They are sort of the gateway date. You know, because after the second date, you have to figure out what you're doing. And why. And is there a destination? So you have to have the DTR talk and get the forms signed in triplicate to get the deal hammered out. . .what, you aren't like that? I am. It must be so much fun to date me.
The second date was good and fun. Except now he thinks we're dating, which could mean that he thinks we're Dating. And he might be. . .but I am not. He's a fun guy, and certainly not meh, and we're going to do our best to keep this blog at PG13 at the highest so other details might be given on a "Need to Know" basis. But in a nutshell, that is where things stand with Piano Guy.
Thursday, I had the Best. Coffee. Evah. With the one who shall be known as Cute Guy. Because he is just scrumptious. On the youngish side, I think he's 37, but pretty wise for his age. And did I mention that he looks like a guy on the cover of a trashy historical novel? He is Quite the Looker. Now I am torn, should his nickname be Cute Guy or Quite the Looker? The reason that this coffee was the Best. Coffee. Evah. was not for the company, it was the location. Krispy Kreme donuts. I was very restrained and only at 3 of the half-dozen we bought. I did need to tell him that he needed to start eating or I would eat them all. We sat there and talked for four hours. And there was some kissing. Grin.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
(insert title that is a witty way of saying i am tired)
Final Score: Not meh.
Can I overshare? (Of course I can. My blog.)
The weather in downtown Decatur last night was a mist. It never really rained hard, but it never really stopped raining. I had parked by the courthouse to be close to Eddie's, but we were meeting on the other side of the train station, so I had a couple of blocks to walk. By the time I was there, the time I spent blowing my hair dry would have been better spent. . .doing anything else. I was not as pitiful looking as the opossum that fell into my mom's trash can in a rainstorm once, but not a whole lot better. Oh well. I so very rarely am well-put-together, I suppose it's better that we didn't start out with a bunch of unrealistic expectations. I walked in the place, and recognized him immediately, because he looks just like his picture. Only. . .shorter.
(No, his picture wasn't taken next to the door of a convenience store, there was no height indicator. . .and I did get a last minute revelation that this might have been the case, because he hadn't put his height on his online profile, which either means he was lazy or short. And he wasn't lazy, because the rest of it was pretty well filled out. So, short. Not my Ideal Dream Date, but let's face it, I don't think any guy is out there thinking, "And please, God, let her have a pot belly that looks like she's a 60 year old man. And really some extra fat all over would be nice, God. Oh, and could we add in the hot flashes and hormone surges at 41, God, because that would be super. And God, when you wrap this all up, could you make sure she has lots of issues?" Yeah. We all have little dreams dashed, who am I to give someone a smackdown for being 5'4"?)
In any case, we sat in the coffee bar and talked for a while, then we realized we had to get something to eat. We walked around Decatur for a while, and then realized what we really wanted was at a restaurant that required driving. So--did I mention that his car had left a good part of the transmission on Scott Boulevard at some point in the week?--we got in the van and drove to eat.
At the restaurant, I discovered the reason for the short: he's a vegetarian. I was very good, and did not point out that the lack of meat could have stunted his growth. There's only so mean I'm willing to be on a first date with someone who--vertically challenged though they may be--is a whole lot of fun to be with, and makes me feel good about me.
So we hung out at the restaurant and talked until they essentially said, "Um, hey, I guess you guys are getting to know each other and all, but see how we're putting these chairs on top of the other tables? Think you could move your butts out of the ones you are in so we could do the same with those? Thanks, really."
And then I gave him a lift back to his place, since he had no transmission and all. Ostensibly to hear the piano playing live and in person, but that didn't happen. On the way out there, we listened to my Dar CD (Mortal City, but if you've seen my Out There Live one, please let me know where it is.) He had never heard Dar before (and have I mentioned that I have two tickets to go see her? First on my list is my sistern, second would be my daughter. . .third is up for grabs at the moment, but I'm not sure I want to go with a boy--ANY boy.) so we put in that CD at his house and sat and talked and then we kissed. You betcha.
And there was some hanky panky.
And then I cried.
(Issues. Lots of issues. Enough back issues to fill a library.)
Well, come on. The kissing has been pretty scarce, little Israeli dudes notwithstanding. But after the crying, there was more kissing, and some more hanky panky, and then we were all relaxed until SWEET MAGIC PUMPKINS IS IT REALLY 1:45 IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE TO BE AT WORK IN SIX HOURS????
So I made a hasty exit. And came home, and slept the sleep of the just (and innocent) in my very own bed. And got up at 7, and went to work. And he called me at 8:45 to make sure I had gotten there, and we're going out tomorrow night.
Not Meh. Not Meh At All.
Can I overshare? (Of course I can. My blog.)
The weather in downtown Decatur last night was a mist. It never really rained hard, but it never really stopped raining. I had parked by the courthouse to be close to Eddie's, but we were meeting on the other side of the train station, so I had a couple of blocks to walk. By the time I was there, the time I spent blowing my hair dry would have been better spent. . .doing anything else. I was not as pitiful looking as the opossum that fell into my mom's trash can in a rainstorm once, but not a whole lot better. Oh well. I so very rarely am well-put-together, I suppose it's better that we didn't start out with a bunch of unrealistic expectations. I walked in the place, and recognized him immediately, because he looks just like his picture. Only. . .shorter.
(No, his picture wasn't taken next to the door of a convenience store, there was no height indicator. . .and I did get a last minute revelation that this might have been the case, because he hadn't put his height on his online profile, which either means he was lazy or short. And he wasn't lazy, because the rest of it was pretty well filled out. So, short. Not my Ideal Dream Date, but let's face it, I don't think any guy is out there thinking, "And please, God, let her have a pot belly that looks like she's a 60 year old man. And really some extra fat all over would be nice, God. Oh, and could we add in the hot flashes and hormone surges at 41, God, because that would be super. And God, when you wrap this all up, could you make sure she has lots of issues?" Yeah. We all have little dreams dashed, who am I to give someone a smackdown for being 5'4"?)
In any case, we sat in the coffee bar and talked for a while, then we realized we had to get something to eat. We walked around Decatur for a while, and then realized what we really wanted was at a restaurant that required driving. So--did I mention that his car had left a good part of the transmission on Scott Boulevard at some point in the week?--we got in the van and drove to eat.
At the restaurant, I discovered the reason for the short: he's a vegetarian. I was very good, and did not point out that the lack of meat could have stunted his growth. There's only so mean I'm willing to be on a first date with someone who--vertically challenged though they may be--is a whole lot of fun to be with, and makes me feel good about me.
So we hung out at the restaurant and talked until they essentially said, "Um, hey, I guess you guys are getting to know each other and all, but see how we're putting these chairs on top of the other tables? Think you could move your butts out of the ones you are in so we could do the same with those? Thanks, really."
And then I gave him a lift back to his place, since he had no transmission and all. Ostensibly to hear the piano playing live and in person, but that didn't happen. On the way out there, we listened to my Dar CD (Mortal City, but if you've seen my Out There Live one, please let me know where it is.) He had never heard Dar before (and have I mentioned that I have two tickets to go see her? First on my list is my sistern, second would be my daughter. . .third is up for grabs at the moment, but I'm not sure I want to go with a boy--ANY boy.) so we put in that CD at his house and sat and talked and then we kissed. You betcha.
And there was some hanky panky.
And then I cried.
(Issues. Lots of issues. Enough back issues to fill a library.)
Well, come on. The kissing has been pretty scarce, little Israeli dudes notwithstanding. But after the crying, there was more kissing, and some more hanky panky, and then we were all relaxed until SWEET MAGIC PUMPKINS IS IT REALLY 1:45 IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE TO BE AT WORK IN SIX HOURS????
So I made a hasty exit. And came home, and slept the sleep of the just (and innocent) in my very own bed. And got up at 7, and went to work. And he called me at 8:45 to make sure I had gotten there, and we're going out tomorrow night.
Not Meh. Not Meh At All.
Monday, May 25, 2009
I am nrvs kitteh. Srsly.
I have been on 3 coffees, a dinner and a brunch, all for a total score of "meh." Tonight, I am going to Eddie's Attic with a gentleman named Pianoguy. Yes, that is his real name, except it's not. My sister knows his real name, just in case he's played the okeydoke on me and isn't really nice and fun but an axe murderer. (Please note that I am using the term "okeydoke" in a way that is not even yet recognized in Urban Dictionary. I am that cool, thanks to the 20-somethings at work.)
I am pretty sure that this will not be meh. There have been numerous phone conversations. He has played the piano for me over the phone and taken requests. I have not played the piano for him, because that would be the end of things right there. (That, and I don't have a piano any more.) He seems very intriguing. I am intrigued.
So. . .I am hoping that the final score on this will be something other than "meh." Wish me luck.
I am pretty sure that this will not be meh. There have been numerous phone conversations. He has played the piano for me over the phone and taken requests. I have not played the piano for him, because that would be the end of things right there. (That, and I don't have a piano any more.) He seems very intriguing. I am intrigued.
So. . .I am hoping that the final score on this will be something other than "meh." Wish me luck.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Cat Update
I found the cat. It turns out that after she got over her initial shy, she's a glutton for attention. When I am on my bed typing on the laptop, she generally trys to get between my hands and the keyboard. If you're chatting with me online, that means you'll get a message like zzzzzadfskj;l a ase; Don't take it personally. I don't even know what that means.
The cat's full name is Cassie Opeia Lastname. It's pronounced like the name "Cassiopeia," but with the added benefit of driving my daughter up the wall, much to the glee of me and my son.
Son: "The cat's name is Cassie Opeia Lastname."
Daughter: "No, her name is Cassiopeia. Not Cassie Opeia. She still needs a different middle name."
Son: "Her middle name is Opeia. Mom decided. Right Mom?"
Mom: "Right."
Daughter: "MooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooom!"
It's the simple pleasures in life, after all.
The cat's full name is Cassie Opeia Lastname. It's pronounced like the name "Cassiopeia," but with the added benefit of driving my daughter up the wall, much to the glee of me and my son.
Son: "The cat's name is Cassie Opeia Lastname."
Daughter: "No, her name is Cassiopeia. Not Cassie Opeia. She still needs a different middle name."
Son: "Her middle name is Opeia. Mom decided. Right Mom?"
Mom: "Right."
Daughter: "MooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooom!"
It's the simple pleasures in life, after all.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Ding letter
I don't even know if companies send out Ding Letters any more. They go something along the lines of, "Thank you for your response to our position of blah blah blah. After reviewing your qualifications, we have offered the position to another candidate. We will, however, maintain your resume on file for the next 30 days." Now, I think, you just get nothing. Dead Air. I always preferred the Ding Letter, even when I thought I would be able to paper the walls with them. (They are named for the noise that a timer makes when it goes off. Ding! Thank you for playing, we have some lovely consolation prizes for you in the back. Steve, let's tell her what she's won!)
Anyway, I got the ding letter from the Saturday Night Fun Guy. Which is fine, since he's desperately seeking his second wife, and I'm just looking for some good conversation and to get out of the house so the cat can't stick her rear in my face any more. (That's what's happening right now.) "Dear Carson, Thank you for your response to our position of Girlfriend. After reviewing your qualifications, we have offered the position to another candidate. We will, however, maintain your profile on file for the next 30 days." Or something like that.
(It actually was via IM: "I thoroughly enjoyed our time together and loved the discussion. But, I didn't sense enough chemistry for long term potential. Is that too frank?" To which I replied no, of course not. And then cried.)
I, of course, am fine. I am here. With the cat. And the ice cream. With chocolate syrup. (And that reminds me of Israeli guy, whose favorite junk food is Dairy Queen. And was such the good kisser. And who told stories about his military career, being an MP on the Gaza Strip. And did I mention the kissing?)
No, I still haven't heard from him. No response is a response, though.
Anyway, I got the ding letter from the Saturday Night Fun Guy. Which is fine, since he's desperately seeking his second wife, and I'm just looking for some good conversation and to get out of the house so the cat can't stick her rear in my face any more. (That's what's happening right now.) "Dear Carson, Thank you for your response to our position of Girlfriend. After reviewing your qualifications, we have offered the position to another candidate. We will, however, maintain your profile on file for the next 30 days." Or something like that.
(It actually was via IM: "I thoroughly enjoyed our time together and loved the discussion. But, I didn't sense enough chemistry for long term potential. Is that too frank?" To which I replied no, of course not. And then cried.)
I, of course, am fine. I am here. With the cat. And the ice cream. With chocolate syrup. (And that reminds me of Israeli guy, whose favorite junk food is Dairy Queen. And was such the good kisser. And who told stories about his military career, being an MP on the Gaza Strip. And did I mention the kissing?)
No, I still haven't heard from him. No response is a response, though.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Hey, c'mere. Wanna hear about dating in this century?
Yeah. It's different. Or maybe I'm the one that's different. In any case, it's not like I can go out to teh bars and party like it's 1992. Because The Spot and Aunt Charley's aren't there any more. (moment of silence)
Anyway, for all of you single chicks out there. . .right. Gotcha. Okay, live vicariously through me for a bit. God knows, I've lived vicariously through you guys enough, you still married not sleeping alone people.
So I got this tip to sign up with OKCupid. It's free. I like that price tag. I figured from the troll-baiting days at iVillage, my bs detector was pretty well up to snuff, and the ones with the higher prices don't actually screen for bloody axes or anything, it's just a computer. Granted, there are some HNGs that hang out there, but they're easier to deal with online than in person at the bar. (Of course, that assumes that the horney bar guys would be hitting on me, but it's my blog, my fantasy, right? Of course right.)
Anyway, since the introduction to the OKCupid website, I've also been introduced to the concept of the "coffee". In brief, it's not a date but a "i met you over the internet and you seemed reasonably entertaining and sane, but i want to screen you for obvious defects in a well lit public place before giving you my last name or phone number just in case you end up being a few sandwiches short of a picnic."
I had a coffee scheduled for last week, and I wasn't all that thrilled about it, but not knowing exactly what my value was on open market, I took it. This could have been my last chance for adult interaction, you know? He rescheduled for today, and in the meantime I got another offer for this weekend. And then yesterday afternoon, another. And then this evening. . .a last minute dinner invite. So with no further ado, we can head to the locker room for the 10th inning show.
Saturday:
Coffee the first: This coffee was the one described as "okay." The SThe guy was reasonably nice & I seemed to entertain him, but he didn't so much entertain me. Plus, he went on a rant against modern medicine. You know, antibiotics, cancer research, all that. I'm not seeing this as a love connection.
Coffee the second: This was a spur of the moment thing, at about 8:00 last night, and took place at the Starbucks where I first realized that Starbucks was not my style. That's right, the one Mr. Wisecrow took me to, before he stole my sister. This guy was fun to talk to, and in many ways is someone I would like to see again. He's ALSO a friend on Facebook. . .that's why I was being so coy there! He is a Christian, which I think is kind of nice. I don't know if anything else will happen with it.
Coffee the third: Today at 2:30. Okay, call me judgey, but if this guy was really 50, they were 50 REALLY BAD YEARS. Plus, he had bad teeth. And an annoyingly high voice. So, no. And then. . .AND THEN. . .he went on to reference the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty novels. And ask me how I felt about overnights away from home when I didn't have the kids. Ew. Creepy unattractive old guy. (Margaret, think Harry. Yeah.)
And then. . .the capper. Le sigh. This guy messages me & basically says "Hey, I'm in town for a convention, I know this is last minute, would you come have dinner?" And we chatted for a few more minutes, and I said FINE, I'll break EVERY RULE about first we chat, then we email, then if you are SUPER nice I will give you the carsonsfiles email, which is forwarded to my regular email. . .and THEN if you are REALLY exceptional, I will meet you for coffee. I got his real name, left that profile up on my computer & the chat with his cellphone number up, so that in the case of my untimely demise he could be a person of interest. . .and went for it.
He was funny and sexy and cute, and he is in town on a bio conference because his company is looking for a cure for breast cancer and OH MY GOOD GRIEF HE LIVES IN FREAKING ISRAEL. So I'm thinking the future potential is relatively low here, but I did kiss him. And he was a good kisser. And now I'm thinking of packing it in and moving to a kibbutz because if that's how they kiss over there then I am all for it.
And there you have my weekend as Scarlett O'Hara, belle of the ball. Teh end.
Anyway, for all of you single chicks out there. . .right. Gotcha. Okay, live vicariously through me for a bit. God knows, I've lived vicariously through you guys enough, you still married not sleeping alone people.
So I got this tip to sign up with OKCupid. It's free. I like that price tag. I figured from the troll-baiting days at iVillage, my bs detector was pretty well up to snuff, and the ones with the higher prices don't actually screen for bloody axes or anything, it's just a computer. Granted, there are some HNGs that hang out there, but they're easier to deal with online than in person at the bar. (Of course, that assumes that the horney bar guys would be hitting on me, but it's my blog, my fantasy, right? Of course right.)
Anyway, since the introduction to the OKCupid website, I've also been introduced to the concept of the "coffee". In brief, it's not a date but a "i met you over the internet and you seemed reasonably entertaining and sane, but i want to screen you for obvious defects in a well lit public place before giving you my last name or phone number just in case you end up being a few sandwiches short of a picnic."
I had a coffee scheduled for last week, and I wasn't all that thrilled about it, but not knowing exactly what my value was on open market, I took it. This could have been my last chance for adult interaction, you know? He rescheduled for today, and in the meantime I got another offer for this weekend. And then yesterday afternoon, another. And then this evening. . .a last minute dinner invite. So with no further ado, we can head to the locker room for the 10th inning show.
Saturday:
Coffee the first: This coffee was the one described as "okay." The SThe guy was reasonably nice & I seemed to entertain him, but he didn't so much entertain me. Plus, he went on a rant against modern medicine. You know, antibiotics, cancer research, all that. I'm not seeing this as a love connection.
Coffee the second: This was a spur of the moment thing, at about 8:00 last night, and took place at the Starbucks where I first realized that Starbucks was not my style. That's right, the one Mr. Wisecrow took me to, before he stole my sister. This guy was fun to talk to, and in many ways is someone I would like to see again. He's ALSO a friend on Facebook. . .that's why I was being so coy there! He is a Christian, which I think is kind of nice. I don't know if anything else will happen with it.
Coffee the third: Today at 2:30. Okay, call me judgey, but if this guy was really 50, they were 50 REALLY BAD YEARS. Plus, he had bad teeth. And an annoyingly high voice. So, no. And then. . .AND THEN. . .he went on to reference the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty novels. And ask me how I felt about overnights away from home when I didn't have the kids. Ew. Creepy unattractive old guy. (Margaret, think Harry. Yeah.)
And then. . .the capper. Le sigh. This guy messages me & basically says "Hey, I'm in town for a convention, I know this is last minute, would you come have dinner?" And we chatted for a few more minutes, and I said FINE, I'll break EVERY RULE about first we chat, then we email, then if you are SUPER nice I will give you the carsonsfiles email, which is forwarded to my regular email. . .and THEN if you are REALLY exceptional, I will meet you for coffee. I got his real name, left that profile up on my computer & the chat with his cellphone number up, so that in the case of my untimely demise he could be a person of interest. . .and went for it.
He was funny and sexy and cute, and he is in town on a bio conference because his company is looking for a cure for breast cancer and OH MY GOOD GRIEF HE LIVES IN FREAKING ISRAEL. So I'm thinking the future potential is relatively low here, but I did kiss him. And he was a good kisser. And now I'm thinking of packing it in and moving to a kibbutz because if that's how they kiss over there then I am all for it.
And there you have my weekend as Scarlett O'Hara, belle of the ball. Teh end.
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