you see that the weather in Spokane is....?" neither one of you really hears what the other one is saying because you are so frantic to blurt out something.

"No, Go ahead...?" "No, you please..."

Ugh... so you smile again and pray the bartender will show up to take your order.

Lucky for me at the very beginning of Date 1, Guy 1 said "So... you know you are nuts?”

Yes, clearly I am. I'm also now relieved, relaxed, and smiling- you take a big risk telling a girl she is crazy right off the bat. Clearly #1 has some stones.
Charming and funny in a slightly self-deprecating sort of way. Thinks I'm nuts- and told me. Bonus points because I liked the honesty and he didn't seem too concerned about my status as crazy. Nice guy, fantastic accent and over all a good way to start off my year.
The warm and fuzzy moment- he asked why I had a band-aid on and then after studying the methodical way in which I had managed to manipulate it in an origami like fashion onto my finger he asked me put one on his finger in the same way- and wore a bright red bandage on his thumb for the rest of the night.

A word of warning should you find yourself in the bar of a particular fusion restaurant… The lounge looks amazingly comfortable, low slung and sexy, but take heed ladies, there is a very good chance for wardrobe malfunction. I found myself precariously perched on a leather cube made for hobbits (yes, I'm short but not that short), bashing my shins against the free-form metal table top, desperately trying to be moderately lady like and not flash the goods from under my skirt or have my boobs pop out while I'm leaning across the doll-sized table to reach for my drink. He kindly offered me the couch seat but since it was even lower than the cube I politely declined.
Thank you boarding school for teaching me how to sit without having a Hollywood starlet getting out of her car photo op. On the other hand it would have made a fantastic first impression…

The Great Debate

To the men who may read this stop now... I'm about to delve into a subject that might put you into a coma.

Tomorrow around 6pm I will be going through the pre-date ritual of standing in front of a full length mirror wearing two different shoes. Shoe A will be a relatively comfortable heal 3in or under in some neutral tone- probably beige or black- and cute in an understated way. I will like shoe A- friendly, not too flashy, pretty, something I can walk in or bus in- the kind of heal I would wear at work.

Shoe B will be something out of a movie (007 possibly, porn more likely). Shoe B I will adore. Shoe B will be flash and sex and 4inches high. Shoe B is a Taxicab shoe. Shoe B pleases me simply because it exists in my closet, they are a few extra inches, a little added splash of color, a distinction. Shoe B is the shoe even the most unobservant of dates will notice- if they like it or not doesn't matter- they will notice. Shoe B will cripple me by the end of the night, but will show off my red toe-nail polish.

And I will stand alternating from one foot to the other in a full length mirror debating the merits of shoe A vs. shoe B. I will shift and turn and study from every angle, sit and stand and spin around. Shoe A, Shoe B- what are the chances of rain? How far am I going to be walking? Will there be seats at the bar? I may even ask the roommate. He seems to appreciate shoes, has a good eye etc. I will probably not take his advice, but I'll ask for it, factor it into my final decision. The same decision I make every time.

Take an Advil, wear B and wonder to myself if maybe this time my date will have a shoe fetish.

Craig- Roommates, cars, jobs... Dates- jurry's still out.

Craig- interesting thing CL.

You really do see a wide range of people responding to adds- Yes I know old news and yes, I’ve had a few responses that seem to be great- easy funny guys who are looking to be a little more social etc.

Then there are the others.

Here are a few gems-.

“Hi, you seem cool, good luck”
Ummm… ok thanks. I’m all about positive feedback but do you want me to respond or were you just giving me props?

“Hit me back- let’s do this. (Insert photo of man leaning back in his desk chair with his Junk in his hand here)”
No.

“Blah Blah Blah Blah… charm charm charm charm, Oh by the way I’m married”
Note to self- should I choose to go this route again be more specific in requirements of potential dates.

Then there was this one…
“Hello, I’m a dude and I’m fantastic, I’m even funny… oh and I’m wicked hot as you can see in my photo… I like your attitude and would like to be one of your 100- maybe even more than one of your 100 because who knows we could hit it off. Did I mention that I’m wicked hot and on paper at least seem perfect?”

Holy bovine you ARE wicked hot… and now I find myself in a strange position.
When I’m out I smile, I listen I can carry on a conversation and flirt, I am the least intimidating chick in a bar and this works for me.

"Average Joe with a funny streak” hits on me in a bar.
“I play a lot of video games” hits on me in a bar.
“Cute chubby chaser” hits on me in a bar.
Wicked hot smiles and talks to me but wicked hot does NOT hit on me in a bar.

So I respond to Wicked hot… charm, flirt, I even agree to a date because after all that is what this little experiment is all about and now I can’t help but wonder-
What is wicked hot going to think about going on a date with the least intimidating chick in a bar?

And so it begins...

So lets start this thing off with a bang-

This was posted on CL 1/02/09

"Gentleman I need your assistance. Last year my Resolution was to change my favorite color to blue- a bit of a cop-out as far as resolutions go so I needed something a bit more challenging this year. 100 dates by 2010- yes that would be about 2 dates/week.

Not out of the realm of possibility sure, but a bit of a challenge without some help from more unusual sources- like my new friend Craig.

About me- I’m 28, single, 5’3”, blond with green eyes- I fall very nicely into the “cute” category. I’m a size 14- so if you like your girls thin or spending hours at the gym I’m not the girl for you, (I do have a number of friends I could introduce you too though).

I love getting out of the city, (I’ve been known to go on trips at a moments notice). I sing in the car- but not the shower. I have a degree and a fun job where I work slightly odd hours but get to hang out with people I enjoy. I have a fantastic gang of friends in the area and spread out across the country. I love to go dancing. The dinner parties are usually at my house and yes, I put my friends to work in the kitchen but I always feed them well for their efforts.

Yes ideally this little adventure would land me in a LTR (and if I go out with you twice it counts as two dates) but worse case scenario I have a few good stories to talk about when I’m 80.

I ask only a few things of a potential date-

You should have a sense of humor.

You should be able to carry on a conversation with a stranger.

You should also be over the age of 21.

Pictures are available on request- but only if you send me yours. So tell me a bit about yourself…

Happy New Year"

Why would I do this? Well the obvious answer is I'm nuts... and that isn't out of the realm of possibility but the truth is I often find myself meeting men and not taking the time to get to know them before jumping into a relationship or avoiding putting myself on the line for some relatively dumb reason usually dealing with my own insecurities.

I'm over it. Seriously isn't it time to be ok with getting to know someone- spending an hour having a conversation or sharing an experience without all the pressure. I have 100 dates to go on this year- If I have a bad one, or a just ok one no worries- I've got more. If I have a great one- Fantastic maybe someone will get to be date 20, 21 and 22...

Short story long, I'm totaly excited about this.