Game Changer

According to The Rules, I am to give written notice if I meet someone I like more than everyone else and can't foresee dating anyone else.  Consider this your written notice.  Effective I don't really know exactly when, The Bear can call himself my boyfriend.  What can I say?  I find cowboy boots irresistable, and we've already discussed that Del Taco chili fries are the way to a woman's heart.

I know what you're thinking, so relax:
1. He knows about the blog.
2. He knows his name is The Bear.
3. I haven't decided whether or not to continue this Fifty First Dates challenge if it doesn't work out with The Bear.  Doing such would totally jinx things and I'm not down.  I like The Bear.  And his hugs.  See dramatization above.
4. To all the single ladies (and gentlemen): I highly recommend you challenge yourself to go on fifty first dates.  If you start today, you could have a Bear two months from now.  If you don't end up with a Bear, or Cougar, or Tiger, or Sloth, or whatever animal you fancy, well then you're still going to come out with some stories, a few free drinks, and maybe even a life lesson or two (like don't try to date family members who live in forests or be cautious of guys who yell at waitresses).

8. Mr. Officer

Name:  Mr. Officer (He’s a part-time sheriff’s deputy who works for free on weekends arresting drunken boaters and other assorted river rats.)

Where It All Began: Internet Dating Website (free)

The Date:  I was supposed to have three first dates last week.  Two of those dates fell through on account of the fact that some guys are, well, guys.  You already know the story of Robin Hood and understand why I took myself out of the running to be Lady of Sherwood Forest.  The other date was supposed to be with a firefighter who is terrible at texting, even though he claims it as his favorite form of communication.  Sigh.   Whatever.  Lots of people are telling me to just date The Bear and only The Bear.  I am only opposed to this idea when I think I’ve found someone equally as compatible, if not, more so than The Bear.  Enter Mr. Officer (this particular nickname makes me think of the following song, if for no other reason than that the simulated siren sound is so catchy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9xp0o8RnuM).  This guy seemed like the complete package.  According to my online dating profiles, I am looking for someone that has a job (he has two!), a car (he has a sporty one, not a truck, but it goes fast), doesn’t live with his mama (check!), and has a dog (coincidentally, the dog’s name is Bear).

We met up at a bar/restaurant on one of the rivers that surround this beautiful shithole they call a city.  I’ve only lived in the area for about a year and have been spoiled by my parents having a house on a river about an hour away.  Therefore, I had no idea there existed this culture built entirely around boating.  Mr. Officer explained this to me as we sat riverside and watched boat after boat dock only a few feet from our table.  He told me that he spends weekends on the sheriff’s boat pulling over drunken douche bags.  I was fascinated.  Stories involving alcohol, douche baggery, and which star a cast of characters dressed in Affliction t-shirts are right up my Jersey Shore-loving alley.  (Ok, I’ve seen like four episodes of Jersey Shore, but my in-depth study leads me to conclude that too many hours in a tanning bed combined with Ron-Ron Juice does not a productive member of society make.)  As the stories continued, I started to tune out and spent most of my time observing the boaters, wondering why so many middle-aged men spend so much money on boats if they’re just going to sit at the dock all day and all night.  Then I noticed an inordinate amount of Botox and silicone pressed up against said boats and all the pieces fell into place.  When it was my turn to talk, I was asked about seven million questions about my dog.  After a drink and an appetizer, I found myself getting steadily less interested in Mr. Officer.  I don’t know what it was, but I was very conscious of my dissipating feelings of like and attraction.  This isn’t a commentary on Mr. Officer as a person.  As I mentioned, he is a complete package.  He was nice, he was gentlemanly, he was good looking.  Blah, blah, blah.  Maybe it was simply that I wasn’t that into the guy.  I wouldn’t call this a bad date, but as you can tell, I don’t have anything ridiculous or hilarious to share.

Deal-makers:

·     Job

·         Car

·         House

·         Dog

Deal-breakers:

·         Works a lot.

·         I can’t figure it out!

Would I Date Him Again?  I guess I wouldn’t say no.  I'd say everyone deserves a second chance, but that would negate what I said about Robin Hood...

7. Robin Hood

Name: Robin Hood (He lives in the Sherwood Forest.  No, seriously, that’s the name of the tract/community/development.)

Where It All Began: He is the brother of my cousin’s husband (I’ll wait while you get a calculator and a map of Arkansas to figure that out…)

The Date:  Robin Hood was one of the people I knew I could count as one of my fifty dates before this blog was ever published.  We have met multiple times at family events and as far as I could tell, he seemed like good people.  Every now and then, Mrs. Ninja (his sister-in-law/my cousin) would tell me some ridiculous story about Robin Hood.  He has a son , the by-product of which is of course, a crazy ex-girlfriend who he will never be rid of.  I had also heard about his jealousy issues (over things his brother has, not necessarily being a jealous boyfriend), his strong desire to get married and have a family, and so on.  None of the stories I had been told were bad enough to make me think negatively of Robin Hood.  I had always known him to be funny, somewhat charming, and even kind of cute.  Every time we met up, it was usually in the company of the Ninjas, so eventually we made plans to hang out one on one.  On multiple occasions, either he or I cancelled the plans.  These cancellations were never a big deal and usually occurred days in advance.

This past weekend, I received a text message from Robin Hood with a photo attached showing off some delicious looking homemade meal he prepared himself.  I jokingly asked when he was going to invite me over for dinner and a movie.  He responded and we made plans to do dinner and a movie at his house.  I reluctantly agreed to make the one hour journey to the Sherwood Forest in hopes of finally hanging out with Robin Hood and being able to count it toward my goal of fifty first dates.  A day before the date, he asked if we could push the start time from 7:00 pm to 8:00 pm because he wanted to work out with some buddies.  Ok, fine.  That would give me more time to get ready, make the fruit salad I had promised, stop to get Justin Bieber’s Never Say Never on DVD, and embark on my trek.  Fast forward to 8:00 pm when I sent a quick text message to let Robin Hood know I’d be about 10 minutes late.  The Sherwood Forest is far far away from my house and I needed the extra time to navigate the wilderness.  I pulled into his driveway at 8:10 pm only to notice the absence of his truck.  I shrugged it off and knocked on the front door.  Peering into the open windows, I could see all the way through the house.  Piles of laundry mounded on the couch, lights on in the kitchen, and his dog going insane in the backyard.  Surely, he was home.  After a few minutes of repeated knocking, I placed a call to Robin Hood.  Maybe he was in the backyard firing up the grill?  No answer.  I wandered around a bit and started thinking that maybe something had happened to his son or that he had run to his parents’ house down the street for a cup of sugar.  I waited a total of 15 minutes before getting back in my car.  I decided that because my parents live about 10 minutes away, I’d pop in and see if they’d feed me dinner considering mine was M.I.A.  As I was driving, I called Mrs. Ninja in a fit of rage, but at the same time, my caller ID informed me that Robin Hood was trying to reach me.  I answered, “Yes.  Hello.”

“Hey, where are you?”

“Driving to my parents’ house for dinner.”

“I’ll be home in a few, we decided to run four extra miles, so turn around.”

“I’m pissed.  I’ve been at your house for 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, well it was only 15 minutes, you can still turn around.”

“Next time.”

“Well, it really isn’t that big of a deal…”

“Yeah, if I had been there at 8, I would have been waiting for 30 minutes before getting this call.”

“You’re mad?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.  Well, we’ll hang out next time.”

Click.

I ended up at my parents’ house just in time for them to throw an extra burger on the barbeque.  My date with them was fantastic.  Definitely wasn’t a first date as I’ve had more dinners with them than with any other human beings, but still pleasant.  After dinner, I drove an hour back home and collapsed in bed, still angry.  This morning, I ate the fruit salad for breakfast.  It was scrumptious.

Deal-makers:

·         None.  This is an unforgiveable offense.  Acting like a total douche overshadows any positive qualities he may possess.

Deal-breakers:

·         Is totally non-committal.  It took months to actually schedule this date because apparently it is absurd to plan your Saturday on Tuesday.

·         Has a child; therefore, also has baby mama drama.

·         Would rather run four extra miles than hang out with me.

·         Doesn’t know how to answer phone calls, text messages, or doors.

Would I Date Him Again?  Nope.  We didn’t date before.  We didn’t date last night.  We won’t date in the future.

Oh, and this counts as a date given my investment of time, effort, emotion and the fact that I wasted a so-cute brand new shirt on nothing.

6. Wings

Name: Wings (because this is what Red Bull gives you… I’ll explain in a minute)

Where It All Began: Internet Dating Website (free)

The Date:  Because my prospects on the paid internet dating website seem to be dwindling, I decided to join a free dating site.  Also, I’d like to conduct a little social experiment in which I date guys from both paid and free sites to determine whether or not you really do “get what you pay for.”  So far, the biggest advantage of the free site (aside from the fact that I didn’t have to enter my credit card number) is the willingness of men to freely contact you via email with an invitation to meet up or at least start exchanging text messages.  My friends know that I’m basically a text message whore when it comes to communication with the opposite sex.  No, I don’t exchange dirty messages or photos.  That’s what politicians do.  I simply prefer this as a method of communication with men because most of them cannot seem to string words together in order to hold a proper conversation for longer than three minutes.  This is understandable given the NBA Playoffs, work schedules, dating multiple women at the same time, and the fact that they’re dudes (it’s electronic, it’s short, it’s easy, it’s instantaneous).  Texting eliminates the annoying and often delayed and drawn-out email exchanges that are often critical to online dating.

Now, how does all that relate to Wings?  Simple: after two emails, he sent me his phone number asking to text.  We exchanged texts for less than a week before deciding to meet up.  We met at a restaurant/bar for Happy Hour.  With great joy at the prospect of returning to a pattern of having an adult beverage on a first date, I deviated from the Happy Hour menu and ordered a mojito.  I don’t know if that’s what prompted the thirty minute discussion about the Happy Hour menu and the fact that it was so cheap and such a good deal, but that’s the conversation that ensued.  And by conversation, I mean monologue.  Don’t get me wrong, the guy was extremely nice and is good at talking without boring a girl, but I probably spoke one word for every ten of his.  As I was beginning to wonder whether his chattiness was a product of nerves or nature, he began to tell me about what he’d eaten that day.  Salad as a snack a few hours earlier and a Red Bull not long after as an afternoon pick-me-up.  No wonder he couldn’t shut up, he was all jacked up on caffeine.

I continued to use my listening skills as I snacked on appetizers and what had to be the strongest mojito ever poured.  He skipped along, telling one story after another until he had to pee.  When he excused himself to the bathroom, I whipped out my phone to see that my sister, Casper, had texted me about Justin Bieber and that it was also 9:30 pm.  I quickly typed a message back to Casper ensuring her that I would enter the radio station contest for the Bieb tickets.  I hit send and Wings had returned to the table announcing that three and a half hours had somehow gotten away from him and that he needed to let his dog out (or in, I can’t remember, even though the caffeine had worn off a little, the words were frantic and my temperature was rising due to the phenomenon known as Bieber Fever).  We walked outside and he noticed that I had kicked a dollar bill.  He picked it up and asked if it was mine.  It looked just like all my other dollars, so I claimed it.  I then walked him to his truck and we hugged goodbye and made half-assed plans to hang out at a baseball game over the weekend.  My car was parked in the next parking lot, which happened to be reserved for a funeral home, but was also the closest spot I could find as the restaurant lot was full.  I felt simultaneously annoyed and creeped out that he hadn’t offered to walk me to my car, especially when I could have been kidnapped by ghosts.  I climbed into the driver’s seat and noticed that there was a twenty dollar bill on the seat.  Either I crap money or the $21 I made that night were already mine.

Deal-makers:

·         Has hot friends.  (I’ve seen photos and I’ve made a note of this because I still need to meet 44 other dudes.)

·         Won’t ever run out of anything to say.

·         Is the human version of Yelp when it comes to bars, restaurants, and recreational activities in the area.

·         Drives a truck.

·         Went to college.  (This one’s for you, Hate.)

Deal-breakers:

·         Won’t ever run out of anything to say.

·         Overused the words “money” and “success.”  It’s nice that you have these, but I’m only maybe mildly impressed.

·         Says his dog doesn’t like other dogs or other people.  Dogs love me, but this makes me want to study up on my Cesar Milan in the event there are multiple dates.

·         Drives a white truck. (Some of my friends and family may know that on a list I created in high school describing the ideal man, it was imperative for my date/boyfriend/husband/baby daddy to drive a red or black truck.)

·         Didn’t walk me to my car.

Would I Date Him Again?  Probably.  This way, he might be able to learn a thing or two about me.

5. The Bachelor

Name:  The Bachelor (Read the “Where It All Began” section below.  I will mention here that The Bachelor is not the groom for whom the bachelor party was thrown.  Also, if ever I refer to “The Bachelor” in quotation marks, I’m definitely referencing the reality television series that is responsible for more broken hearts than there were the day N*Sync broke up.)

Where It All Began:  My friend Hate’s boyfriend, The Starfish, went to a bachelor party and sent a blurry photo via text of one of the single guys asking for permission to pass out my phone number.  Within fifteen minutes, The Bachelor texted me and began a text marathon that lasted the duration of the three day bachelor party extravaganza.

The Date:  I have been sick off and on with every variety of cold and flu known to man.  For the past week, I’ve been “on” with sickness.  When The Bachelor asked me to dinner a few days ago, I was reluctant to agree.  How much fun is a meal shared with a diseased girl coughing in the bread basket?  But I’m in no position to refuse a first date.  So I covered my sickness with make-up and a smile and headed to the local neighborhood Chili’s.  Before you get all crazy and start judging the boy’s restaurant choice, just remember that I’m the same girl who was beyond excited to go to Del Taco with The Bear.

I arrived to Chili’s much more fashionably dressed than required for such an establishment; however given my previous first date attire, I figured I should make a more solid attempt at looking like I can afford shoes.  When I walked in, I was greeted with a hug and immediately noticed that The Bachelor definitely works out.  Swoon.  We chose to sit at the bar and spent two hours not drinking.  I just realized that I have not gone on a dry first date in many moons and here’s why: booze is the best social lubricant.  Unless the daters are already acquainted, it is very likely that there will be some level of awkwardness.  Alcohol helps bridge these gaps by allowing people the opportunity to relax.

Of all my dates thus far, this one was the least remarkable.  Here’s a synopsis: queso, water, giggling, stories about car accidents and work, soup, salad, fried cheese, NBA Finals on TV, he paid the bill.  I’m not complaining about The Bachelor and maybe it’s because I’ve been sick, but the date was just all right.  

Deal-makers:

·         Has a nice body

·         Has a job, a car, and a dog

·         Divulged bachelor party secrets

Deal-breakers:

·         I’m pretty sure he lives with his mom

·         Talks a lot about work

·         Is in love with his car, whose name is Veronica.  No, seriously, he told me any girl he dated would be number two after Veronica.

Would I Date Him Again?  Sure, why not?

4. The Bear

Name:  The Bear

Where It All Began:  Online dating website (paid)

The Date:  I hate going on a first date on a Friday or Saturday night.  It’s a lot to gamble and risk wasting a portion of your precious weekend on a total stranger.  But because I don’t want the world to end having only been on three dates of the fifty I’ve promised to you and to myself, I agreed to meet The Bear at a pub for happy hour on Friday after work.

I walked in to the pub ten minutes late.  I am struggling to call this “fashionably late” as I was dressed in a tank top, cardigan, jeans, and dirty white Chucks.  The clothing was fine, especially considering I had spent the whole day in the field walking through dirt and weeds.  Still, I believe both parties should make an effort to dress like they care.  Half the reason I agree to these dates is because I finally have an excuse to wear the so-cute shoes I have piled at the bottom of my closet.  My self-consciousness over my footwear was magnified when I heard the clack-clack of The Bear’s cowboy boots on the wood planked floor of the pub.  Great, a guy in heels.  I tried to get over the disparity in our fashion choices as we sat down with our drinks.  We immediately started chatting about all the normal first date things: job, hobbies, background, education, etc.  When my drink was nothing but melted ice, The Bear offered a second drink and fetched it from the bar himself. 

A couple drinks and three and a half hours later, we both realized we were hungry and decided to go to dinner.  Because I had to run to make sure my car didn’t get locked in a parking garage (a lesson learned on my second date with Maverick) and because The Bear needed to replace his phone battery, we parted ways and agreed to meet at a restaurant.  I spent the next fifteen minutes wondering if the phone battery was just an excuse to get rid of me and my filthy shoes.  But then he walked around the corner in a completely different shirt and jacket than what he’d been wearing at the pub.  He explained that he had been cold, but I couldn’t see how this justified a mid-date wardrobe change. 

The restaurant that we wanted to go to was closed, so we walked to three or four other eateries only to find huge lines or closed doors.  I whipped out my phone to look up additional restaurants when The Bear uttered the following sentence: “I have food at my house, but I don’t want to creep you out, so I don’t know where to go at this point other than Del Taco.”  My heart stopped.  For those of you who don’t know me, know this: I LOVE Del Taco.  I will never turn down a free meal, especially at a fast food joint where you can order a burrito AND chili fries.  And chili fries I did order.  He apologized for taking me to Del Taco and made me promise to tell people that we went to some fancy Mexican place with a Spanish name I couldn’t pronounce.  Oops.

After a lovely dinner, I agreed to go with him and meet a few of his friends at a local dive bar.  As I shook the hands of four girls in dresses and a guy in a tie, The Bear verbalized what I had been thinking, “What the hell?  Why didn’t anyone tell me to dress up?!”  Apparently, the group had decided to go out and dress Mad Men style.  As I cursed my shoes for the third time that night, the group was moving toward the exit in search of a less crowded drinking establishment.  We found one and The Bear ordered a round of drinks for himself and the rest of his friends, saying that he felt bad for meeting up with them so late in the evening.  It’s always awkward meeting new people, but this group was fairly nice and even invited me to their Rapture party this weekend.

The evening ended seven hours after it had begun and overall, I’m not sorry I spent my Friday night amongst strangers.  I am sorry about the shoes, though. 

Deal-makers:

·         Cooks

·         Buys girls drinks

·         Likes Del Taco

·         Listens to country music and the Glee station on Pandora radio

Deal-breakers:

·         Is an MP (Mountain Person).  For additional information on this species, please refer to Mrs. Ninja’s blog: http://wifeofaninja.blogspot.com/

·         Has a compulsive need to check work email

·         Is short (so I guess it may have been a good thing I didn't wear heels)

3. Shrek

Name:  Shrek (because he looks like a less green version of the cartoon ogre, plus he allegedly smells like a swamp, which will be explained below)

Where It All Began:  Online dating website (paid)

The Date:  I’ve been called a bitch more than once.  This post might confirm that for some of you, but I’d like to preface what I’m about to tell you with this:  I am only telling the truth about each encounter, trying to leave nothing of importance out of these stories, and I’m trying to do it in the most objective of ways.  Forgive me, but I call them like I see them.  When I first viewed Shrek’s online dating profile, I nearly choked on my spinach salad with low calorie vinaigrette (ok, it was a box of pastel Junior Mints from the Easter Bunny… ok, they were from my mom, don’t judge me).  It appeared that based on what he wrote and the backdrop of nearly all of his photos, he worked in the same industry and same building as someone I spent a very long time talking to/semi-dating/pining after.  Things ended abruptly with this person and I don’t care to see him unless it involves a colossal apology.  He shall go by the name, Nevertheless.  I immediately emailed Shrek out of curiosity – Does he know Nevertheless? Does he work in the same industry?  Does he run in the same circle, which at least 50% of the people I meet these days seem to do?  Once I confirmed that though they do work in the same industry, Shrek does not know Nevertheless, I allowed myself to continue communication.  Shrek seemed easy going, down to earth, funny, and manly.  Yes, manly.  Ladies, is it not important that a guy own a toolbox, know how to hook up your cable box, or mix a stiff drink?  The fact that Shrek works in professional sports signified to me that he is, indeed, in possession of a Man Card.

Last weekend, I went back to my hometown to celebrate Mother’s Day with family.  Turns out, Shrek was also in town on some sports related business.  After a few hours of exchanging text messages, I invited Shrek out to have a drink.  This guy seemed to have an awesome personality and my excitement built as my dreams of a Bachelor-style hometown date drew near.  My sister, Casper, and my cousin, Cobra, and I were going to Cobra’s friend’s (Mr. Diamond’s) bar.  We shall call this establishment Diamond Bar, not to be confused with the god-awful city in Southern California of the same name.  Originally, Shrek had plans to drive all the way back home, but quickly scrapped them when I proposed drinks.  I am THAT charming over text message.  Anyway, Casper, Cobra, and I got to Diamond Bar first, so we ordered a round of drinks.  I began with a drink known as the Jager-bomb.  Normally, this particular beverage causes me to time travel and I avoid it at all costs because I don’t like to wake up on someone’s couch wondering what happened last night, only to be reminded by my friends that I was hot mess.  However, I would be on a first date in the presence of my sister and cousin, who are ridiculously good at embarrassing people, and would need something to make the experience bearable.  I sipped the shot because Mr. Diamond mixes a stiff drink (Man Card!) and I’m not a 19 year old college student anymore.  While waiting for Shrek, I ordered another drink and sat down at a small table and made small talk with Mr. Diamond’s patrons.

Shrek lumbered in a few minutes later.  He was instantly recognizable, not only because I had seen his pictures, but because he radiated awkwardness.  I hopped off my bar stool and shook his hand.  I couldn’t help but give him the once-over.  His red sweater had a single stripe across the chest and looked like something my eighth grade lab partner got from Anchor Blue circa 1998.  I told myself not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself, and went all Maverick on that sweater for the rest of the night.  Before he sat down, Shrek walked to the far end of the bar to order some liquid courage.  He came back with a beer and sat down.  We started chatting about the baseball game he had just come from.  Then we talked about the job he used to have covering the local basketball team.  Then we talked about hockey, football, college basketball, college football, and cricket.  Ok, maybe we didn’t talk about cricket, but at this point, I had started drinking Casper’s drink because mine had reached empty and Shrek hadn’t offered to replace it even though I clanked the ice against the glass with the straw for 20 minutes.  I had wanted to like this guy so much, but it became very clear to me after chatting for nearly two hours that this man was passionate about exactly one thing: sports.  Don’t get me wrong, I love sports; I played sports in high school and was captain of my dorm’s intramural flag football team in college.  It’s just that after making attempts to change topics to things like what he does for fun, where he grew up, what he went to school for, etc., we just couldn’t get away from bats, balls, and national titles.  At some point, Shrek asked if I was ok.  At first I wasn’t sure what this meant, but considering he fetched himself another round from the bar, I assume he was asking me if I wanted a drink?  I don’t know, I don’t read minds.

As we were discussing some amazing upset in the 1996 World Series (if you’re a dude and you’re reading this, I don’t know a damn thing about the 1996 World Series… if you’re a girl and you’re reading this, yes, I faked it; therefore, I don’t remember this part of the conversation), a short and stout drunken man approached our table and asked Shrek about the can of Copenhagen on the table.  One of Mr. Diamond’s patrons had left it there and the drunken man clearly wanted or needed a dip.  So, Shrek handed him the can.  The drunken man opened the can and inspected its contents.  I glanced over to notice a dark wet-looking substance I could only identify as chewed tobacco.  The drunken man didn’t notice that this had been pre-chewed and promptly put the ABC dip in his mouth.  I couldn’t help my childish giggles as he demanded Casper’s water.  When she denied him, he filled with rage and complained to Mr. Diamond about the incident.  I’m not exactly sure what happened next because suddenly bells were dinging, lights were switched on, and we were ushered toward the exits.  Casper, Shrek, and I walked outside where I half-hugged Shrek and urged him to “Keep in touch!” as though it was the last day of school and I was signing the yearbook of a classmate I didn’t want to see or hear from until September.

When he was out of earshot, Casper looked at me and said, “That guy is a square.”  I nodded, and got in the car, knowing that even though it was a bit insulting, she was right.  The next morning, Casper and Cobra recounted my date for some other family members.  I learned that each time Shrek got up to order another drink, he crop dusted the rest of the bar.  I really wanted to like Shrek, and I honestly put forth a sincere effort to get to know him, but at the end of the date, I just could not give him the rose.  I have to send him packing.  I’m also mad that the Jager-bomb failed me for the first time in history, allowing me to remember the entire sequence of events.

Deal-makers:

·         Is passionate about sports

·         Has an awesome job, the kind of thing little boys dream about

·         Is a nice-guy

·         Made huge sacrifices of time, plans, and probably some money to spend 2 hours with a total stranger

Deal-breakers:

·         Doesn’t appear to have interests outside of sports

·         Didn’t directly offer to buy me a drink

·         Crop dusted the bar

·         Spends most of his time commuting to and from work (a two-hour drive, each way)