Archive | August, 2011

The More I Love My Dog….

27 Aug

A series of natural disasters has prevented me from doing the writing necessary to regale you with my tales of dating terror this week, so I’m going to completely cop out and share this gem of a song that tells my same story. I hope you enjoy it! Have a great weekend and check back soon to hear about the unpatriotic chipmunk, the mythical “good guy,” and the yes man.

 

Your Father Isn’t…. Harry

15 Aug

To be honest, I’m not entirely convinced about Harry, but he picked a bar roughly three minutes from my apartment on a night I was planning on staying in anyway, I agreed to meet him. I’m pulling in to the bar, five minutes early for our date, when my phone buzzes. I dig through my purse to find this little gem from my date:

“Don’t be late I have four other dates lined up for tonight 🙂 See you soon”

Is this seriously the same guy I agreed to meet? He had showed no signs of a God complex online but now I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

After an awkward hug hello, we sit down at the bar and he playfully critiques my decision to order my favorite beer.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not adventurous.”

‘I’m here with you, aren’t I?’ I think to myself as he launches into an explanation of the job he “can’t really talk about” but he’s essentially the Jack Bauer of cyber security. Harry is apparently so well connected that I can’t utter a full sentence without unintentionally dropping the name of one of his high powered clients, but thankfully he’s willing to interrupt me each time to let me know.

“So what do you drink other than that beer?”

“I dunno… I used to drink Jack and Coke, but now I-”

“Oh, Coca-Cola’s a client of mine. I just cracked a really big case for them.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ve been drinking Jack and Gingers late-”

“Yea, so is Johnny Walker.”

“Oh. Cool.”

I must be a better actress than I thought because he’s totally buying my “I’m impressed” face and launches into further name dropping for the job he can’t talk about. The bragging crescendos with a story about a famous LA nightclub he assumes I’ve heard of (I haven’t) that he and his friend rented out for a party. Apparently Matt Damon was at the bar, where he and Harry got talking and totally hit it off.

I’m nodding along, trying to reserve my eye rolling for when he pauses to take a drink or check out the female bartender. I think that I’m caught mid eye roll when he suddenly reaches into his pocket and whips out his phone, which he thrusts in my face to show me Matt Damon’s phone number.

Harry is immensely pleased with himself and suggests a game of pool. The 8 ball gleams in my mind like the light at the end of the tunnel, so I accept knowing there will be a concrete end.

We play the longest game of pool on record (for someone who suggested it, he really wasn’t good but neither am I so that’s fine). I cannot conceal my glee when I sink the 8 ball into a corner pocket to win the game. I immediately start the “it’s been fun” conversational shuffle but Harry cuts me off.

“It’s been real babe but I gotta cut this thing short.”

“Short?” is all I can choke out. “You still have a full beer left.”

Harry tilts back the glass, opens his throat, and like Will Ferrell in Elf, his 20oz beer is gone. The glass thuds on the table beside me and I realize Harry has already made it halfway to the door. I hurry after him, utterly off balance by this turn of events, and catch him just outside the entrance to the bar.

After the usual goodbye pleasantries, I accept my fate as he opens his arms towards me and I go for the ass-out hug, leaning over carefully, head angled away. Out of no where his face is on mine, his tongue leading the brave but misguided charge. I make the fatal error of gasping in disbelief, which only grants access to his outstretched tongue before I quickly shut my mouth again.

Just as unexpectedly as he began, Harry spins on his heel and marches off, saying bye over his shoulder. I stand there shell shocked, wiping my mouth, and notice that the hulking bouncer is doubled over laughing (good-naturedly at least).
~~~~

Kids, while Harry might have protected Neil Patrick Harris from getting hacked that one time (and apparently “prevented WWIII against Russia and Bulgaria”), he is absolutely not your father.

Your Father Isn’t… Jimmy

10 Aug

Jimmy actually works in my field, so he invited me out for a “working dinner” to discuss ways our two organizations can work together (which is a meeting I do routinely in the office, but never over drinks at a bar). And, I find out later, so he can charge it to his corporate card.

Jimmy’s easily the cutest one I’ve dated so far, but I’m puzzled by his choice to wear worn jeans and a ratty t-shirt on a date. Even so, I have to admire his swagger as he strolls through the bar dressed like a gym rat.

He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just steer a conversation; he drives it like a teenager in a borrowed Ferrari. Within the first twenty minutes he knows where I am from, my degree, my department and position, my parent’s degrees and professions, and how well connected I am to the upper echelons of my organization. I know that he works in marketing, drinks whiskey on the rocks and knows the waiter.

While he’s grilling me on my hobbies and activities outside work, I mention that I’ve gotten into boxing. This tidbit is usually a great conversation starter, or so I thought until Jimmy says, “Oh yea? Show me how you make a fist.”

Is this a trick question? I hesitantly make a fist, trying to figure out his angle and put it out over the table. ‘Maybe he’s just looking for an excuse to hold my hand,’ I tell myself and try to look like a sweet and innocent, but knowledgeable, boxer. I just look like Zoolander instead.

Jimmy examines my fist, slowly turning my hand over, then shrugs and lets go before continuing his previous line of questioning. I’m not sure how to react, so I let it slide (noticing a pattern yet?)

As we continue, I visibly perk up when the conversation turns to baseball. This is one of my ace-in-the-hole dating traits, because I love baseball and can actually discuss it intelligently. Jimmy, however, is yet to be convinced.

“Who’s your favorite player? Derek Jeter? I’m sorry, I just don’t trust women who say they’re sports fans until they prove it.”

“Nick Swisher.”

He pauses and seems to really focus in on me for the first time all evening and I know right then that something big is about to happen. He leans towards me, staring into my eyes. He’s either going to kiss me or…

The trivia questions start flying like a commentator at the Kentucky Derby and miraculously I keep up. I gulp down another beer from the sheer pressure of this challenge (I’m now tasked with defending the honor of every sports fan with boobs) and because it is a great way to stall for time as I think of my answer. Slightly buzzed and feeling a little bit cocky, Jimmy finally throws me one that catches me off guard.

“Uh… what?”

He knows he has me and smirks as he leans back. No matter how much I argue and question Jimmy remains resolute in his superiority, so finally I yawn and wave to the waiter for the check. He brandishes his corporate card and boasts, “ABC Association’s got this one.”

~~~~

It’s so kind of him, really, but kids, Jimmy is not your father.

Unfair Advantage

8 Aug

Dear Men of OkCupid:

Posting pictures of adorable puppies (with or without you) is absolutely cheating. If I have the option of hanging out with the dog (with or without you) I might end up taking you up on that.

Always,

Heather