tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41769884342299908792024-03-21T19:43:57.668-07:0030 Dates, 30 KnightsI have decided to embark on this bizarre adventure where I will blog about 30 dates with 30 different "Knights".I think my dating life has definitely been more interesting than fiction and maybe getting out there is what I need to do to get back into the "dating" scene. Hopefully blogging about it will add some levity and fun and even if it all is a bust, I should have some pretty interesting stories!YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-58461748295968579432015-03-31T05:31:00.000-07:002015-03-31T05:31:15.898-07:00The Blog Lives Again. . . <div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijWVZ9RVU4oVjYQ5Lv9ZS8W7IYIlCLNh8deNjHzt6f7NT33fBjcl30RD0_G_HynKvRpPD9J6MjxVPUTp-rHtAVhf7iRSjMgiPoAqIK-R2Zi9s8pwG4VChdpUgJPRxmcmQ8vSZLSVFn98ht/s1600/knight_by_goddessmechanic-d56svao.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijWVZ9RVU4oVjYQ5Lv9ZS8W7IYIlCLNh8deNjHzt6f7NT33fBjcl30RD0_G_HynKvRpPD9J6MjxVPUTp-rHtAVhf7iRSjMgiPoAqIK-R2Zi9s8pwG4VChdpUgJPRxmcmQ8vSZLSVFn98ht/s1600/knight_by_goddessmechanic-d56svao.jpg" height="320" width="160" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“So what Knight am I?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Excuse me?” I replied confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was totally lost. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">”What Knight am I?” the man’s voice on the phone
repeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My brain was processing what he was saying, but it was like
I was translating the words in my head to fit contextually to what this
wonderful, beautiful man was speaking of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I thought that we had a great time and I thought you liked
me, and then I read your blog and wondered if you just went on a date to have
material for your blog,” was the summary that followed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ouch. Shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. This was my worst
nightmare coming true. I finally meet someone, have an amazing time with them,
really like them and my luck; they think I am just out with them to have
material to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had mentioned that I had written a blog in passing at one
point during a phone conversation when we were first talking. We were speaking
for hours on the phone and I was trying to get to know him, and he me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a smart guy sometimes does, he Google’d me
and found everything from roller derby to the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had wrapped up the blog dates nearly a year earlier, and
hadn’t seen hide nor hare of a Knight in ages. Life had gotten busy; new job,
traveling, band obligations, friends and family and I had just dropped the ball
with finishing the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had spaced
and then three months turned into six months, and then I just wondered if I was
ever going to have time or have the spirit move me to finish the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had only written when I felt really
compelled to write, and well, I wasn’t feeling creative these days to sum up
the last two failed dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and I were
having such a great time, I wasn’t event thinking about my past dates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing that was so funny to talk about, everyone seemed
so happy to read, and offered me an outlet for the very odd and mysterious time
of my life when I was “dating” was now rearing it’s head, and it wasn’t
pretty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well Chris, you finally met a nice guy, of course, a nice
guy isn’t going to want to think he’s part of an online blog,” was the counsel
I was offered by the best friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
horrified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really liked this guy. .
and I by no means wanted him to think that I was writing about him! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrestled with what to do. Do I just take the blog down? I
was two entries away (both were dates I had gone on ages ago) from completion. If I took
it down before it was complete, I felt like I hadn’t completed by goal. I HAD
gone on thirty dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not just
create the write-ups and then put the sucker to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After A LOT of dialogue with this new man about how the blog
had not been written for a year. . .after apologizing profusely for having this
wonderful man feel led astray, I knew I had to finish the blog. I had not been
on a blog date for nearly a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, after completing thirty first dates I took a break from dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For nearly a year. . . .I will explain
further in my wrap up, but I was a bit threadbare from dating and the doozy
that the Knight’s legacy left me with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also explained to him that I too, really liked him, and
wasn’t going to write a blog entry about our date/s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This kind-hearted man accepted my explanation with no
challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was willing to believe he
wasn’t just<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“statistic” and was going to
give me another shot and I haven’t breathed a sigh of relief like that in a
while. Finally, I had met someone that was willing to trust and believe
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He became even more attractive to me
than he already was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I pulled my act together and over two trips, I decided
it’s time to put this sucker to bed. I wasn’t losing a perfectly great
relationship over my brain dead musings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-64414537197206920232014-03-11T17:30:00.000-07:002014-03-11T17:30:22.704-07:00The Knight of Years Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIRu0QNMwnKHKRIp2qCmdTXYT56ZLrevxyGzQCTB24r3L9wMXWJ6oVkmQxKa0qBZo7b_RCflodm-ihhbPRpnBUjMUAVmak5Qc-A5rnqBclNes3pqhoOCOtD2lepyooyY-HwY0XTxOFu3G/s1600/FluxCapacitor3947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIRu0QNMwnKHKRIp2qCmdTXYT56ZLrevxyGzQCTB24r3L9wMXWJ6oVkmQxKa0qBZo7b_RCflodm-ihhbPRpnBUjMUAVmak5Qc-A5rnqBclNes3pqhoOCOtD2lepyooyY-HwY0XTxOFu3G/s1600/FluxCapacitor3947.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
You know how sometimes you get a phone call or text that is unexpected and out of the blue from someone you haven't seen in a long while. . .<br />
<br />
Perhaps you had worked together in the past, or maybe you had just known each other as friends of friends. Then, out of no where, that person reaches out to you and you are happy to hear from them because you had a positive experience with them, and enjoyed their company.<br />
<br />
This is exactly what happened to me.<br />
<br />
I was knee deep into my dating experiences. I had enjoyed (?) a conga line of Knights but was fairly thread bare from doing the 'what do you do for work,' and 'what are your hobbies' convo. I had decided for a short break from dating so that I could re-focus on some of my relationships with friends I had not seen in a while due to this Death March of dating. I longed for a break from the getting to know you conversation and having to try to muddle through a challenging evening that was otherwise not working out.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0aTtIUNFLg8LEKe5SOdPoK3eMRo0fBiVMSVuFa_5y34-I8Vy9pLrg8wcxQ_S5179Mfxsp2mZeCsiooKyKhF_UDU6nAbgzx_km0dS9Wb-rXX2525i9uEWD89SNrYRPJxQ6Exwpad3vUug_/s1600/online-dating.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0aTtIUNFLg8LEKe5SOdPoK3eMRo0fBiVMSVuFa_5y34-I8Vy9pLrg8wcxQ_S5179Mfxsp2mZeCsiooKyKhF_UDU6nAbgzx_km0dS9Wb-rXX2525i9uEWD89SNrYRPJxQ6Exwpad3vUug_/s1600/online-dating.jpeg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Nearly as soon as I had wished for it, wa-la, I got a text from someone from my past. He and I had worked together nearly a decade ago, and I had always thought of him fondly as a good friend, and generally all-around good person. <br />
<br />
His text warm and friendly as he had always been. It was a "Hey you! How you doin?!?" <br />
<br />
I happily returned a text of "hey, what's up man!"<br />
<br />
He was always such a great guy. . .it was such a pleasure to hear from him!<br />
<br />
I had been at his wedding, we shared mutual friends, and I thought that this was a call to report in about a new job or some other of wildly successful occasion that he was reaching out to share. He asked if we could meet up for a drink and I agreed. This man had a great life, great wife and a beautiful new baby from what I had heard from friends. I wanted to hear all about his successes. I looked forward to meeting for a drink.<br />
<br />
We decided to grab a drink at the <a href="http://www.theshannonrose.com/">Shannon Rose</a> on a Tuesday evening. I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, wrapped my hair up into a bun and slid into my <a href="http://www.converse.com/#ui-tabs-2">Converse</a> sneakers. I felt that this was proper friend attire. Generally in the past we had met for lunch, but I imagined he had a full plate these days, and a quick drink after work was probably all he could fit in.<br />
<br />
I headed down to the Shannon Rose and parked myself at the bar. I ordered up a <a href="http://strongbowcider.com/">Strongbow</a> and patiently awaited my friend's arrival.<br />
<br />
A few minutes after my arrival, he blew into the restaurant. He looked a bit harried, with a phone to his ear and struggling to loosen his tie while walking towards the bar.<br />
<br />
He saw me from a few feet away, smiled, waved, pointed to his phone and put up the 'just one minute' finger. I smiled back and nodded in agreement.<br />
<br />
He had barely aged. He looked like the same 20 year old kid I had known way back when. He was sharply dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, white shirt and navy tie. He had always been very fashion forward, and I recalled busting his balls about his keen fashion sense when we would see each other.<br />
<br />
'Still a great dresser,' I thought to myself.<br />
<br />
He hung up his call and then dashed over to join me at one of the only empty seats left at the bar. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me back to take a look at me.<br />
<br />
"My God, you don't age do you?" he proclaimed.<br />
<br />
"And this coming from a man who doesn't seem to age either!" I responded.<br />
<br />
"How the hell have you been?"he asked, "You look great!"<br />
<br />
"Well I find that the <a href="https://www.dietcoke.com/">Diet Coke</a> and vodka have been the key to preserving my youthful glow," I giggled.<br />
<br />
I hailed the bartender over for him and he ordered a <a href="http://heinekenusa.com/age-gate/?returnurl=%2Fbrands%2F">Heineken Light.</a><br />
<br />
He made fun of his own order. "You know we're aging when we can't have the regular beer anymore and light is the only option that doesn't make you all gross the following day."<br />
<br />
I smiled warmly and toasted a cheers to old friends getting together.<br />
<br />
"Seriously though," he asked. "How's life treating you?"<br />
<br />
"Awe. I can't complain. Work is good, been traveling a ton over the last few years and well, no matter how far I move away. I just keep coming back to Jersey."<br />
<br />
He shared that through mutual friends that he had heard about my travels and moving over seas from time to time. <br />
<br />
We talked about where we used to work together, and shared stories of the fun we had had at happy hours and past occasions together. He inquired as to how my ex was, having heard that we were no longer together. I shared that he was now married, and doing well as far as I knew. We ordered a second beer and some light bites to eat.<br />
<br />
He asked if I had ever gotten married. To try to make light of the situation I shared that in my 20s all the wrong ones "kept asking and I kept saying 'no', and now into my 30s, no one seemed to be asking anymore."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAIHPzmq8aSixW2ebNLi6ZTjE_UjE9zoxXs8-0_EIYMlmfssDP3j94KPQozY-jbS7A1w2DYoHzYaEOAyTmV8fe2ehpDVwzCl4ecfuBrYSY1jk4XPPZDubIb0_UGKhAOx2HymP_dC7v5Ci/s1600/Albert_Beck_Wenzell_The-Marriage-Proposal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAIHPzmq8aSixW2ebNLi6ZTjE_UjE9zoxXs8-0_EIYMlmfssDP3j94KPQozY-jbS7A1w2DYoHzYaEOAyTmV8fe2ehpDVwzCl4ecfuBrYSY1jk4XPPZDubIb0_UGKhAOx2HymP_dC7v5Ci/s1600/Albert_Beck_Wenzell_The-Marriage-Proposal.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just slow your row there mister. . .</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This made him laugh. He asked if anyone new was in the picture, and I told him that I had had zero success on the dating front to this point.<br />
<br />
I guess he could kind of read my disappointment with my perpetual single-hood and seemed to switch gears with the conversation. I appreciated this.<br />
<br />
"Still throwing 'bows?" he asked as he gestured with his elbows poking me in the side. He shared that he had seen me in the newspaper for roller derby a number of times, and had wanted to come and see me play.<br />
<br />
"Ah, well it was a good run," I shared. "I am retired now. Got tired of the politics, and my body got tired of the regular beatings. It was lovely while it lasted, but retirement has been good to me."<br />
<br />
"Well you look no worse for the wear," he shared. "I had always thought you had a great figure." This made me a bit uncomfortable coming from a married man. . .wasn't like him to come off as creepy. Odd.<br />
<br />
"Looks like you have been staying fit," I mentioned pointing at him. "Chasing the babe is keeping you in shape I imagine? Still playing hockey?"<br />
<br />
"Well," he began. "I barely have time for anything other than work and my kid. They moved me up in the company and I have had an insane schedule for the past three years. It's nuts."<br />
<br />
"Oh man," I began. "You're wife must miss you terribly. How is she? She is such a great woman! Is she still working for the same company?"<br />
<br />
His demeanor changed. He shifted in his seat a bit. <br />
<br />
"You didn't hear I guess. . ." He seemed confused.<br />
<br />
"I didn't hear what?" I asked. Oh God, what had happened to his wife.<br />
<br />
"She and I divorced about 18 months ago," he began. "I don't know. I guess we just grew apart. I was never around, she changed after we had the baby, and I guess it just fell apart from there."<br />
<br />
"Oh, geez. I am so sorry," I said, feeling awful. I really didn't mean to bring up a painful situation for him. How could I have not known. I can't recall any of our mutual friends mentioning this to me. Based upon the time frame, I must have been living in Australia at the time of his split. I guess everyone figured that I knew??<br />
<br />
"Oh don't be sorry," he continued. She's getting re-married and he's actually a really good guy. No bad feelings between us, we just grew apart. It happens some times, I guess. I really thought you knew. . ."<br />
<br />
Call me naive. I had no idea. <br />
<br />
To try to switch gears to make HIM feel less awkward, I asked about his kid. He was overjoyed to share stories about his child, and he pulled out his phone to show me pictures. A LOT of pictures. He told me that every waking moment that he had available was spent with his child. He spoke of his home now looking like a Toys'R'Us, and how his fridge was stocked full of kid snacks. His idea of a great weekend was taking his child to Chuck E Cheese, and then to the zoo or the park, and crashing at 8pm.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdx1Htxx8vZW_GcKC_k-NPW9CP0m8tbHhdGwdzofiVbPkhRR0NJyDyYdK0-d5JjBQmuJCcBpI__C_gwCb-T3X56_33K02ZkGKKyO4gdJ5uLm1Uqp_krY_BtoF-grUcl1YFEgO-PQRebHKb/s1600/4fa81f03871e9.preview-620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdx1Htxx8vZW_GcKC_k-NPW9CP0m8tbHhdGwdzofiVbPkhRR0NJyDyYdK0-d5JjBQmuJCcBpI__C_gwCb-T3X56_33K02ZkGKKyO4gdJ5uLm1Uqp_krY_BtoF-grUcl1YFEgO-PQRebHKb/s1600/4fa81f03871e9.preview-620.jpg" height="97" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
His idea of a great weekend sounded like the ninth ring of hell for me.<br />
<br />
He asked how I felt about not having kids, and if I thought that they were in my future. I said "never say never," but as of right now, children were the furthest thing from my mind. I still loved my evenings out, weekend trips away and mornings off reading in bed. I told him I had a ton of respect for those who had children, because at this point of my life, knowing what I knew about the investment of time and energy a child takes, I didn't feel I was a good candidate. . .<br />
<br />
"So you really don't have any interest in kids?" he asked seemingly befuddled.<br />
<br />
"Honestly, I'm still a big kid myself. There is a lot that I would want to do with a partner before having children, and just think that jumping into having kids in the super near future with someone I just met, might not be the best idea."<br />
<br />
He looked nearly disappointed. Why did he look disappointed?<br />
<br />
Wait, no way. . . I am such an idiot.<br />
<br />
Oh God. This wasn't a friendly drink/get-together. . . this was a date. I just had no idea going into it that it was a date because I had no idea he was single! The questions about kids didn't have to do with my personal preferences per se; it had to do with whether or not I would be a good candidate to date HIM who had a child already. Now I felt like a jerk. . . .How do I save this from being the awkward silence that it could possibly be. OK make this less of a date. . .<br />
<br />
"So have you been dating since your divorce?" I inquired.<br />
<br />
He divulged that he had been on a few dates, but hadn't really connected with the women because of his hectic schedule with his work and trying to spend as much time as possible with his child. I offered up perhaps trying to meet single Moms through the day care or in his neighborhood. I was trying to sound cheerful and helpful, and just was failing terribly. Who was I to play dating counselor??<br />
<br />
I think at this point in the evening the bubble had been burst for both of us. I wasn't ready to date someone with a small child, that had very limited time, and he got the picture that I wasn't the best candidate for him. We shared a few more stories of times past, finished our drinks and wished each other well on our quest for love.<br />
<br />
I ran into him a few months later. He had met a great single Mom, and she and he were doing fantastic. I was so happy for him! In a lot of ways, it gave me hope to keep on going with this dating endeavor. And so I did. . .<br />
<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-22606223160211078262014-02-18T13:23:00.001-08:002014-02-18T13:32:40.017-08:00The Basketball Fanatic Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzDexLV9xfDYMd6EqtasdlImeqmg7gRHdiB5wl4hMS76ispPuwT8bXqKmRPGlbZ60tOoFHfhvQ4VSiHlgeCYq6NfTU5nm-qBZFAO-2Pg_otaPOhJw1T6XVB202n5ZOxuCfRDJgH53gY4X/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzDexLV9xfDYMd6EqtasdlImeqmg7gRHdiB5wl4hMS76ispPuwT8bXqKmRPGlbZ60tOoFHfhvQ4VSiHlgeCYq6NfTU5nm-qBZFAO-2Pg_otaPOhJw1T6XVB202n5ZOxuCfRDJgH53gY4X/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With each of these dates in the recent past, I had begun to lose more and more of my faith in humanity. Where do I begin. . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So nearing the end of the thirty dates I thought I was doing a better job qualifying my Knights. I found myself spending more time emailing, texting, and talking to these Knights on the phone to try to avoid your garden variety disaster date. I thought that this new tact would help and do a better job of weeding out those that might otherwise just add fodder for the blog, rather than being a great date. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This particular gentleman reached out to me via my online dating site. His letter was not remarkable in subject matter: It was a pretty standard introduction. He was new to this online dating thing, he had run into my profile, liked what he read, and hoped I might see enough commonality to want to write him back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I always do, I checked out his dating profile page. He was in his mid-40s, never married, no children, and listed himself as "looking for a relationship". He was over six foot, with blond hair and blue eyes and a baseball player physique. He had a number of pictures of himself at sporting events, at the beach and even singing in what was either karaoke or with a band. His profile said he had a masters, worked in finance and loved sports, the outdoors and was a history buff. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perfect. He seemed like Mr. All American. Maybe the universe was finally smiling on me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHypdrg9lxa3TCsZfWUA-3XrLGiTk4Kfml-TLcsIWA8gGtfVYAzzhYjD0B66jxDaIv7rVecNb5NybWsOVHWzfbsHNX9WHh3kqTz2U5ZW1xsN2srEgnNAF42k7QF8F-AI05QRsTRlpG_ZqC/s1600/capam4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHypdrg9lxa3TCsZfWUA-3XrLGiTk4Kfml-TLcsIWA8gGtfVYAzzhYjD0B66jxDaIv7rVecNb5NybWsOVHWzfbsHNX9WHh3kqTz2U5ZW1xsN2srEgnNAF42k7QF8F-AI05QRsTRlpG_ZqC/s1600/capam4.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sent him back a message thanking him for the note. To get the ping-pong going I asked him about his sports team preferences, how he was faring with the crazy weather we had been having, and inquired what his outdoor pursuits were. Because of this blog, I had become a professional ice breaker.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He emailed back his responses, and he was clearly a South Jersey guy. He loved the Philly teams, his family time at the Jersey shore, and time outdoors kayaking in Princeton. He shared that he was ready for Spring; even though winter had just recently started.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We emailed back and forth without a phone call for weeks. He was my Friday night email buddy. On Friday nights I would end my evening, come home and email him to see how he was doing. Faithfully, he wrote back each evening. One would think that a phone call would have been easier, but there is a certain mystery to just having a pen pal. I now, (due to this blog) love to see how others write. I am no great grammatical whiz or cunning linguist, but I appreciate the written word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thru our emails back and forth he shared how skeptical he was, and even embarrassed that he was on an online dating site. He was a traditionalist who believed that men and women should meet in bars and on-line in the food store, and saw this online dating "thing" as a desperate necessity to try to integrate dating into his otherwise busy world. He volunteered time to charities, played in a number of sports leagues and adored his family and friends, who took up a large percentage of his time. He relished the fact that I was willing to email him, and get to know him, unlike a number of the other women he met on the dating site. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was an old soul who loved Oldies music, quiet nights at home and a good softball game. He seemed to me like someone who I could really be compatible with. We both loved sports, outdoor activities, movies, charity work and travel. He seemed to be a stand-up guy with a good head on his shoulders, and this was a rarity these days.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decided after some texting back and forth and a couple of phone calls that we would meet for drinks somewhere halfway between his home in South Jersey, and mine up North. We picked a date and time but left the location up in the air till we got closer to the date. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day before we were slated to get together we still had to decide on a place. He had sent along a message asking if I had ever been to Sona 13. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mentioned that I had been, and assumed that we were meeting there since this was the first time a question about location had been raised.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To confirm that this was indeed the place I then sent, "7pm still OK?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He sent back "Let's make it 7:30 just to be safe."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Great. This location was closer than where we had originally talked about meeting in Bridgewater. I had been to Sona 13 innumerable times and was elated that we were meeting so much closer to my home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following day I got ready to go on our date. It had just snowed so I needed to wear something that would look normal with snow boots. I threw on a pair of cords, a long sleeved cotton tee shirt and snow boots. I was ready to begin my leisurely drive to Morristown. I decided that I would text him that I was leaving so that he knew I was going to show. He had mentioned he was concerned that I might not show up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sent on a text that said,"See you at Sona 13 soon!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I immediately received an incoming text from him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"WHAT?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ummm. What did 'what?' mean? I thought we were meeting there tonight? Hmmmmmm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why are you going to Sona 13?" he replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Because I thought that you mentioned that was where you wanted to go. You asked if I knew where it was," I replied. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, no, no," he replied. "We're meeting in Bridgewater! I only asked if you knew where Sona was because it was near you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Um. Ok. I was totally confused. Who makes plans like this?? Instead of getting discouraged, or upset, I just asked where he wanted to meet. He sent back that he was cool with the Green Knoll or Char, both of which were in Bridgewater. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess I was headed to Bridgewater after all. Since I was driving and didn't want to text, I pulled over to try to call him to see if we could figure out where the heck we were going. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The phone rang and rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t understand. He had just text me not but a few minutes ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After I thought the call was ringing to voicemail, someone suddenly picked up
said “Helllllooooooo”. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was not the "hello" of a grown man- it sounded like a woman's voice<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was going on?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All kinds of thoughts went though my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this his elderly grandmother answering
his phone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this his assistant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely this wasn’t his wife or
girlfriend? Whomever this was,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> s</span>he sounded like the crypt
keeper. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PLqi3P9uSh2tmyQunsIOvxrO1m1xLEClT2yxTg0zHv1hp_iKHYY_7WP-xLNoFoXdkVbIZDAb1aHZEA_ax_nqwznHUVTUPXloWrUVCU0JvefWGa-VwLfPC9v5wkTMYIBVYWw7BiyeC2TP/s1600/cryptkeeper.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PLqi3P9uSh2tmyQunsIOvxrO1m1xLEClT2yxTg0zHv1hp_iKHYY_7WP-xLNoFoXdkVbIZDAb1aHZEA_ax_nqwznHUVTUPXloWrUVCU0JvefWGa-VwLfPC9v5wkTMYIBVYWw7BiyeC2TP/s1600/cryptkeeper.gif" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Hellloooo. . . "</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-spacerun: yes;">As I stammered "who is this?" I heard laughing on the other end. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">"Ha ha ha. It's me!" I could now hear that it was my Knight on the other end. He was laughing hysterically. I guess that he thought that impersonating an old lady was hysterical. I thought that this was sort of odd. . . </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So where do you want to meet," he asked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well I know where Char is, so let's just head there." I was making the executive decision here. If we were going to go somewhere, we were going somewhere I knew I could get to easily. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Um, well, OK. That's sort of nice," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well I'm a nice girl, so it's a good fit then," I replied. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well, can we make it 8pm then?" he inquired.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Um. OK," I responded. I had already passed Morristown on 287 and was going to arrive way ahead of 8pm at our new destination. Not really much I could do other than find something to do in Bridgewater to kill time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'll see you at Char at 8pm," I said. I was about to hang up and he said, "Wait, wait!! One more thing. . . Um, if anyone asks, we know each other. You know. Like this isn't a first date. I don't want anyone knowing that we met online." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now this seemed even more odd to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I assure you," I responded, "the bartender won't question us, and no one else cares."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well, OK, but I just don't want anyone to know that we met on an online dating site," he commented.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No worries," I said. "See you in a bit."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hung up and pulled into a gas station. I figured I would get some gas, stop at the bank and do a few little errands to kill time now that I was so ahead of schedule. I also figured I would do a "sanity check" as I like to call them, with my bestie. I rang her and explained to her the bizarre course of events that had transpired. The strange woman's voice, the mix up with the location, the "it's a nice place" comment, etc. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her response, and I quote was "I really think you need to be done with this online dating thing. It's really not working out for you." I had to agree. It really wasn't. And here I was, slated for what looked like it was going to be another doozy of a night. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told her I was going to stick out the date because I was nearly at the destination. I said I would call at some point during the date to let her know how it was going, and if I needed an "emergency phone call" from her. She agreed that she would keep her phone near her, and wished me well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I arrived at Char just before 8pm. I made my way in and sat down next to the service bar. There was a man my age sitting to my left and I put my handbag on the empty seat to my right. I ordered a glass of Chenin Blanc and a water, and awaited my fate. While I was waiting for my Knight to arrive, the man sitting next to me asked me what branzino was. I told him it was a fish and giggled that he was satisfied that I not only knew the answer, but he trusted my answer. We had a laugh, talked about some of the food they served, and eating no carbs (which was something he was apparently doing). I giggled and pointed at his beer, asking where it fit in to his plan, and he laughed as well. He said the food was easy to give up. Good beer, not so much. Just as we were beginning to really hit it off, I felt someone standing next to me. I turned to see who it was and it was . . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tim Robbins!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well not the real Tim Robbins, but perhaps, his body double. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat there in awe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't find Tim Robbins particularly sexy or attractive. How did I not see the resemblance in the pictures!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Tim Robbins Knight leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and slid into the seat next to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not wanting to not be rude to the kind, and very attractive gentleman next to me who I had been speaking with, I turned to politely close out our conversation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the time it took me to turn around and say some parting words to the man I had been speaking to, Tim Robbins had already engaged conversation with the bartender. I could hear him negotiating for the remote control. What the hell was going on next to me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turned around and my Tim Robbins Knight was now in possession of the remote that controlled to the TV just above us. He was <b>intently </b>scrolling through channels in search of something. . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really???? Who does this???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stopped on the basket ball game and ordered himself a Bud Light. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then informed me that he had put on a crucial college basketball game that he really needed to watch. I inquired if he had bet on the game (and that was why he was so darn interested in watching it on our date) and he replied that he had not. But usually he did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To be polite, I introduced him to the man next to me that I had been speaking to. Apparently the two of them were both big college basketball fans, and proceeded to talk basketball. . . for the next 15 minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After their opening chat about basketball, I think the man to my left, who I was not on the date with, finally declared that he had been taking my Knight away from me for long enough, and said that he should pay some attention to me for a bit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a bit sad that this patron had to let my Knight know that he should be paying attention to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Knight now didn't take this as an opportunity to talk to me, but rather he re focused on the ongoing basketball game. Not wanting to disturb him I I now stared up at the TV and sipped my wine failing interest in what was going on. I think I began to inventory the various liquors and wines behind the bar. I ordered another glass of wine. This was a nice atmosphere. I could just sit here and space out until I finish my wine and he can watch the game. I can do this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While watching the game he was giving me play-by-plays of what was happening, even though I am sure I looked like I really didn't care. When his team was doing well, he would elbow me in excitement, which actually kind of hurt. He had stretched out so he now, somehow, was sitting on both of our bar stools. This was now driving me off the side of my bar stool and I was clinging to the bar so I didn't end up on the lap of the man next to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this point the Knight turned to me and asked me if I was going to order anything to eat. I said that I had not had dinner and asked if he had eaten, hoping that he would say "no" so we could share something. He told me that he wasn't going to order anything because he had made himself a Lean Cuisene at home before he came out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Great. I guess I was having wine for dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just after this exchange he got up to go to the bathroom. I had decided I was not feeling this dude at all. He had barely spoken to me while he had his attention affixed to the basketball game. He had already slogged back two beers and had ordered a third before he got up to head to the bathroom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I put my hands on my face and my elbows on the bar shaking my head wondering how I continued to end up on dates where I wanted to shoot myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The guy next to me must have seen me crumple into my hands, and inquired how long the guy and I had been dating. I told him it was our first date. He remarked that my Knight had acted like we had known each other for some time. I told him that he didn't want anyone to know that we had met online so he is apparently acting like we have known each other for ages because of that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked stunned. He then commented that he also couldn't believe that the Knight would come in and commandere the TV for the basketball game while on a first date. I then shared that I couldn't believe it either. I think I commented that this was turning into another awful date. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just as I was going to ask him if he wanted to run away with me, somewhere, anywhere other than here, my Knight came back from the bathroom. The Knight saw that I was talking to this man next to me again, and took this as an opportunity to strike up another conversation with him about the alumni basketball players from each of their respective universities. I was now going to use this as my opportunity to go to the bathroom and call Kristina to tell her I needed the emergency call after all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While standing in the bathroom I noticed the restaurant had those chocolate covered individually wrapped mints. I grabbed a handful and started feverishly opening them and slamming them down my throat. I was STARVING. I had lunch at roughly 12 that day and not eaten since because he had spoken of dinner via text when we were setting up the plans. I was now a glass and a half of wine into my evening and if I didn't eat something I was going to end up on the floor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got Kristina on the phone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I am now in the ladies room, eating the mints and hating my life," I proclaimed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told her about the in-restaurant events that had happened, and she asked if I was OK. I told her I was going to try to wrap this up because it was going no where. She offered any help I needed and I told her I would text if I needed her to call.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made my way back out of the bathroom and realize that these guys were STILL talking. The other thing that I noticed was that the waitstaff were packing up and the bartenders were pulling the mats and glasses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">YESSSS!!! They are closing soon. This highway to hell was going to end. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was sort of an amazing date. This man had found a way to barely speak to me at all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat back down and commented that it looked like the wait staff was packing up to leave. I told him that I always felt bad staying till the end of the night because it kept the staff there later than they would otherwise have had to work. He agreed that it was polite to pay our tab and leave. I offered to pay for my two glasses of wine and he said that he was happy to get them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had gathered pretty much nothing about this man other than that he loved basketball. I think that this was the first time I had sat with someone for over an hour, and learned absolutely nothing about them. Weird. He walked me to my car, told me he had a good time, and wished me a safe ride home. I asked him to text when he was home to make sure he was home safe. We waved good bye and got into our respective cars. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got a "it was great meeting you and I hope we can get together again soon" text when I arrived home. I was not sure how to respond, because there was no chance I was going out with Mr. Basketball again, ever. I figured I would send something the following day when I had a chance to collect myself with a nights rest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I had a chance to send a text the following day I received the following texts:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. "Okay maybe not anyway it was great meeting you and I wish you all the best in the future :) Take care."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. "Old message there. Not sure if it sh be disregarded LOL"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was now not going to even bother texting him back. Those messages had got me a free pass for "I don't have to text you back ever again because this whole thing was weird."</span></div>
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-36228655223448400812014-02-04T10:51:00.001-08:002014-02-04T10:51:43.674-08:00The "Baffling Buffet" Knight<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwUM5qUk6tKrDCbaF613Ii1o2VjxLwe3YIVZfxEg9ckihEBWYuFKsqR78Po8rYbGzsJXWwKFo-3R5bOyPR7iiVCSU6IYBdSm89E2gn6rwdLsD22wjfdyS8vaSaYbUxFpZZFsjZe2xPdUL/s1600/overeating.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwUM5qUk6tKrDCbaF613Ii1o2VjxLwe3YIVZfxEg9ckihEBWYuFKsqR78Po8rYbGzsJXWwKFo-3R5bOyPR7iiVCSU6IYBdSm89E2gn6rwdLsD22wjfdyS8vaSaYbUxFpZZFsjZe2xPdUL/s1600/overeating.jpeg" height="267" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the very beginning of this endeavor I wanted to make sure
I was being diverse with who I was going on dates with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Diversifying seems to be a strange word when talking about dating, but I
wanted to leave no stone unturned in my dating endeavors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had recently gotten keen on reading about
this whole investment diversifying thing, and felt that broadening my horizons with the
Knights I dated should be no different. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was going to date men of all races, heights, sizes, hair colors and backgrounds. I was going to try to not just have "a type". Why pigeon hole myself? Why not try for a <a href="http://www.heinz57.com/">Heinz 57</a> selection. . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With this theory in mind I decided that
I was going to take a chance with a man that had emailed me on the dating
site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been very complimentary and
cordial in his introduction, and I figured that this was a pleasant start. I found his niceties to be flattering and found myself smiling whilst reading his email.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I clicked on the link to his dating site profile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a picture of him on a yacht out at
sea, one of him at what looked like a Monte Carlo racetrack, and his third and final picture, was of a sunset over a tropical island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All unique and beautiful locales. He
travels. Plus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing that I thought was odd about all these pictures,
was that the pictures looked like they could have been shot from space. I
strained to see what this man looked like. He appeared to be in his mid 30s or
40s (who can really tell these days), well dressed, with longer wavy dark hair
and what looked like a strapping physique. He had olive skin that had been
tanned by the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fantastic! He wasn’t
afraid of the beach! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His physical description was 5’ 11 “with a few extra
pounds”. Hmph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t see a few extra
pounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who cares anyway . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A “few extra pounds”, is a more than OK with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prefer only that the men I date not be
smaller than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is why. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My criteria for men and fitness is as follows: <b>You need to
look like you can carry me. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW10rAawjFrP9O9_vyTEVQ_EqclZuk5w8PqvzEIViHmdj_qxKjA4aDUoDl_vDLXdPTpGexHNN306r74SQ93TjyG_MnVcTe6vI-Z90DVaGFBy0QZ9AHoUpdTQKBlcoyDPiDoKY7t7Bir5z6/s1600/681x454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW10rAawjFrP9O9_vyTEVQ_EqclZuk5w8PqvzEIViHmdj_qxKjA4aDUoDl_vDLXdPTpGexHNN306r74SQ93TjyG_MnVcTe6vI-Z90DVaGFBy0QZ9AHoUpdTQKBlcoyDPiDoKY7t7Bir5z6/s1600/681x454.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This may seem like an odd request. . .but here is my
reasoning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
am one of the most accident-prone people you have ever met: In your life.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or, for that matter, may ever hear of
meeting.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I have fallen off curbs,
(something that I have inherited from my mother apparently), injured myself
while WATCHING a roller derby bout and have had the kind of freak accidents
have the ER doctor looking at you like, ‘this is the worst story
someone has ever made up’.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And sadly, it’s all true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I generally look to my partner to help me
hobble away or sometimes even chauffeur a piggy back ride or a fireman’s carry from
one of my debacles to safety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">After
a long night of drinking, some people get frisky; others are looking for a
fight.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I just really want a nap. Wherever
it is that we are, I am knocking out if the spirit, and spirits move me. Whether
it be on public transport, after a long day touring, during the car ride
home from the concert, or on the couch watching movies after a few glasses of
wine: I am more than likely going to be toast. I have inherited my father’s ability
to sleep ANYWHERE.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m not kidding. .
.anywhere.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPOYo33GQMWs1QBZFrONUlhNDI8Yntb7bJIeerjqQoE6fFTghmFRYgNhk5tbeiGJKEQ-IRXrp54EqOKPXygVFbrMPNiOyvNNsbgQe7nHsgPC5EUBx8DzJ3q3vFppZK0q_DlKjCYQF1yg6/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPOYo33GQMWs1QBZFrONUlhNDI8Yntb7bJIeerjqQoE6fFTghmFRYgNhk5tbeiGJKEQ-IRXrp54EqOKPXygVFbrMPNiOyvNNsbgQe7nHsgPC5EUBx8DzJ3q3vFppZK0q_DlKjCYQF1yg6/s1600/photo.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My poor father would take us shopping for
school clothes or prom dresses and fall asleep in the chair, next to the main
walkway in department stores, minutes after we disappeared into a dressing
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slept as if he had been knocked
out by <a href="http://www.miketyson.com/">Mike Tyson</a> even in places like <a href="http://www.grandcentralterminal.com/">Grand Central Station. </a>All he needed was some
elevator music, the room temperature around 68 and no real moments of
responsibility, and wa-la, he'd be out like a light. Following suit in this familial
trait, I need only a few glasses of red wine or spirits and a comfortable chair,
bench or even airport waiting area floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3. When
passed out for any reason, I am a 400 lb woman.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whatever it is about me, men of yesteryear have all commented on how I
somehow double in weight when</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am
passed out asleep.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My otherwise small
5’3 frame now reconfigures itself into jumble resulting in the same affect as
trying to carry the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attack_of_the_50_Foot_Woman">50 Foot Woman</a>.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Even
the surefire fireman carry is a production. . .for two people. . . when I am in
la-la land.</span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnicDIDiWsGzdGFm77nqkXzu2CLGaMaCI54ShGyDaw_GhzhuH8_D8bBHgr0bEsXIZ3xXKMc3od5vMzmimYRl3io4KtXEORWFWoMc_ACfvUozZLmovGT0kqSd5CcgU7y4PwQWlnE4O7qD5c/s1600/attack501b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnicDIDiWsGzdGFm77nqkXzu2CLGaMaCI54ShGyDaw_GhzhuH8_D8bBHgr0bEsXIZ3xXKMc3od5vMzmimYRl3io4KtXEORWFWoMc_ACfvUozZLmovGT0kqSd5CcgU7y4PwQWlnE4O7qD5c/s1600/attack501b.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I think we can just let her sleep here. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With these factors in mind, I am more than happy to take
applicants from the “a few extra pounds” (as the dating website identifies this group)
club. I like my men strapping, in whatever direcetion they strap? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I emailed him back telling him that I was appreciative of
the compliments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him if his race
track pictures were from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monte_Carlo">Monte Carlo,</a> how he learned to sail, and where the
lovely beach shot was from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured
that this was a good enough ice breaker. I gave it a C+<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He emailed back nearly immediately. . </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His race track
pictures, were in fact, from Monte Carlo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had been to Monaco but I had not seen the
race track while I toured thru <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Monaco">Monaco</a> on a month long jaunt with an ex-boyfriend
that took me through the Italian and French Rivieras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I instead had opted to take my “free day” in
Monte Carlo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As any good traveler who
travels for any duration with a partner, there is the day during, your long
haul that both need a bit of head space from the other partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> H</span>e and I had our “free day” of independence with him
departing to the <a href="http://www.nmnm.mc/index.php?lang=en">National Museum of Monaco</a> and the beach. I chose to spend my
day at the local chi-chi restaurant to blow my share the nights stay on
chocolate mousse and champagne. That’s just how I roll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He told me that he had been sailing with some friends, but
didn’t go into detail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Well at least he wasn’t afraid of the ocean,’ I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Ideally he hadn't drown his cohorts either.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He shared that the picture of him on the beach
was indeed from <a href="http://www.st-maarten.com/">St. Maarten</a>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dutch side,
not the French side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That seems to be
very important to those who have been to St. Maarten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still need to go and see what all the crazy difference is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked in closing his email, if I would be willing to meet
up to have lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought this
suggestion was genius.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could devote an
hour of my life to this: I could do an hour standing on my head. I would
conveniently have a “meeting” scheduled just after our lunch so that I only
allotted an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it went great, it would
leave us eager to spend more time, and if it went poorly, well, I had my out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked if I wanted to meet for Indian
food at a local buffet. I happen to adore Indian food! Even if I thought there was potential for my date becoming a scene from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0144084/">American Psycho</a>, I said yes. Our date was slated
for broad daylight, at 1:30 pm at a lovely Indian buffet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What could go wrong?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjym2CxfejsTIaQ3O-JXgjrFGbIf4gAqfemyhs94Hcs5afUz6-QHMmJu8FNUD-LOmc6s6_39nBJ3r0Kyh3CdENNRi5cPWw2ZsTr4a9NOcVQ2VG6amGD7ehsutxRrd8CFkE0eFTAkOH8Uxaf/s1600/american-psycho-patrick-bateman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjym2CxfejsTIaQ3O-JXgjrFGbIf4gAqfemyhs94Hcs5afUz6-QHMmJu8FNUD-LOmc6s6_39nBJ3r0Kyh3CdENNRi5cPWw2ZsTr4a9NOcVQ2VG6amGD7ehsutxRrd8CFkE0eFTAkOH8Uxaf/s1600/american-psycho-patrick-bateman.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"See you at lunch!"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We text a few brief times on the days leading up to the
date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There were y</span>our usual, “how was your
day, what did you do this weekend, how was work” sort of questions. The day of
our lunch I arrived promptly at 1:30 at the buffet spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The restaurant was pretty empty. I wandred through the front of the
restaurant and saw no one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuck my
head in the back room and all I saw was a large man, face down shoveling down
some Indian food, on what<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guessed was
a short lunch break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I turned around
to go talk to the maître de I heard, “CHRISTINA!” from behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My name isn’t Christina, but for whatever reason I turned
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe because I was the only
woman in the restaurant at this point?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I turned back around the man who had been shoveling down
his lunch was standing up from the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was wiggling himself away from the table to unwedge himself from the
booth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was waving his napkin at
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I strained to try to make out
how this could possibly be the guy who I was meeting he approached me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had some sort of sauce all stuck in his
beard, and his shirt had dribblings of what I can only imagine might have been
<a href="http://www.food.com/recipe/chicken-vindaloo-177572">Chicken Vindaloo.</a> He was waving the napkin at me with one hand while wiping his
mouth with the back of his other hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Which he then extended out for me to shake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kind of cringed as I extended my hand to
shake his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WHO WAS THIS PERSON??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With his mouth still full he started in "I didn't think you were coming!"</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Umm," I stammered. "I thought we were set for 1.30. Did I miss a message?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ohhhh," he replied. "I thought it was for 1pm. I didn't think you were going to show."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I wasn't sure I should have. He still had a full mouth, and was half chewing, half conversing with me. He gestured to the table where he had three plates full of Indian food. These three dinner plates were stocked to the brim, teeming with Indian goodness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sat down I thanked him for grabbing me a plate of food. He quickly waved his hands in a "no" gesture and swiped the plate away from in front of my seat. He swallowed down the mass he was eating long enough to say "Oh no. That's my lunch."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Um. Ok. No worries. I know that the food was bangin', and clearly he didn't think I was coming, so I guess these other plates were his too. No worries. I can get my own lunch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He wedged himself back in between the table and the banquet. I was now looking at him trying to get a mental image of who the man in his online pictures was. This man I was sitting across from was very very, large, with long stringy unkempt hair that was sort of greasy. He was wearing running sneakers, track pants, a sweater and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. He looked like he was going out to shovel a driveway, rather than to meet at a nice restaurant for lunch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had definitely missed his mouth on a few occasions during the last half hour because he was wearing a number of brightly colored stains on his shirt and pants. I hoped, at least that they were from THIS episode of eating. In addition, there seemed to be a little bit of food dangling from not only his beard, which was bushy and long, but his hair also seemed to have flecks of food in it. Apparently this had been a full body event for him before I got there. . .</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDolRp7S6sA3CVuHIEKC2QuH8GnUShYGQYZjpF8qx__wjK-kDzaPNh5zVn3J25J3vwt5dr3F4KdqbHxZzmOGqy0r3oFAnlMVdZsOHSSegUOUPEJ_CdazxxqSO2d_vqgULZJj30TMdvHhEW/s1600/somebodys-a-messy-eater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDolRp7S6sA3CVuHIEKC2QuH8GnUShYGQYZjpF8qx__wjK-kDzaPNh5zVn3J25J3vwt5dr3F4KdqbHxZzmOGqy0r3oFAnlMVdZsOHSSegUOUPEJ_CdazxxqSO2d_vqgULZJj30TMdvHhEW/s1600/somebodys-a-messy-eater.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I now noticed that he was inhaling the food at an epic rate because he wasn't even using utensils. He had cupped his hand and was eating with what looked like giant paws. He would shovel the food into his palm by using all five fingers, scoop it upside down and then slam it into his face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have seen this eating technique used before when I was over-seas. While eating with the Bedouin (an ancient nomadic tribe) in Egypt we ate like this. It was expected. It was unique and enjoyable. When you don't have utensils, this is a great way to eat. Just wasn't expecting it on our date at this pretty nice place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stopped stuffing his face long enough to gesture to the buffet behind us. "Everything is amazing," he mumbled through his naan. He then hailed the waiter over, ordered more naan and kept eating like a champ. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was not a date, this was a competitive food eating competition I had stumbled upon. It must have been. This man was not even remotely interested in my being there. He was there for the buffet, period, the end.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqL1xjtQ_DHhcXDx1WYLjISBVzDR6YbZu6pwAraon5ET8I33DVCJ4ALayB_0pNPTKSQViKP6VfP8XKgvWYtvJCanQkIJthyOlmcP2qcfUBhIVaifQrNLfFVaXOMn524Qqnk-6mS6oLEU5M/s1600/corn-eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqL1xjtQ_DHhcXDx1WYLjISBVzDR6YbZu6pwAraon5ET8I33DVCJ4ALayB_0pNPTKSQViKP6VfP8XKgvWYtvJCanQkIJthyOlmcP2qcfUBhIVaifQrNLfFVaXOMn524Qqnk-6mS6oLEU5M/s1600/corn-eating.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">MOOORRRREEEE NAAAANNN!!!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was starving at this point so I made my way to the buffet. I had been kind-of turned off by some of the dishes because after seeing them as hair ornaments, I just couldn't feel excited about putting them in my mouth. I put some salad, a bit of Chicken Masala and rice on my plate, I took a deep breath and headed back towards the table. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The one thing I had going for me was this date was supposed to be an hour long, I had showed up apparently a half an hour late: I could only hope he had some place to be at 2.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat back down across from him. He told me in between bites I looked more attractive in person than in my pictures. "Thank you?" was all I could muster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked him if he had ever been to this restaurant before. He said not really. With his mouth still full, he told me that he usually spent most of his time out in <a href="http://www.visitbrooklyn.org/">Brooklyn</a> in the <a href="http://www.coneyisland.com/">Coney Island</a> area. He really like Russian girls and asked if I was Russian. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I replied that I was not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh, the blond hair was what made me think you might be Russian," he explained sounding disappointed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'The blond could be from a box, or a skilled stylist' I thought to myself. I was officially mentally checking out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He went on to start this running monologue about how he liked Russian girls, but the ones he met out on Coney Island always seemed to want him to pay for everything. He assumed that they made enough dancing that they could pay for themselves, but they were always hitting him up for cash or to buy them things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a feeling the women he had been speaking of weren't here with the Russian Ballet.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPYDeAucEP0hqwhl9m8wWYcPszp7lexYhl360G1dWuL8fYn_OTwEuNjeGl8whsRJ-_nJw4zX1LshfoSBNna3joAKExc0efJQNna12rUF2riR0K5BSFf9fdzh2c5luLWlxhRY59VBPe83y/s1600/132091644_61n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPYDeAucEP0hqwhl9m8wWYcPszp7lexYhl360G1dWuL8fYn_OTwEuNjeGl8whsRJ-_nJw4zX1LshfoSBNna3joAKExc0efJQNna12rUF2riR0K5BSFf9fdzh2c5luLWlxhRY59VBPe83y/s1600/132091644_61n.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tutus are expensive I guess?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was very little conversation to speak of. He pretty much talked at me. He went on and on about his traveling, his work (that didn't seem all too legitimate, now that I think about it), and the myriad of things he had to buy for these previous Russian dancing women. I tried to eat my lunch pretending to listen and trying not to be grossed out by his gulping and sucking noises as he ate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess the time went by fairly quickly because next thing I knew it was 2pm! OH THANK GOD!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Hey there," I said, "It's 2 and I don't want to hold you up since I know that you had planned on us only being out for an hour."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh yeah!" he exclaimed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He quickly shot up out of his seat and began to shuffle for his wallet. I reached into my wallet and held out my share of the buffet money. He scooped it out of my hand with a, "thanks" and added it to the crumpled bills he had taken out of his pocket and wallet. He then gestured for the waiter to come over and wrap his fourth plate of food to go. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he was scooping up his phone and jacket, he turned to me and asked, "so for our next date, can we meet in Coney Island?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I forced a smile and told him I would look at my schedule and get back to him. I told him to have a lovely afternoon. He leaned in to try to kiss me on the cheek goodbye, and (out of instinct I think) I grabbed the linen napkin and pretended to sneeze into it. He got me with the awkward one armed hug, that put me closer to his dingleberry food beard, which then caused me to kind of heave a bit. Successfully stifling my heaving by covering my mouth with the napkin, I waved goodbye. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That, whatever that was, I swore, could and would never happen again.</span></div>
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-60082469969608766162014-01-11T11:48:00.001-08:002014-01-11T12:00:34.884-08:00The Knightess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz8_XP1Bu57NOIcN5JmGyVLW2sTwD787FUqmE944Yi6jXcRfvSD-IcDGlfky1dN_FQL_ND9yyb529S69_58hwQzGvdHSrMIXX2Fzu24G21t8yj_lGIJkNDZOk7sf7EhL1APcK3BLtIXiT/s1600/lady-knight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz8_XP1Bu57NOIcN5JmGyVLW2sTwD787FUqmE944Yi6jXcRfvSD-IcDGlfky1dN_FQL_ND9yyb529S69_58hwQzGvdHSrMIXX2Fzu24G21t8yj_lGIJkNDZOk7sf7EhL1APcK3BLtIXiT/s1600/lady-knight.jpg" height="400" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 2014! </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Long before I ever decided to do this dating blog, I had erected an online profile on a dating site to try to meet people when I lived in Oz. I found that after a few dates with Australian men I had nothing in common with, I all but forgot about this profile. One day when I was back living in the US, I realized that I had this dating profile out there and decided I would investigate if it had better opportunity for me now that I was back in the States.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I put in the criteria for my search of who was online dating in NJ I mistakenly hit "women seeking women" instead of "women seeking men." As a bevy of women's profiles popped up, I thought to just close out of search and start over. Then, for a reason I am still not sure of, I began to read a few of the profiles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now. . . my sexual preferences didn't just magically change over night. That is not what caused me to put a toe into the lady pool. You see, when I really like a person, I find it is the person I really like. Not if they are male or female, not if they are rich or poor, not if they have a powerful job or if they are a pauper. It doesn't matter to me. What matters is that I have feelings for that person, love who they are, and want to be with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother raised me telling me that she didn't care if I came home with men or women, just that my hair had to be longer than the guys. I grew my hair as long as I could, and I felt free to date anyone. With my European approach to sexuality I spent my whole life appreciating the beauty of women. I didn't think it was weird to think women were attractive in the same way I thought of men, and because of that, I believed that dating, for me, could encompass an individual from either of these groups. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This mentality has caused me to have great, healthy relationships of varying degrees with both men and women. I wouldn't classify myself as gay or heterosexual; I don't know that I would even call myself bi-sexual. I would say I am an opportunist who just loves people. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsu558IPXFTbwpYFOfepMVZXnk84HavNlDCM828HTtoZ_-opdH0wCDZyqoiSGJxdwEuV05FizcXzkdGrf8_sN3-mwUaVEb1j8MzCS4ahyD0xKzAEH5kzr7fwWFEEP4mipmRt0XG1G2A8S/s1600/bisexual-animals-squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsu558IPXFTbwpYFOfepMVZXnk84HavNlDCM828HTtoZ_-opdH0wCDZyqoiSGJxdwEuV05FizcXzkdGrf8_sN3-mwUaVEb1j8MzCS4ahyD0xKzAEH5kzr7fwWFEEP4mipmRt0XG1G2A8S/s320/bisexual-animals-squid.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe I'm a human squid. I hear they don't have a preference either. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting back to my Knightess. . . </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had sworn off dating women for what I thought was going to be forever after I met a woman a number of years ago I truly loved and cared. I thought that, after her, I would no longer date women as a way to sort of commemorate the way I felt about her. I didn't want to ever feel like I was replacing what I had with her with anyone else, so I just put my interest in women on a shelf after our relationship and thought I would never dust it off again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But here I was, a few years later, wondering if holding a torch for a past relationship was the best idea. I took a look through some of the profiles of the women on the site. Maybe there were two dozen women seeking women. There were no where near as many profiles as there were of men. I peered through a number of profiles and found the same result as I did with a lot of the men I saw on the site: There were a lot of great people out there, maybe just not the great person for me. As I was about to give up my search entirely I came across a profile that stopped me in my tracks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She had just one picture and she was smiling like the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mona_Lisa">Mona Lisa</a> in it. She had this cool chick air about her that seemed to be tempered with a good sense of self that was somehow easily conveyed in this lone picture. As I read her profile she seemed to be a down to earth person, who was an entrepreneur, with a myriad of varying interests and a positive outlook on life. I looked back at her pictures; she was beautiful. She had long brown hair, light eyes along slender face and slim build painted with tattoos.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38sVfbKSuPiMqJP0bzgBuw4-P0Fj-vd79TycJYWNKNbbVmfQcOC35KlY6mvns8iCnm6vtolSwk6AY9Sc0p9hCq-3SLYHuShR4v1r4RnTUTdq9nEIA4lXXmY0imDMi7QfTnSlLzTtqcDpi/s1600/mona-lisao-mona-lisa-facebookjpg-qbeps6xn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38sVfbKSuPiMqJP0bzgBuw4-P0Fj-vd79TycJYWNKNbbVmfQcOC35KlY6mvns8iCnm6vtolSwk6AY9Sc0p9hCq-3SLYHuShR4v1r4RnTUTdq9nEIA4lXXmY0imDMi7QfTnSlLzTtqcDpi/s320/mona-lisao-mona-lisa-facebookjpg-qbeps6xn.jpg" height="194" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided I was going to throw caution to the wind and send her an email to see if she might have any interest in me. I told her that I had seen her profile and it had caught my attention. I can't recall all the specifics because it pre-dates my blog notes, but the exchange via email was kinda just a "thought I would say hi". To this day, I can't recall what she sent me back, but whatever it was, it got us texting and emailing for quite sometime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a year we exchanged text messages and phone calls. A year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She would call me and we would joke about how we were never going to meet. I would tease her about her schedule being worse than mine somehow. She sent me smiling pictures of her out in the sunshine, and I sent her pictures of me in my bartending blacks. It was a sweet friendship that just always had "to be continued" embossed on it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Throughout all of this, we had never tried to get together to meet. I don't know what we were afraid of, or even if it was just bad timing. . .We just never even seemed to bring up getting together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With all this time passing in between our communications, I had started writing this dating blog. I think that I either told her I was writing it, or she saw that I was the author of it. She would joke about what I was going to write about her if we ever went out. I thought that we were never going to get together so it wasn't really a concern of mine. . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After we had crested just beyond a year of periodic phone calls and random text messages she told me that this couldn't go on anymore: we had to meet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were two single people, neither of us were seeing anyone, and it seemed like our schedules were going to finally allow this meeting to happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I agreed with her that meeting was a stellar plan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We agreed upon a late lunch. We both owned our own companies and could have a long lunch if we so wanted. Go us entrepreneurs.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUcol9OautJVgUG_KsDg1RXtyYMBzr7K9VDhS8ZqJY_OvUozzXGAzXXkT45jWzRbCp9wIcmjF1GQGxT1FcegYxJkeghEEZKcDMfNHmbCWuzCmyhT-ToCGZmVGUnccPJKniEeIFxSpoIP8/s1600/images-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUcol9OautJVgUG_KsDg1RXtyYMBzr7K9VDhS8ZqJY_OvUozzXGAzXXkT45jWzRbCp9wIcmjF1GQGxT1FcegYxJkeghEEZKcDMfNHmbCWuzCmyhT-ToCGZmVGUnccPJKniEeIFxSpoIP8/s1600/images-3.jpeg" height="117" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I arrived at <a href="http://www.urbantablerestaurant.com/">Urban Table</a> she was running late. I was happy to sit and surf <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a> till she got there (as I now find it a hobby like some would needlepoint).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When she arrived she was cloaked in her long wool jacket and a scarf. It was particularly cold for this time of year and she was as bundled as I was for our evening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She immediately spotted me, came over waved and plunked herself down across from me. I think that for the first few minutes we both just sort of stared at each other nearly in disbelief that we were finally meeting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As she took off her coat and got comfortable we made small talk about the weather, our arrivals there and our respective days to this point. I immediately felt at ease talking to her. . .Something even MADE ME want to talk to her like I had known her my whole life. I would say it was the months of back and forth mini communications, but it wasn't that. She was like <a href="http://www.oprah.com/index.html">Oprah</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Walters">Barbara Walters</a>: You just wanted to tell her your life story and you weren't really sure why. Maybe it was the way that she asked questions that made me feel like I was the only person in the whole building. Maybe it was how engaged she looked when she listened to what I had to say. Maybe it was because, for once, she seemed to be running the show as far as questions and the flow of the conversation. She seemed inquisitive about legitimately getting to know me, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopHvggTH1tgmclWFqF4lIrguc8gkzXpHWQ_sClZcDPKN87k2dILQGsADXG8lySVk-ip7cL_uKV-3g86Qqwapw6Mij8y3iDQObv-ZJat-NEa_dZhyphenhypheniBUM1qjIsk1-JdIunWIgpRbXMFJMk/s1600/oprah-winfrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopHvggTH1tgmclWFqF4lIrguc8gkzXpHWQ_sClZcDPKN87k2dILQGsADXG8lySVk-ip7cL_uKV-3g86Qqwapw6Mij8y3iDQObv-ZJat-NEa_dZhyphenhypheniBUM1qjIsk1-JdIunWIgpRbXMFJMk/s1600/oprah-winfrey.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think my Knightess could definitely replace her on daytime TV. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I, was equally fascinated by her. At times we both had questions for the other and had to politely excuse ourselves for cutting the other off. We had so much to share. Stories of our travels, our friends, our businesses, our dating experiences. We had so much in common! I think that the only things that we didn't agree on were that she loved coffee and I didn't, and she had a small of militia of pets that I was potentially deathly allergic to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our lunch date turned into afternoon drinks. Our afternoon drinks now turned into an early dinner as the sun set. I think that the waitstaff even changed hands to the night shift and we were still sitting there sipping our martinis, and chatting. I think that we may have barely drank our first drinks because we were chatting away so much. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was a great date!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I found out that we had both dated men and women and how interesting it was that we had found each other. "What are the chances," I thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of us looked at our watches. It was nearly 8pm in the evening. We had set out for this date HOURS ago. There was some work that she had to do, and I still had some things that I needed to wrap up for clients for my work. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My initial feelings of skepticism of going out with another woman had totally washed away. Maybe this could work out. . .We had so much in common and seemed to want the same things. . .The only tough part seemed to be our schedules being so demanding of us. It took us over a year to get together, but here it was, seemingly well worth it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we were departing the restaurant we went back and forth who would walk who to their car. She won: we ended up walking me to my car. Our night ended as most date movie endings do. She and I both stood by my car kicking stones, shimming our legs nervously, shuffling in place doing the "when do we get to go out again" dance. We determined that we had a great time and we should see where this went moving forward. I agreed. This had been one of the best dates I had been on. She stepped in and gave me a big hug and kissed me goodnight. I was entirely OK with this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were like high school kids saying good night. We backed away from each other waving goodbye and smiling. I was really happy that we had finally decided to get together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I got into my car I noticed that I felt flush. I thought perhaps it was the feel good high I was on. As I put the key in the ignition I couldn't help but keep blinking and squinting my eyes because they were itching. By the time I was half way down the block, my hands, my neck and my face were itching terribly and covered in red swollen hives. I was now starting to wheeze. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">HOLY SHIT. I AM HAVING A MASSIVE ALLERGIC REACTION!!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYK8F77YNx0wMONEoiO04UFVI-nc0n5pUMAbYV8HmHpg1P1ec3gzQXdIMuX6dpkRQdyD_RkDuqYHVB5g3CP4SSqzGbEw9odfD3RCizutii5wazTec7U8n9bZw9-QZDcSOkmohyCozJWbj/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYK8F77YNx0wMONEoiO04UFVI-nc0n5pUMAbYV8HmHpg1P1ec3gzQXdIMuX6dpkRQdyD_RkDuqYHVB5g3CP4SSqzGbEw9odfD3RCizutii5wazTec7U8n9bZw9-QZDcSOkmohyCozJWbj/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As my left eye started to swell up and my throat itched like I was being rubbed with sandpaper it occurred to me: This had happened before with my friends that had cats and dogs that I was allergic to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the past I had occasions where I hugged someone goodbye and the cat or dog fur that was on their coat or shirt threw me into an allergic fit. Tonight was no different. I guess her scarf or jacket had some of her pet's fuzz on them and when she hugged me goodbye, wa la.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. I am really that allergic to fuzzy creatures.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How could this be!! Everything had been magic!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I drove off itching and scratching, fumbling for my emergency <a href="http://www.benadryl.com/">Benadryl</a> and inhaler, I couldn't help but feel like this dating thing was just never going to work out for me :(</span><br />
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-60963639506275219212013-11-30T11:19:00.000-08:002013-11-30T11:20:13.686-08:00The "Magneto" Knight<div style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MI4lpQ0RlDn5CLQoWwy7IMtVZJwFLV4mOCkwMo_2EvsViXy_99VNoGenalEmd9sp2wIjePpZGchdsup7OCDcCWzAyEU51ACsN39QQnH00xirNV3nVadRyeym18fLJbpp-9LQ70QO-ckV/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MI4lpQ0RlDn5CLQoWwy7IMtVZJwFLV4mOCkwMo_2EvsViXy_99VNoGenalEmd9sp2wIjePpZGchdsup7OCDcCWzAyEU51ACsN39QQnH00xirNV3nVadRyeym18fLJbpp-9LQ70QO-ckV/s1600/images-1.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" /></span></a></div>
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If I told you things I did before, told you how I used to be,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would you go along with someone like me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you knew my story word for word, had my history,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would you go along with someone like me" -Young Folks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peter Bjorn and John</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a reason why Morgan Spurlock never did a "30 Days of Dating" segment when he had his show. He's a smart man. . .</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't recall at this time how this all started with this Knight; as in, who contacted who. I feel like he reached out to me, but I can recall liking his pictures and found his "About Me" interesting, so maybe I reached out to him. Sadly, my mind has turned into a mush of intros and get-to-know-you emails. If you can forgive me, please read on.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51Mru1MSixeXpjfH7_LxAYf4TAWHwDmGtKXgCtf6t0_70UPPp_b8al4t4DiVfkt6l6YUg5ZCh-bO8G-6uizWGXGZ8k2zFoSbto0EZp4iLBfGeCzIItCkCF6Isz1eiJwoqqPctoslFwJjW/s1600/whoareyou-533x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51Mru1MSixeXpjfH7_LxAYf4TAWHwDmGtKXgCtf6t0_70UPPp_b8al4t4DiVfkt6l6YUg5ZCh-bO8G-6uizWGXGZ8k2zFoSbto0EZp4iLBfGeCzIItCkCF6Isz1eiJwoqqPctoslFwJjW/s320/whoareyou-533x400.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However I got to the point of reading this man's profile, I can remember the email I sent in response to reading it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In this particular profile this man had written quite a bit about himself, which is a rarity on this dating site. He was well traveled, well read, shared quite a bit about himself and seemed really open and honest about his life in general. What struck me as odd was at the end of this great "About Me" was this odd disclaimer. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He had written this whole paragraph about how no matter how many times he wrote a personal email to someone on this site, he didn't get seem to get any response. He went on to share that he didn't know why people were on a dating site if they weren't going to respond to someone who was looking to date them. I believe that he even mentioned in his profile that he had written a paper for school about on-online dating. Tou che'. That was pretty interesting to me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />In my infinite wisdom, I took his open ended question as an opportunity to craft my response leading with why I wasn't interested in getting to know him. </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrote him back that he seemed like a well rounded guy, and that I was impressed with the time that he had taken to write such a thorough and thoughtful profile. I expressed that even though I found his profile pictures attractive and what he had to say as very intriuging and engaging, the fact that his profile said looking for "nothing serious" wasn't something I was interested in. I also offered up that this may also why some of the women that he has reached out to have not responded. I wished him well and told him that he looked great on paper, and would surely attract a person that he could be happy with. I closed the note by wishing him well, and then sent on the email. Feeling perhaps I did my good deed for the day, I took this as a sign to get a move on with my day and logged off of the dating site. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I NEVER EXPECTED that he would email me back. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
At some point when I logged back on later that week I saw a familiar profile picture in my in box. I tried to jog my memory as to why I was recognizing this profile. Hmmmm. We all know how I suck with identifying people from earlier blog entries, so I clicked on the message. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXPP6ThG8mJzZ4ycpnbz8WHkEsYuQOHzXDNR20jD5DBczR5bFT2mTJ8v8reuhOfCxVMszHFJAPghtkfI56C0Vj_iD4RrZyfe9n3fe1FjDoeac4-I8hLOuuqbYkeff5so3nALYIdFhDqjL/s1600/1378987074000-XXX-c02-sanchez-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXPP6ThG8mJzZ4ycpnbz8WHkEsYuQOHzXDNR20jD5DBczR5bFT2mTJ8v8reuhOfCxVMszHFJAPghtkfI56C0Vj_iD4RrZyfe9n3fe1FjDoeac4-I8hLOuuqbYkeff5so3nALYIdFhDqjL/s320/1378987074000-XXX-c02-sanchez-26.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Still haven't lived this mistaken identity down. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<br />
"Please Come Back" the opening line pleaded. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"Interesting," I thought.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Here was the guy who I had written to earlier in the week telling him why I wasn't interested! What the . . . </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He expressed that he was grateful that I had said something about his "relationship status" on his profile. He apparently didn't realize that his profile still had "nothing serious" as his relationship want. He mentioned that he had written the profile a while ago when he may have been in a different mindset, and then just never updated the profile to reflect his desire to get into a relationship with someone. He asked me if now, perhaps, I would be interested in getting to know him since we were, in fact, on the same page. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I couldn't decide if this was a ploy to talk to me, or a legitimate oversight on his part. Either way, DID I want to talk to him??</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Well, other than a few things that he mentioned in his profile that made me cock my eyebrow, (that you AND I will learn of later) he seemed great on paper.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Why the hell not. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I sent him back that if his new status change was truly the case, I would entertain getting to know him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
From this point forward we emailed on the site a few more times over the next few days. I was fascinated with his interests. He had lived all over, and we could talk about our respective travels to all the places we both had visited. He and I talked about books we read, bad dates we had been on, and how we ended up on this site. We took to asking each other a string of unique questions like, who we would want to fight (dead or alive), what your favorite season is, favorite food your Mom cooked growing up; wholesome sort of questions. I was impressed that there was a man that was willing to be my pen pal to get to know me without being creepy. Sad but true that this was unique. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
As time went on sometimes we would just send lists to each other.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a decent cook</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love non-fiction books </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm afraid of skydiving</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't drink coffee</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
(My example above is for visual reference, because this will be pertinent to the next piece of the communication I am going to share.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
During one of these strings of emails back and forth I had put together my list of cute tid-bits about me. I wasn't paying attention to the fact that I had edited one of the lines and not proof read the final caption. The small window to send emails on the site it had cut off the last line I had edited and moved up in the list, totally changing the appearance of the excerpt. What it was supposed to read:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
. . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Favorite color is blue</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a dog person</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't do any home improvements well </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Turned into:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Favorite color is blue</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm terrible at doing any of my own home improvements </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a dog person</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar </u> (This line representing the crease on the email box.)<u> </u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't do a</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I don't see the last line. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I'm proud of my cute little "Chris tid-bits" and I just hit send. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I now notice that I have an IMMEDIATE response in my inbox. This one starts with: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"WOAH. I didn't realize you would share that at this point in the conversation. OK then. Well here we go. Really? Not even on holidays or for special occasions?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
And then his email continued on to list some of the regular get-to-know you list items he would ordinarily send.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYIQqiUanHkgZAQ1nfzsvg1dy6a_0RxOkg-94duJvKmkfeO0x1HbmZ3Jp1tB0fsLvhO_drmX76JAVEySp_Yvf4WHx_0Tgp38WFXJw6imTGWh219PwCQQZP89gHYsaXZIMgsVTJf0Gkv8p/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYIQqiUanHkgZAQ1nfzsvg1dy6a_0RxOkg-94duJvKmkfeO0x1HbmZ3Jp1tB0fsLvhO_drmX76JAVEySp_Yvf4WHx_0Tgp38WFXJw6imTGWh219PwCQQZP89gHYsaXZIMgsVTJf0Gkv8p/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yes at this point I was so horrified I turned into Tom Green. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<br />
I nearly threw up on my shoes as I read what I had sent to him. What seemed like my sharing of sexual preferences, was just an epic editing blunder. I was mortified. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
That was not how that was supposed to read. FML.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
A wave of panic came over me. I immediately sent back:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"OMG. I am horrified. I totally didn't mean to send the last line looking like that. It was supposed to read, 'I don't do any home improvements well', but due to my poor editing you got that cheeky response. Not my intention at all to have sent that last line. Dear God."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I then asked if we could move to regular email so that way I could spell check and actually see all of what I was writing and sending. He laughed it off, so I didn't really know if he was even serious or not in HIS response. I was too busy being mortified of my proofreading debacle.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The conversations on email went on for quite a while. Our schedules were a mess and it seemed like we might not ever get together. He had a bit of anxiety about us meeting and to say I wasn't gun shy of another date at this point would be a severe understatement. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He and I had had some good conversations but there was a strange feeling I had that I just couldn't put my finger on. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Part of me didn't want to drive nearly an hour away to God-knows-where where he lived to meet up with someone I barely knew. He seemed genuine and from what I had gotten to know, I thought he was pretty cool, but I still wasn't sure I wanted to burn a night off. Keep in mind that most of the other dates to this point had left me yearning for those hours of my life back. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
After some back and forth about where to finally meet I had agreed to go to (now brace yourself) this classy place for a first date; the <a href="http://www.dingosdennj.com/">Dingo's Den</a>. Yes. It sounds like it was. I had Googled this place and it came up under Top North Jersey Dive Bars. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Interesting. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I was reticent in my true feelings about the place, which were, "Really. This is date one buddy?" and instead offered up what I thought might be a better location. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He was not interested in another location. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He had mentioned an anxiety about being in places that might get crowded. I figured that the last thing I wanted to do was add stress to a first meeting so I acquiesced to his request. The positive spin was 'even if the date sucked I was trying out a new place?" Silver lining, right?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
We scheduled for our date at the Dingo's Den and I think he teased me a few times about not showing up. I told him that I never missed a chance to check out a good dive bar and fortunately he thought that assured I was coming. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I arrived at our scheduled date and take a look at the building I was going to walk into. Yep, this place fits the bill. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Keep in mind, after I shared where I was headed to with my friends, they had me promise that I would send licence plate numbers, his name and location I was at to make them feel better. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGoXsuFNNoSZ8oew9MHBV6fJXzw3w8mFt9gwKbaw41E6zh-dZTh3cgQp6VtvKWTFBcMKd6nDTcG9bl-nCwdlP71hE8KvYRR-BjywKFMKn7sjQVykW8uDU-bEVdM71fQO1-Z6uPu_n4eDm/s1600/62602633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGoXsuFNNoSZ8oew9MHBV6fJXzw3w8mFt9gwKbaw41E6zh-dZTh3cgQp6VtvKWTFBcMKd6nDTcG9bl-nCwdlP71hE8KvYRR-BjywKFMKn7sjQVykW8uDU-bEVdM71fQO1-Z6uPu_n4eDm/s320/62602633.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Super sexy location for a first date.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wandered into the dimly light room and looked to my left to see the long, nearly empty bar with two patrons at opposite ends. I imagined I had a 50/50 shot that one of these guys was my Knight. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I noticed that the man sitting at the far end of the bar was talking to the barkeep. He looked pretty similar to the man in the pictures online so I made my way down the bar to meet this person. Sure enough this was my Knight. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
As he saw me approaching, he stood up and pulled out the chair next to him for me to sit. I thanked him and took my seat on the stool next to his. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I noticed that he was sipping on a can of <a href="http://www.pabstblueribbon.com/age-gate.php?redirect=http://www.pabstblueribbon.com/">PBR</a>. He asked if I wanted a drink and I agreed to a can of PBR as well. When in Rome, right?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
As I sat there looking at him, he was just as he appeared in his pictures. He had a thick, blond head of hair that was pushed behind his ears. He had a scruffy beard and mustache and his eyes were a deep blue. He had gauges in his ears, nearly a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms, and he appeared to be his purported height of 6' 4. He kind of looked like Thor. No joke. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I can't say I was upset. What can I say, I am a sucker for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norse">Norse</a> men. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And in my spare time I go on dates with superheros.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We got to talking about my drive there, our respective day's at work and just other small talk you have when you are meeting someone for the first time. He looked super nervous. He kept shaking his leg and tapping his fingers. To get him to relax a bit, I asked him about how he knew this place and if this was where he brought all his first dates. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He relaxed a bit and seemed most comfortable telling stories of his previous dates, that yes, he generally did bring here. He told a story of a date he had had at this very place that went totally awry after the date got drunk, out of hand, and tried to ram her hands down his pants. I promised that I was going to be on my best behavior and he had no worry for me behaving like a lunatic. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
As we talked I noticed how passionate he was when he spoke. He was very animated and had some very strong opinions about things. I found myself being uncharchteristically quiet. He sort of ranted at points about his subject matter and would get very heated about certain topics. There were a few instances of this behaviour, but the one case in point I truly remember nearly put the kabash on the date. At one point he shared that he was looking for a relationship with someone that was totally open and honest, with no secrets at all what-so-ever. I retorted with how I felt that everyone had secrets from their partner and some were best to just keep. This sent him off. . .</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
He couldn't comprehend that when you were in love with someone and in a committed relationship as to why you would keep ANY secrets from them. He said people only kept secrets when they were ashamed or trying to hide somethign that was unflattering for them. I vehimently disagreed. I expressed that there were experinces and stories that I enjoyed keeping to myself just because the experiences were mine that had nothing do with shame or an unflattering perception. This was like throwing lighter fluid on a fire. He intensely debated that I must secretly be ashamed or embarassed of these stories. I shared that I did not. His voice elevated. My blood pressure escalated. This man was a great at arguing a point but all this disagreement was turning me off. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I think that he got that I was not really wanting to argue about our perceptions about secrets so he dissmissed the conversation by calling me shady and to stop the back and forth I agreed that I guess I was shady. Whatever. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
To try to smooth things over he suggested that we pick out some music from the juke box. This was a good way to put some space between us and the insignificant odd argument that we were having so I agreed. We poked fun at each others picks and found that we actually did like A LOT of the same music. Music. The great equilizer. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Now that the conversation had cooled we resumed our seats at the bar. He was definlity more quiet now. I worried that he was traumitized that I actually bit back when arguing a point. Feeling bad for being assertive I took this opprotunity to ask him some questions about some of the info on his profile. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I had noticed on his profile that he mentioned having had a magnet installed in his hand. I had read up on this magnet installation on line to see what is was all about, but I wanted to here his take as to why he had done this. I asked why he had chosen to do this and what it did for him. He explained that with the magnet in that he could feel energy fields and that it also made for great party tricks. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then proceeded to ask the bar tender for a bottle cap so I could see the magnet live in action. Sure enough, the sucker stuck right to his finger. 'Well, if this works out,' I thought, 'this should be quite the hit at the Manzella family dinner table</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked if this magnet installation took a long time to heal and if it hurt. He mentioned that he had a very high threshold for pain and had requested that they NOT anestitize him. I thought that was total crazy pants, but well, I get my legs waxed. I guess that could be construed as masochism?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told him that I thought the magnet was pretty neat, even if it was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. I asked if he regretted doing it, and he said he was pretty happy with how it turned out. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then took this opportunity to segue to another what I would like to call an"out of left field" hobby of his. He mentioned he could take a lot of pain and therefore he sometimes did suspensions. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked if he ment brakes and suspensions, but I had a feeling that what he did didn't have anything to do with cars. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then affirmed that, yes, he did in fact not do brakes and suspensions, but rather enjoyed spending his time with hooks through the skin in his back hanging from the ceiling. My skin ached just thinking about it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know the moment when you realize how different your lifestlye is from someone elses? Yep. That was this very moment. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I can see Russia from here!</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me just take a minute to say that if you have a hobby you are proud of, enjoy it, and aren't hurting anyone but, er, yourself, I am all for you sucking the marrow out of life and enjoying your hobby. HOWEVER. . . Did I see myself standing in an audience of on lookers telling the person next to me "yeah, that's my man hanging up there." Well. . .that's a no. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess I couldn't really hide my shock because the next thing he told me was that one of his dates had literally gotten up and run out of the bar after he shared this with them. He also looked hurt by this. I didn't want to make the guy feel bad, and I think that is why I didn't just pull the plug on this date after this most recent share.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wasn't sure where to go with this. For lack of material, I asked how exactly one suspends themself and how he got into it. I think he mentioned that he and his ex were into it and that sugued to what would be the last conversation of the night. I think I must of asked what happened that he and she didn't work out. He had mentioned a few times through the conversation that evening that he was sexually adventerous and the sex was what had kept him in his last relationship for longer than he wanted to be in it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seeing as sex seemed to be a recurring theme I stopped the convesation so we could address this point he had been so itchy to talk about. I asked why he was so very concerned about sex and felt the need to keep bringing up stories that seemed tied to his various partners and situations. He expressed that he had had a lot of bad sex and that he was concerned for his future sexual endeavors. I asked what he was into that made it so difficult for him to be satisfied with the partners he had in the past. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Keep in mind at this point I was 98% sure that I wasn't going to go out with him ever again, and this was just R&D into the male mind. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The case in point that he gave for why he and the ex were so hot for so long was that she was adventerous and he liked that. I was curious what sort of adventures he was into. I had to know what a guy who liked putting hooks into his back got off on sexually. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked what it was specifically that he was into and then was sorry that I did. To keep this G rated because my mother reads this, I will just say this. . . I am all about adventure with a bit of 50 Shades peppered in. I am all for trying new things. He however, prefered things that I think I have only seen in SVU episodes and hardcore foreign porn. This propensity was the deal breaker. This was not gonna work. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I expressed at this point that it was getting late. I had about an hour drive home and I was hoping to get a good nights rest because I had a full day the following day. I thanked him for his time and told him I enjoyed the talk. He was a gentelman and walked me out to make sure I got to my car OK. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He wasn't a bad guy, I just didn't see us making it as a couple. . .for any number of reasons. I thanked him, and as I drove away, all I could think was I'm going to be single forever. </span><br />
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-50278573797361528732013-11-12T18:56:00.000-08:002013-11-12T18:56:07.662-08:00The Knight of ConvenienceI recently ran into a girl friend of mine from my youth while shopping at the local <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/">Trader Joe's</a>. She and I knew each other from elementary school in <a href="http://www.westorange.org/">West Orange </a>where I grew up. We had not seen each other in years, but she immediately recognized me, having been my friend on Facebook for some time now. It was delightful to see her.<br />
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We spoke of our families, our day off, my first dog, Shadow, who she remembered, and happened upon the topic of dating. She had been reading this very blog and being a single person out there in the fish bowl, shared a similar story of 'what you see is not necessarily what you get' with her dating experiences. I remember saying to her that we had spent all this time on our educations, careers, traveling and enriching ourselves. For who? </div>
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Neither of us had foreseen running into each other 25 years later, single, without children and with such low expectations for dating. We looked great, but were exhausted from the "monotonous discomfort"- as my friend Steve so aptly put it. We decided that we would meet for drinks to get together there after to catch up, and have a night out where you didn't feel like you were on an interview. As I walked off I thought of one of the most recent dates I had been on. </div>
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This particular suitor had sent me a message introducing himself in the usual way on the dating site. He had just happened upon my page, thought we had some things in common and he lived locally. He was hoping I would want to catch a drink to see if there was chemistry. This was his intro. </div>
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Here's my new view of online dating in 2014. There is no flirting. There is no flattery and complimentary alluring innuendo. Modern dating has turned into: Email (maybe a few) of solicitation, obligatory getting-to-know-you texting and then the date. There are usually no phone calls. There is no hope for dinner out, or flowers like you would see in the movies for a first date. It's not all <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000152/">Richard Gere</a> in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wzii8IuL8lk">Pretty Woman</a> as we children of the 90's were hoping for. Well not entirely. . . </div>
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If dating were sex, it would be more like sex with a hooker. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am is the speed with with which you virtually 'meet' and then voi' la; you're on a date. Interest in another person online seems to expire more quickly than milk, so it's get out there or be left in the dust. Modern dating is a Chuck Norris, daisy-cutter style of dating. </div>
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Now having learned to conform to this new <a href="http://www.chucknorris.com/">Chuck Norris </a>approach to cutting to the chase of whether or not you wanted to go on a date, I now feel I have a black belt in this art form. </div>
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I check out his profile page on the dating site before I respond. He looks attractive in his picture but I have now begun to pay more attention to what these guys write. Sometimes what they are 'saying' in their profile let's on more than just the words they type. This will make more sense in later posts.</div>
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He has a few selfies of himself from the neck up and clothed. Thank God. He gets the gold star for the day. </div>
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He has a few pictures of places and events. OK, that's pretty standard. </div>
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Is is a good looking, dark haired man, with matching well manicured facial hair and what seems to be a good sense of style. </div>
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He lives in the area, is employed, has a list of similar interests and has a simple yet attractive 'about me' section. He shares his interests, what others think of him and what he's looking for in a partner. He writes in full sentences and uses punctuation. </div>
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I look to his age cringing in awful anticipation of the worst. Ah ha! My fears of once again plunging into the kiddie pool have been laid to rest. He's older than me! No wonder he writes with punctuation!</div>
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He's in.</div>
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I agree via email to meet for this get together and ask him where he would like to go. We agree we will go out in Morristown later on in the week, and he sends on his phone number so we can set up places and times. </div>
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I feel like I have done this 100 times in the last nine months. I'm sort of thread bare from this endeavor but I remain positive and hopeful???</div>
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The day that we were scheduled to meet, I end up not feeling well and canceling. I ask if I can get a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mulligan">mulligan</a> and he politely agrees. Later on that week when I am feeling better, I text him to see if we can try to connect again. I mean, I have to meet this man; he still uses full words, not just text speak. </div>
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We agree that we will meet the following evening at a bar in <a href="http://www.parsippany.net/">Parsippany</a> that is conveniently located for both of us. </div>
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The night of our date I put on my usual 'date outfit', that consists of jeans and a cotton tee shirt , with a long jacket like sweater over it. I arrive at the restaurant that we agreed on and the server ushers me to a table. I sit there and let my eyes wander while I am waiting. I've sort of spaced out when I notice in my peripheral vision someone approaching. I focus my attention on this figure next to me. Here he is.</div>
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His pictures online were pretty true to form. Here he was; a good looking, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man. </div>
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He said "hello" and then immediately popped himself into the seat across from me. </div>
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The waitress then immediately came by to get his drink order. He said something to the extent of "I'll have my usual."<br />
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He placed his order, sort of winking at the waitress in a kind of 'I'm a VIP here' sort of way. I guess that's his swagger?</div>
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"So this is where all the PoF dates come?", I thought to myself and sort of smirked.<br />
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I ordered a glass of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sauvignon_blanc">Sauvignon blanc</a>, and settled in. "I think we have a fellow veteran dater here folks," I thought to myself. Cool. Maybe there will be a little more ping-pong in the conversation than the last date.</div>
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He asked me if I had ever been to this bar before. I explained how I had seen it built, but had never been here. He then divulged that he lived about 500 yards away and had walked here. </div>
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"Convenient,"I thought to myself. Was this another guy just looking to hook up? I was now a little apprehensive of the evening. I mean, any bar you can drag your date's body from. . . </div>
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I noticed that there were a number of TVs that were probably great to watch games on. I mentioned this and we began to talk about sports teams that we liked. I liked none of his. He liked none of mine. I think that he may have actually scoffed and laughed at me when I mentioned I was a Giants fan. I couldn't be offended by this. They did suck so far this year. </div>
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I explained to him how this year I had become more interested in the game of football and learning stats and plays. He looked at me as if I had begun speaking in tongues. Had he never heard of a woman who loved football?</div>
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To make sure he understood what I meant, since for some reason he didn't seem clear, I began to talk about the games that I had seen the previous Sunday. I recalled some of the plays and all of a sudden it became <a href="http://espn.go.com/video/sportscenter">Sports Center</a> mash up here on our date. He began to challenge my re-telling of the games I had watched and felt some of my re-cap was wrong. He argued that the plays and people I thought were successful were not correct accounts of the performances and dismissed progress for any of the teams that I was in favor of as happenstance or luck. </div>
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This was resulting in an awkward silence. </div>
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He was now ordering his second beer. He had relaxed back in his chair, with one arm slung over the back of the hi back chair. His body language either read, "well this is over" or "Yeah, that's the way it is." Either way, I was not feeling the vibe. </div>
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I figured to change from this heated subject to a more mellow topic, why not ask about his job. I segued to inquiring how he liked his work in the hopes of this getting us back to homeostasis. He began that it was a job, but he had been there for ages and well, "it is what it is."</div>
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He seemed to have this over arching blasé attitude about everything from that point forward. Now I was beginning to check out. I don't want to date someone who is unattached and blasé about his existence. Nope. This wasn't gonna cut it I was thinking as he then remarked. . .</div>
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"Do you work out at all?"<br />
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"Ouch," I responded. Jokingly.</div>
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"Well I couldn't tell," he responded. <br />
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Jeez. I guess my season of <a href="http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/700/7077">pumpkin beer</a> was doing more damage than I thought. I now felt like <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/larryolmsted/2012/04/12/foods-biggest-scam-the-great-kobe-beef-lie/">Kobe beef</a> dangling across the table from him. </div>
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He then ordered a third beer. We had only been here for about an hour. I was now uncomfortable: Not at the drinking, just talking to him. I felt like he thought I was such an awful date that he was going to drink me away. He was looking around, for what, I had no idea. I had finished my glass of wine and thought it was my chance to make a dash for it. I would wait till he was done with THIS beer and then mention that I still had some work to do and had to get home. </div>
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I wasn't going to waste any more of what could be a good night of conditioning my hair or re-arranging my underwear drawer at home. </div>
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We both suffered through the conversation during his third beer. If there was a camera there, you could have seen us both uncomfortably shifting in our seats. I hadn't ordered another glass of wine so I could hopefully 'empty-drink pressure' my date into finishing his. We muddled through more mundane conversation about the traffic in the area and commutes to work.<br />
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I work from home during the day.This should give you an idea of how well the conversation was going.<br />
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I think that watching mold grow at this point would be more entertaining. As soon as he finished his beer I noticed that he was going to hail the waitress over for another beer. <br />
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Hells to the NO. I am outta here.<br />
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I told him that I was really appreciative of his getting together for this mulligan date but since it was a school night, I best be getting a move on home. He seemed more upset at the lack of opportunity for another beer than missing out on more time with me. In fact, while I was standing up to leave, I think he was hailing the waitress for another drink. <br />
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It was A OK. There was zero chemistry and he was more in love with the curves of the beer glass than he would ever be with me.<br />
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-8946434944468118952013-10-25T14:22:00.000-07:002013-10-25T14:22:27.879-07:00The Farmer Knight<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leave it to me to find one of the only farmers left in the <a href="http://www.state.nj.us/">Garden State</a>.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXRqa-qFLfFTumSa3G9mbzDDLyJXnpqONajWj2MezJlorV6RSL5Mlh0c2bhvAKkyX9I_D0KnrsSUqd79PS7AarnSIYF3U-_4gU_5UPc5cH3aXhZ6Gjc3NBNLKhxj4Sm8WZP2LvF7OhNBF/s1600/277102_272298483686_841078954_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXRqa-qFLfFTumSa3G9mbzDDLyJXnpqONajWj2MezJlorV6RSL5Mlh0c2bhvAKkyX9I_D0KnrsSUqd79PS7AarnSIYF3U-_4gU_5UPc5cH3aXhZ6Gjc3NBNLKhxj4Sm8WZP2LvF7OhNBF/s1600/277102_272298483686_841078954_n.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sadly, this was not his profile picture.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my quest for my Mr. Right and weekly log in to my online profile, I had received an email from a man telling me he liked my profile, thought I was down-to-earth, and might have a number of things in common with him, if I didn't mind the fact that he was a bit younger.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was somewhere near the 25 or 26 date mark and figured as always, what the hell, I'll check out his profile. How many bad dates could I go on from this site. I had surely ticked through a first date with what I had hoped, at least for humanity's sake, was 97% of all of the most eccentric characters on this site. The law of averages was that I had to have a good date soon, right? Surely I wouldn't get through all 30 dates?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I arrived at his page and was immediately drawn to his pictures. A number of the six featured photos were of him on a farm. I assumed he was a farmer, and I thought to myself, "well here's a person with a profession that I think is commendable."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think that in order to be a farmer you have to respect the land, have to be good with your hands, care for living things and you get to commune with nature. I think, theoretically, all of the life experiences working on a farm make for a person with qualities that I admire: hard working, understanding, respectful and probably pretty darn chill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked really happy to be working on his farm in his pictures and that was refreshing. I think it's also amazing when you love your job. I feel it's an important key to a happy life, and it's fantastic when people have the good fortune of doing what they love.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quoted earlier this week as saying she thought her career would be fun and it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2472653/Jenna-Jameson-chalks-strange-behaviour-interview-tiredness.html">This is who you think this is</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked out the other pictures of him at a party and what appeared to be a concert. He looked like he had friends that enjoyed his musical pursuits, and no one was sacrificing animals on stage in any of the pictures. All good things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked out his "About Me" part of his profile. He talked about being a farmer, loving his work, enjoying music and concerts and finished with sharing he had a vast knowledge of wine. Super cool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked out where he lived and it wasn't hundreds of miles away. Cool. He owned a car, didn't have a cat (I'm allergic and not going to come between anyone and their pet), was seeking a relationship, drank socially and didn't have any kids. All of these things were a OK with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Might as well," I thought to myself. At worst this was another crumby date, at best, it could be a tale of two people meeting and having a wonderful dating existence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mind flashed 20 years into the future. I was retired and living on a farm, sitting on a wrap around porch in front of a large farmhouse, feeling the sun warm my skin while I sat sipping a glass of my family's vineyard's wine. In my vision I looked left at my winery, and right to rolling green hills of my family's farm and thought to myself "who knew meeting someone on this crazy site would have landed me here."</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHqWukdBsIqC_juGKkbXWNTeWdSFRhLp1THVncM7cA3iDtqlwZaO1iy_ZHN2rxwnkcDYDegwcWpHG9QPkc9an5ylDxEGDYhq__1FYvsGSX3CPrzSYi1Qa-4JjAI-aUKx2Z86594JYPLwm/s1600/houmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHqWukdBsIqC_juGKkbXWNTeWdSFRhLp1THVncM7cA3iDtqlwZaO1iy_ZHN2rxwnkcDYDegwcWpHG9QPkc9an5ylDxEGDYhq__1FYvsGSX3CPrzSYi1Qa-4JjAI-aUKx2Z86594JYPLwm/s320/houmas.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dream big? Right? </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I drifted back to reality with a certain sense of peace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Let's hope this works,"I thought to myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sent a message telling him how interesting I thought it was to have his job, and how cool it was that he seemed so happy doing it. I also took the opportunity to ask him what show he had gone to that was pictured in the image he had posted. Maybe this was a lame start, but, I don't have a ton in common with farmers. I have killed nearly every house plant I have owned and my garden this year; let's just say that those poor little seedlings didn't stand a chance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I logged off the dating site, went about my evening and fell asleep that night dreaming of lunches on a wooden table in vast vineyard field. Maybe I was reenacting the scene from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdJGMZDY0-8">Under the Tuscan Sun</a>. Whatever. You get the picture.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZDKZfSpuHkRIOO5A_McYPAeCz18nEExGKMSEM3p7G7bM1DT50SbLifrm5bpgZJn05SLUOm_GtH0ITyzWwbBLrs3suWGYXwAxUvS5z7xulXkm-WTC1tHJG3amJlIPEhxtuo4a9WsRnGzM/s1600/Dinner-in-Vineyard-web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZDKZfSpuHkRIOO5A_McYPAeCz18nEExGKMSEM3p7G7bM1DT50SbLifrm5bpgZJn05SLUOm_GtH0ITyzWwbBLrs3suWGYXwAxUvS5z7xulXkm-WTC1tHJG3amJlIPEhxtuo4a9WsRnGzM/s320/Dinner-in-Vineyard-web.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following day I checked to see if the farmer had checked back. He had!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In his email he thanked me for responding. He talked about his job, his pride in his work, and long days and nights that had led to him online dating. He asked me a few questions about my day, my job, and what sort of music I liked, and inquired if I would be willing to meet for a glass of wine at a local restaurant the following evening. He included a phone number and told me if I text him, we could get to know each other before we met.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes sir. This sounded like a plan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this point I went back to his profile and looked at his pictures. He looked really young but, well, since when is looking young a crime? Had I looked at his age? Nope. Better not. Let's just live in the moment and not go into the date with judgements or expectations. If he knew about wine I am sure he didn't start drinking it last week, and if he was suggesting this specific place, he struck me as more mature than 21. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I jotted down his number on a sheet of paper, shut the computer and thought, "hey, this might go well. Stay positive." </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYV3Q4kbsLpKhKTJKnuNTghZRK432DB_ag7p3bl_Sywps0ahJQw0S2XKRjVV0vPh_CU5MtTeAm_7WbGD2Sl6FGav3hPdgcy09eJwDl7b5Ub1Rn3E1QnLbYWsxJ6jXmYgTG8dOlYug7rTF/s1600/586876013636499919nr02uq1c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYV3Q4kbsLpKhKTJKnuNTghZRK432DB_ag7p3bl_Sywps0ahJQw0S2XKRjVV0vPh_CU5MtTeAm_7WbGD2Sl6FGav3hPdgcy09eJwDl7b5Ub1Rn3E1QnLbYWsxJ6jXmYgTG8dOlYug7rTF/s320/586876013636499919nr02uq1c.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That part of me, that usually is the voice of reason, deep inside me cringed a bit at my brain's positive, dogmatic mantra. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A short while later he text me asking what time the following evening would work. We agreed to meet around 9pm since I didn't want to schedule too early with my work, and he couldn't schedule too late because, well, I guess he got up when the rooster crowed?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We text back and forth and discovered that we shared a love of DJ music. I had spent the greater part of my early twenties bouncing from night club to night club listening to all the hottest DJs of the late 90's early 2000's. My friends and I were regulars at the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1997/06/29/nyregion/china-club-to-shift-its-party-south.html">China Club</a>, the<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WHRzxUG4hQ"> Limelight,</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xepwrmdFjY4">Twilo</a>, Vinyl and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mwLec7PjwA">Sound Factory</a>. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKTbZJnFAsyPVCAikTFpCifAmtXx5G6fKVFH8B4BNwiMb8vD96jh-8XTnZz6BmPyqvvVY0JsJpSDxyAjToVV0jhZnaehQ_c78R83rjAC6jLXXLRu5MJBIUBaTAL_FcWds7cJrAHBuJ6fu/s1600/MinistryofSound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKTbZJnFAsyPVCAikTFpCifAmtXx5G6fKVFH8B4BNwiMb8vD96jh-8XTnZz6BmPyqvvVY0JsJpSDxyAjToVV0jhZnaehQ_c78R83rjAC6jLXXLRu5MJBIUBaTAL_FcWds7cJrAHBuJ6fu/s320/MinistryofSound.jpg" width="193" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was doing this long before Miley Cirus was even alive. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can recall making a trip to the <a href="http://www.ministryofsound.com/club/">Ministry of Sound</a> in London specifically to see what sort of DJs the British were getting down to. I listened to DJs like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuSU-O53HKY">John Digweed</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAJAIxaV7a8">Sasha</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xX9vsjPDXc">Junior Vasquez</a>, and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18fghcHbfo0">Paul Oakenfold</a> who forged paths for today's dance music and awesome beats. We chatted about music for a while via text, text about our love of wine and our respective trips to the <a href="http://napavalley.com/">Napa Valley</a>. It was getting late and he was needing to retire and I didn't want to soak up all the potential conversation for the following day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day went by fairly quickly and next thing I knew, it was about an hour till I was due to meet my Knight at <a href="http://www.davidtoddscitytavern.com/">David Todd's City Tavern</a>. Despite the fact that they had been open for some time, I had still not gotten myself to this fine establishment. I thought I knew of a few of my fellow colleagues from years past in the service industry now working there, but still, my travels had not taken me there. I threw on a pair of jeans, a comfortable fitted cotton shirt and a pair of open toe sandals. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If my date was lying about his height of 6'3, at least I wouldn't tower over him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I arrived at the restaurant to find that it was nearly empty. As I looked down the bar, there was one, lone, dark-haired man leaning over a phone, with a glass of beer in front of him. This has got to be my Knight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I walked over, he turned around to greet me. In his pictures he was clean cut and neatly groomed. Today, he looked like he could be one of the brothers from <a href="http://www.aetv.com/duck-dynasty/">Duck Dynasty</a>. His beard was large and in charge. It was also getting a bit ZZ Top'esque. He also had a big bushy head of hair and large framed glasses. For a second I actually thought he might be wearing a disguise. I was nearly waiting for him to pick up the glasses and have the beard and mustache attached become un affixed from his face in a "gotcha" sort of way. I was trying not to look surprised. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now let me say I have no problem with facial hair. I know a LOT of women out there who feel very strongly about their man not looking like a lumber jack for any number of reasons. I however, think men should be hairy and continually find it strange when they wax, shave and manicure their chests and well, other bits. I am all for manscaping, but leave SOME of what Nature gave you. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlL7kCBJ1SVMoHkdZfPHqUaMg-ck6VZQv9gQKRZhPkichTd21SnliIA9RX-RT0d2fuMDB8UncxD_iH6Jsr7dA5z34Do027Q3fMejfNLfCfebyTlAANuoxZuFQQorCE6-Q2dP2acY14W5xn/s1600/beard3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlL7kCBJ1SVMoHkdZfPHqUaMg-ck6VZQv9gQKRZhPkichTd21SnliIA9RX-RT0d2fuMDB8UncxD_iH6Jsr7dA5z34Do027Q3fMejfNLfCfebyTlAANuoxZuFQQorCE6-Q2dP2acY14W5xn/s320/beard3.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ok some, being the operative word.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He shook my hand "hello" and I sat down next to him. All I could think to say was, "I dig the glasses."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked like he was blushing at my comment, and now emitted this odd hi pitch, fake sounding giggle that didn't seem like it should come out of a man this size. He was definitely 6 foot plus, and seemed to have a slight build for a farmer. All of this was congruent with his photos, but the hair and the laugh, I felt like he was in character or something. Or maybe this was who he was. . .Guess I was going to find out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trying to make everything more comfortable for everyone, I pointed at the glass of beer and said, "I guess you didn't care for the wine list?" I smiled big and tried to show him I was poking fun and not being critical. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh yeah, " he said. "I'm kind of a snob I guess."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well that's OK. I'm a bit of a foodie and wine person myself. We like what we like, huh?" I smiled. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again, he emitted that odd nervous laugh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stared at the glass. He then stared at me. Then the glass again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was going to have to carry the conversation. OK here we go. . . </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So this is a cool place," I remarked looking around.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yeah," he said. "I've been here a couple of times."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"This is my first time here. It's pretty nice. Have you had the food?" I inquired.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Nope," he commented.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Was it a long drive for you here?" I was digging for small talk so he would be less nervous looking and in turn it would make me less uncomfortable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Nope. It's not far. My friends and I come out this way when the growing season is done and I can have a bit of a break."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He divulged that he worked pretty much 5am till 8pm every day except for one weekend day that kind of rotated. On top of that, he never got to really go anywhere because there were only just a few brief weeks a year that he wasn't committed to the work on the farm.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98fT1msRIy9nYpz-o7fUM9gz8QOJneWru-7RPbRHsNZ8nHhDMrGXH80dPA2-3dAvl2ooXEvHjh8kjpHJVR4c_ylJ4kCec_pFQfl_TWmGE224qvKOTVQ3of9oEWNFSO7iplr7keHg2Pptm/s1600/working-farm-sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98fT1msRIy9nYpz-o7fUM9gz8QOJneWru-7RPbRHsNZ8nHhDMrGXH80dPA2-3dAvl2ooXEvHjh8kjpHJVR4c_ylJ4kCec_pFQfl_TWmGE224qvKOTVQ3of9oEWNFSO7iplr7keHg2Pptm/s320/working-farm-sign.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wasn't sure how this was going to work. How was anyone supposed to date this guy? He was only available from 8pm (maybe), till 10pm (because he had to be up early for the farm), 6 days a week with only really 2-3 weeks of quality time to himself a year? Maybe being a farmer wasn't so cool after all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My vision of my large farmhouse, backyard winery and lush green backdrop for my life were crumbling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't want to date someone on that tight a schedule. I felt like the relationship would have more of a booty call feel than a real dating feel. Dang. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the conversation slowed, I brought up the music that we had been discussing the evening before. He then dropped the "how old are you anyway" question.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I replied as I had so many times before my date turned into a pumpkin with the magical words "I'm 35."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then replied to me, "Woah. You were around for the Golden Age of raves and clubbing." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I now felt ancient. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3-qOhw735cdAp897gTmHrTD2gQOdhi5hN_qMNF6B8bA-uE6vz1mlSJGTKm3r2a6P0JrkreLMjPoT9emMuv4O_H2sfm_fbnPsm4zscrkHmyq4f6HaHx2Jbpr_qeoAdSRVq0-yLe3Img5B/s1600/elizabeth-golden-age-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3-qOhw735cdAp897gTmHrTD2gQOdhi5hN_qMNF6B8bA-uE6vz1mlSJGTKm3r2a6P0JrkreLMjPoT9emMuv4O_H2sfm_fbnPsm4zscrkHmyq4f6HaHx2Jbpr_qeoAdSRVq0-yLe3Img5B/s320/elizabeth-golden-age-4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah. She was single at my age too. It's cool.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was bad enough the music I listened to in my early 20s now comes on the Old Skool album compilations. Or even that, years ago, I scoffed at my parents for listening to 106.7 because of their "lame old music" and now, I found myself tuning in to this very channel to hear "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "She Bop". Oh, how the tides have changed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turns out my farmer, when he did have more than three hours to himself, was raving and raging till dawn at underground clubs, warehouses and anywhere a DJ could set up a sound system. Raving was his passion. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So was mine. Fifteen years ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't see how this was going to work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He now regarded me as a relic of a time period he revered. I felt like a museum piece that was being marveled at. The fact that this now mundane conversation about whatever had now turned into his excited questions about my clubbing past made me feel like there was now a gaping chasm between our ages. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trying to decipher how old he was without coming out and asking, I asked how old his siblings were, and how many years between them and him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm no mathematician but the number I kept landing on was 24. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope this wasn't going to work. I had vowed to get out of the kiddie pool and here I was, yet again, wading ankle deep. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The natural course of the conversation was winding down and I felt that this was a good time to make an escape. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mentioned that I knew he had to be up early, and I was just beat from the day. Being old and all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He paid for the wine and told me he was interested in hearing more from me about the music from "the old days". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thanked him for the wine, bid him goodnight, smiled and asked him to text when he was home safe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I received a text from him when he was home and then the following day the text messages continued. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I finally leveled with him and expressed that I wasn't sure how I thought this was going to work with his limited time, and our few common interests. He said he was OK with this because he didn't feel an attraction to me on a pheromonal level. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Huh?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What did that mean? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone was polite in their departure texts but I was bewildered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe he was looking for a human stimulant that could be his daily Molly? Who knew. To this day, I wonder what happened that I didn't make the cut as the traveling human rave. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ha! As if!</span><br />
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-47148191781422710312013-09-26T10:38:00.001-07:002013-09-26T10:38:33.867-07:00The Fastest Knight Ever<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would like to start this by stating that I blame this Knight on my sitting around watching <a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/celebrity_rehab_with_dr_drew/season_3/series.jhtml">Celebrity Rehab</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One night when I had very little to do, (this never happens) so I decided I would sack out and watch some crap TV. As I sailed through the channels, I came to <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/">Bravo</a>, which I feel always has some offering of interesting lifestyle stories. (That was the most politically correct way I could phrase that.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I began to investigate the show I realized I recognized one of the women on the program. I couldn't quite place her face, but I recalled her as one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen when I was younger. I was now hooked. I wanted to find out what show this was and why she was on it. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZPb5dmoXvCG3xG68x1CXBCX0Tlf2ek7C94RkHqzvaxwC35xrnRmkucCfrDAf3ZGa8si6AYdhsnA6jCaxLe0OUjvR96cXpz-O2c-Zb14AFBZTqS5I7d8mhmWCotPxyqxohWKH6Ji03u9X/s1600/amber-smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZPb5dmoXvCG3xG68x1CXBCX0Tlf2ek7C94RkHqzvaxwC35xrnRmkucCfrDAf3ZGa8si6AYdhsnA6jCaxLe0OUjvR96cXpz-O2c-Zb14AFBZTqS5I7d8mhmWCotPxyqxohWKH6Ji03u9X/s320/amber-smith.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I listened intently, I gathered that she was 1. On Celebrity Rehab, 2. had some sort of addiction and 3. it had something to do with her crumby choices in men that she was so horribly amiss. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I watched her story unfold she told a sorrowful tale of having it all; beauty, brains and fame, but never enjoying it all because of her addictions and her challenges with men. </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Jesus Christ," I thought! This woman had it all. She supposed to be the champion of single girls everywhere. <a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/celebrity_rehab_with_dr_drew/season_2/cast_member.jhtml?personalityId=11665">Amber Smith</a>, as she came to be, had been a <a href="http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/swimsuit/">Sports Illustrated swimsuit model</a>, named one of the top 50 sexiest women in the world by Maxim Magazine<span style="line-height: 16px;">, </span>and made her mark on the world of film and TV with her fame before she was 25. Here she was broken and desperate to be someone else on a TV show for those who were so troubled with life. How could this have happened? </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ncxc708yJqplyPn-WwbCEjzHef9ZReeqwoUA9cKdOEteEHF2c59RKt-8qifE95AjtGM7-lVyNHSK6mx-LoGPFQz-kN9iYp0q8k3dGQe-2rqJ_vRPsYMeOBtmzLoMIsFIg8kwL12vj0FT/s1600/amber-smith-people-in-tv-photo-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ncxc708yJqplyPn-WwbCEjzHef9ZReeqwoUA9cKdOEteEHF2c59RKt-8qifE95AjtGM7-lVyNHSK6mx-LoGPFQz-kN9iYp0q8k3dGQe-2rqJ_vRPsYMeOBtmzLoMIsFIg8kwL12vj0FT/s320/amber-smith-people-in-tv-photo-1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">She told tales of terrible relationships that were doomed from the start, men who mistreated her and her ever depleting self esteem from all these experiences. All of this accounted for the fact that now that she was 36 was still desperate for love and trying to pull her life together. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">All I could think to myself was "MY GOD. She's a beautiful woman, clearly bright, articulate, with the world at her feet, and she can't find a fulfilling relationship? WTF?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">The hope I had for my dating adventures was waning by the second. If this chick can't find love, well, there's no hope for me. I'm a mere </span><span style="line-height: 22px;">mortal. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">A wave of despair shot like lightening through my body as I laid there on there on the couch. It was like that moment when you realize that some day, you are going to die. I was nearly paralyzed with fear. This was not how I had intended to experience my Sunday night off.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Right around this moment my phone went off with a text message. I eyeballed the phone to see who was reaching out to me at this moment of despair. Had one of my amazing girlfriends felt a pang of heartache across the miles? Did they know that this was my moment of need and comforting? Nope. No such luck. As I looked at the phone I realized that it wasn't one of them. The name on the phone rang up "Terribly Tony."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Tony was a guy that had emailed me multiple times on the dating site. He had decent pictures, what seemed to be a stable 9 - 5 job in sales and an average description on his "About" section. I don't know what it was that caused me to stop texting back to Tony at some point. I think I just really wasn't feeling this dude. In addition there had been a number of other Knights around this time that were monopolizing my nights out. For whatever reason, after our few text messages and emails back and forth, I kind of dropped off the face of the Earth to this guy. And I was OK with this.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_ATFv98lG8wod4gI00_G-fM8r4zz0twpI3sJp2hbW2txvnawiY5e2l2GN3CKkWWHI9YfW40vfr2VKGVoqfZ_M7eaGXSJekImAlenGXx620a_UmWy9oStJ31jwKRHgm7aW6xhJ8vIwZwF/s1600/drop-off-face-of-earth_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_ATFv98lG8wod4gI00_G-fM8r4zz0twpI3sJp2hbW2txvnawiY5e2l2GN3CKkWWHI9YfW40vfr2VKGVoqfZ_M7eaGXSJekImAlenGXx620a_UmWy9oStJ31jwKRHgm7aW6xhJ8vIwZwF/s1600/drop-off-face-of-earth_0.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I give him credit for periodically text messaging me, and sticking with trying to see me, but truthfully, there must have been some reason why I wasn't responding to his messages. Just couldn't put my finger on it. . .</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">So here he was, texting me at my moment of weakness. I had saved him as "Terrible Tony" so I would alert myself to the fact that, hanging out with him, could, in fact, prove to be terrible.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Hey, what are you up to?" Terrible Tony flashed on my text message.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I sat there for a minute. I couldn't tell him that I was sitting here on my uncomfortable couch, contemplating my single hood with a sense of horror and despair. That after watching a thirty minute reality TV show about my "Miss. I Wish I Was Her" had now plunged me head long into an emotional quandary of epic proportions. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Nothing," was all I could muster. Lest I spare him from the truth. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"I was in the Morristown area and thought maybe you might want to meet up for a drink," he inquired. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">My mind raced. Maybe this was just the distraction that I needed to get myself out of my own head and away from this God damned TV show. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Sure," I responded, but not really sure why. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Oh great," he replied, </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">"Where would you like to grab a drink?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"How about the Blackthorn?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">He said that he could be there in 20 minutes. I told him I would be there in 30. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">As soon as everything was set and in place, I wondered why I had even agreed to this. I quickly dashed over to my computer to log onto the dating site to take a quick refresher course on this guy. I eyeballed the pictures and the profile. There was something just off about this dude I couldn't put my finger on. I just really wasn't into him: at all. Now what. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I thought about not going. My distraction now turned into this crumby sense of "let's get this over with." Crap. This was gonna be over before it even began. At least it was another date towards the 30 for the blog? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Great. Now my writing is determining who I go on dates with. Awesome. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I arrived at the Blackthorn at my estimated time. The bar was a total oasis. There were probably three people sitting there so I immediately recognized my Knight. He too immediately recognized me and stood up. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Now I was really sorry that I had agreed to this. I was stuck having to go through with this. Dang.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">As he came over to introduce himself, I shook his hand. He and I then sat down at the bar where he was already drinking a <a href="http://www.budweiser.com/en/_age_gate?redirect=%2fen%2fus%2f">Bud</a>. The bartender came by to ask if I wanted a drink so I told him that I would take a glass of water. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">The Knight looked like his pictures; blond haired with intense blue eyes. I thought perhaps it was just an intense blue in color, but now that I was up close and personal with this guy, they seemed to me more crazy than beautiful. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDUKAKSFYE68OzTT0TAVehdSvc0GJBbd19oJ6J7X-2allK8MlPa-oyBvlTM7UVlFMK75NiK0BofNh8hRByhq31dVOL5EOXCWCRu7xkwM0d0KjCsmAc34tr3RifsXODtv-wFC8h90-hK5w/s1600/Josh+Lucas+as+Mitch+McDeere+on+The+Firm+Crazy+Blue+Eyes+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDUKAKSFYE68OzTT0TAVehdSvc0GJBbd19oJ6J7X-2allK8MlPa-oyBvlTM7UVlFMK75NiK0BofNh8hRByhq31dVOL5EOXCWCRu7xkwM0d0KjCsmAc34tr3RifsXODtv-wFC8h90-hK5w/s320/Josh+Lucas+as+Mitch+McDeere+on+The+Firm+Crazy+Blue+Eyes+2.png" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">He was shorter than his stated height, but then again, that seems to be everyone on that stupid site. He was in a red plaid shirt, jeans and running sneakers. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"What the hell was it with the dudes on this site and red plaid shirts?" I thought to myself.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">My Knight and I sat down and immediately it started. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spanish_Inquisition">Spanish Inquisition</a> had now kicked off. Over the next five minutes this man asked me about twenty questions in rapid succession. I couldn't tell if he was nervous, or had a job as an interrogator he just couldn't check at the end of the day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">By question five I found myself lying because I really didn't want this guy knowing ANYTHING about me. In order to break the barrage of questions I figured I would ask him about his job. He then went into a whole diatribe about his work in sales for something like <a href="http://www.amway.com/">Amway</a>, and began to inquire about my knowledge of vitamin supplements. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Huh? Was this a date or a sales pitch? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">As he went on and on about he importance of supplements and how it had been life changing for him, I was now having a dialogue inside my head. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Why am I sitting here, " I thought to myself. "The little voice inside you said that this guy wasn't someone worth meeting, and there you go, ignoring it YET AGAIN. Serves you right."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I was now pissed at myself. I had let my own fears of loneliness, worry and an apolacyptic, loveless existence get the best of me. Why? Because I had watched some stupid TV show. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I snapped back to reality to find my Knight still droning on about his workouts, supplement regime and who knows what else. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I think that he turned to ask me a question. Another question. . .</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">As if I had become possessed by someone with sense, words fell out of my mouth without really much thought. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Hey, I'm exhausted from a long day and I thought that perhaps this was a good idea, but I don't really think that this is going to work." I began to stand up and get my handbag and coat together. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">This was totally unlike me. I didn't provide any explanation. I didn't feel bad. I wasn't going to subject myself to another prolonged crumby date just because I felt it was the polite thing to do. Perhaps my supermodel idol had stuck with dates like this and that is exactly what had plummeted her into the place she was now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I wasn't going to let that be me. I was going to put the kabash on this right out the gate. Part of me actually liked the way this felt and I loved how easily the words rolled off my tongue. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">He looked a bit dazed and confused by the immediacy of my statement. I think that he was expecting me to answer another of his umpteenth questions. He definitely wasn't expecting this. He was sort of slack jawed sitting there starring at me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"Um, Ok," he stammered.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">"I'm going to be going now. Thanks for coming out. Good luck with everything."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I stood up and walked out the front door half wondering if I should be running to my car for fear of him chasing me down in angst and aggravation. Nope. No sign of him anywhere.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">I then scoffed at myself and laughed for the egocentricity that it took to even think that. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">There was a certain sense of peace and calm I felt I had ascertained walking out of that date. I had begun to have a sense of self, a sense of, "</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">this isn't what I wanted, so why compromise." It was like in that very moment I had rediscovered me and everything was going to be OK.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-70790839215172385542013-09-18T09:02:00.002-07:002013-09-18T09:02:40.228-07:00The "Cliche' Knight"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For years I have enjoyed being involved with a number of community groups. While President of my roller derby league, I frequently met with various non-profit groups and civic organizations to partner with, or participate in their various events and activities. Due to these experiences, I have forged a number of long term friendships with some of the great people who participate in these organizations. One of the great friends that have come out of this participation is my friend Grant.<br />
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Grant and I have now been close friends for nearly 7 years. Due to the fact that he now knows me pretty well, I have been sharing the annals of my dating blog during our monthly lunches. As we were discussing my latest debacle on the dating front, his face lit up.<br />
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"Chris," he exclaimed, "I can't believe I didn't think of this before."<br />
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I sat there in cautious anticipation. "Grant, what didn't you think of before?" I inquired.<br />
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"I can't believe that I never thought of setting you up with this kid I know," he responded.<br />
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I heard kid, and wondered where this was going. . .<br />
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"Yeah," he proclaimed.<br />
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"I can't believe that I didn't come up with this before. I have this friend who's son I worked with, and I think that he may be a good fit for you. He's in his late 20s, but he has a good family, a job and his own car. I think that you might like him."<br />
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Now, I have known Grant for the better part of a decade. Grant is good people. I felt that if Grant was going to vouch for this guy then he was something pretty special. <br />
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Grant mentioned that perhaps we could all go to a happy hour together. I thought this was a great idea. I could do the group first-date-thing, and hopefully get all the awkwardness out of the way with Grant as the cushion. <br />
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Grant and I wrapped lunch and he promised he would produce a point of contact for this amazing potential-Knight for me. I bid him farewell and awaited my conduit for contact with this mystery Knight. Not that there was any pressure already, my friend Grant rang me shortly after lunch. He informed me that if this mystery Knight and I were to get married that he wasn't going to accept fish being served at the wedding. I promised that if we did reach the nuptial phase that there would be a steak in Grant's future.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4CVJHbqkoCoawIBBYx0eQv5OYaxpjBDvIKwUPq_DY14bsGZbMRrns6xdjO-gy4eJzt9kXwdpiAKhGvH7xwdmeOmZDRjPWPV6A83C4K7KeA9zWgPlpdC04i3oeLHyiCBufWK_zl7DrOIzW/s1600/steak.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4CVJHbqkoCoawIBBYx0eQv5OYaxpjBDvIKwUPq_DY14bsGZbMRrns6xdjO-gy4eJzt9kXwdpiAKhGvH7xwdmeOmZDRjPWPV6A83C4K7KeA9zWgPlpdC04i3oeLHyiCBufWK_zl7DrOIzW/s320/steak.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it sad that in looking at all the wedding reception photos this excited me the most?</td></tr>
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Two days went by, and then I was contacted by this would-be Knight. The Knight text me that he had gotten my number from my friend (I had consented to my phone number being dolled out), and was reaching out in the hope that we could set up a meeting.<br />
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As fate would have it both Grant and my Knight had to work on the night that I had wanted to attend happy hour. To try to make the situation with my Knight work, I offered to meet this new Knight one evening after my night job: he agreed this would work.<br />
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I text Grant and let him know that this new Knight and I would be getting together for drinks in the middle of the week instead of our proposed happy hour. Grant wished me well, and wanted me to to make sure of two things: 1. That I call him afterward to make sure I was OK and fill him in as to the details of the date and 2. Make sure that my Knight was to pay for whatever we did. <br />
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I have good people looking out for me :)<br />
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My Knight suggested that we go to a place near where he used to work. I had never been to this <a href="http://www.cloverleaftavern.com/" target="_blank">Cloverleaf bar</a>, but had heard that they had amazing craft beer, so I agreed this would be a great destination. I scheduled the date to be at 10pm to allow for me to have a busy night at work, (I hoped) and still not be running terribly late all shiny and stinky from bar tending. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjxfdu_kI431WFwKtZpAq0iceySie6Q422uFEfMV1BvwPEj522ZIXwYhjbJyA9462ZiJzV_II_S61vXfwf6nJL7mKEQGZ2HfqV-xqbYQ0ovhvOp6alg2gPzMdPJYj4zZYT6su7brqZcXF/s1600/shenaniganz-the-bat-wing-the-goat-etc-waiting-movie-tee-t-shirt-vintage-t-shirt-review-deez-teez-deez-teez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjxfdu_kI431WFwKtZpAq0iceySie6Q422uFEfMV1BvwPEj522ZIXwYhjbJyA9462ZiJzV_II_S61vXfwf6nJL7mKEQGZ2HfqV-xqbYQ0ovhvOp6alg2gPzMdPJYj4zZYT6su7brqZcXF/s320/shenaniganz-the-bat-wing-the-goat-etc-waiting-movie-tee-t-shirt-vintage-t-shirt-review-deez-teez-deez-teez.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The night of my date, as fate would have it, my night job was terribly slow. I was cut at roughly 7:30pm and text my Knight to see if we could move our date from 10pm to 9pm He agreed and I began to drive over to our meeting place. </div>
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I had thrown on a pair of white pants, sandals and a pretty flowy iridescent blue shirt while I was at work. The girls at work had all given the outfit approval and the boys gave me the wink and nod, and I felt that I was ready to rock.</div>
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I arrived in <a href="http://www.caldwell-nj.com/" target="_blank">Caldwell </a>tremendously earlier than I had expected. I took this opportunity to stop get gas, buy gum and then park my car and scroll through my <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> for a while. During this time my Knight text me to inform me that he would be running about a half hour late. Thank God for Pinterest. I sat in the car till he text me that he arrived. I told him that I would meet him in front of the restaurant. I was concerned that with the bustling restaurant full of people that it would be a challenge to find him. </div>
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Up to this point he had only sent me a Facebook picture via text. In this picture he was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans and had his thick black hair was styled neatly. He looked like your average 20 something guy who shopped for clothes based upon a mannequin in the store. From the shot that he sent, he looked like a large, strapping man. From the picture it looked like he had a broad, muscular body (that I could make out under his shirt) and appeared to be well over 6 foot from the way the picture was shot. I can recall my girl friend and I looking at the picture and both of us commenting that he looked like a huge guy. </div>
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When I showed up in front of the restaurant there was a man with dark black hair standing outside. He looked like the man in the text picture. He had dark black hair slicked back, jeans, sneakers and an <a href="http://www.afflictionclothing.com/default.html" target="_blank">Affliction</a> shirt on. As he walked towards me I realized that he wasn't that much taller than me but his muscles were enormous in his chest and arms. Wow. This man had a serious commitment to working out! He hugged me hello and we proceeded inside.</div>
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He opted to get us a table in the back of the restaurant rather than us sitting in the loud crowded bar. I appreciated this, because the last thing I want to do during my non-working time is be bumped by drunk people at a bar. </div>
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We sat down and when the waitress inquired what we were having to drink I was excited at the prospect of sampling one of their fine craft brews. I looked across the table and inquired what this Knight would be drinking. He proceeded to look at the waitress and tell her he was OK with water. </div>
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Now in the past, when I only had a water, not even a soft drink, this meant that this was going to be a brief date and I didn't really want to be there. This was not a good start. </div>
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I asked if he was sure he didn't want anything to drink at all. He said he was in training, so he shouldn't, but I should feel free to have one. </div>
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The waitress was stuck in the middle of this back and forth, so to make her life less difficult and not seem like we were just going to sit at a table and drink water all night, I ordered a Stoli Blueberry and club soda. This looked like water?</div>
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As the waitress walked off, the awkward silence had set upon us. To try to get the conversation going, I asked how he got to know our mutual friend Grant. He proceeded to tell me the same story that Grant had told me about how they met. Silence again.</div>
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I asked him about how he got involved with his job and if he liked his work as a fire fighter. He told me that he really enjoyed his work, and felt that he had chosen the right career path. I continued to ask him about his work, how he trained to get the position and what it was like working in a job that could be a life or death scenario daily. He answered all my questions and then that strange silence creeped in again. </div>
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I was beginning to feel like someone who's parents had set them up with a co-workers son who I had nothing in common with. I even felt like perhaps he was just forging along with this date to appease our friend. There was 0 chemistry. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhPevwybSpLo1w5rnslfgD447TjjcYu9RSgrhUKYDneEreGXs2uYc3d1Kc_7hm_wNFEpi2XEjlJhAPTdKkahYJOf-wtK53hw-PYbZkfHH8p_KZVVQgD3XhgRAzDC1AwlcO0c1gLYjl5av/s1600/article-2004019-0C95422D00000578-414_468x377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhPevwybSpLo1w5rnslfgD447TjjcYu9RSgrhUKYDneEreGXs2uYc3d1Kc_7hm_wNFEpi2XEjlJhAPTdKkahYJOf-wtK53hw-PYbZkfHH8p_KZVVQgD3XhgRAzDC1AwlcO0c1gLYjl5av/s320/article-2004019-0C95422D00000578-414_468x377.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Out of the blue he blurted out, "so how old are you anyway?"</div>
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Oh Jesus. </div>
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What is it with 20-something year old men always asking a woman's age. When I was younger, I was raised with the belief that men shouldn't ever ask your age, and now, these days, it rolled off their tongue in the same way they ask you if you are <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=DTF" target="_blank">DTF</a>. What happened to class and cooth? Clearly I had been down this road before. </div>
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"35," I responded. "Truthfully, there's not much I can do about it."</div>
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"Oh, that's OK," he blurted out. "It's cool."</div>
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And so was the conversation once again. </div>
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"So how is your summer going?" I inquired trying to determine if we should just both bail out now or continue with this seemingly forced event.</div>
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He told me it was going well. He and his buddies had spent the summer in <a href="http://www.seasideheights.net/" target="_blank">Seaside</a> going to <a href="http://www.bamboobar.com/" target="_blank">Bamboo</a>, <a href="http://www.djais.com/" target="_blank">DJai's</a> and <a href="http://www.theheadliner.com/" target="_blank">Headliners</a>. </div>
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<i>Anyone who is from NJ is now, hopefully, giggling at this blog entry. Anyone who is not, can click on the links and get an understanding of why they are giggling. </i></div>
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I told him I was more of a <a href="http://www.parkerhousenj.com/" target="_blank">Parker House</a> or <a href="http://www.boathousebarandgrill.com/" target="_blank">Boathouse</a> sort of girl. </div>
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Again. Crickets.</div>
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This time he asked me if I was Italian. I said yes, and said I guessed he was too. He was impressed that I knew he was. I told him it was something about the large, gold, chain with a large, gold, crucifix on it gave me a hint. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMYeiPQ_qkhrUkSsQb513Sdk6RCAwT0FxzO7Fq_OXRZZoUcF2s2LIeFmLQh-5MxT8RDWNUP4b8y-FoUwaT5cRPSyDBosN5TrggkYgiJKmpUu5Z8KH7FvYJoalQbLmFwLazjtCI-S0kVGq/s1600/guido-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMYeiPQ_qkhrUkSsQb513Sdk6RCAwT0FxzO7Fq_OXRZZoUcF2s2LIeFmLQh-5MxT8RDWNUP4b8y-FoUwaT5cRPSyDBosN5TrggkYgiJKmpUu5Z8KH7FvYJoalQbLmFwLazjtCI-S0kVGq/s320/guido-beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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At this point I had managed to suck down my Stoli and club in my VFW hall size glass and began the mental chess game of, do I tell him I am going to get going, or do I stay to see how this goes. </div>
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The waitress immediately attended to us. We were the last people in the restaurant. As someone who has worked in the service industry all throughout my life I can tell you, we were the dreaded last table. </div>
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I figured we were packing it in for the night. I think I even began to do the 'I'm pulling my stuff together and putting my napkin on the table to go' routine. </div>
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He then decides that he is going to have a <a href="http://www.redbull.com/en" target="_blank">Red Bull</a> and vodka. Curious choice, but, OK. He tells me that he guesses it's OK to have a drink. He offers for me to have another. </div>
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Well, he's already ordered his, and I am intrigued that he is looking to continue on with this date. </div>
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"Sure, I'll have another," I tell the waitress. </div>
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I can nearly feel her angst for us emanating off of her being. Just as she goes to walk away she goes to grab the katsup off the table, probably to refill it for her side work. As she reaches for it, he immediately grabs the katsup and tells her, "No, wait. We're using this."</div>
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He giggles and then says "nah, it's cool" to her. I'm mortified. </div>
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For those of you who have never been in the service industry, the last thing that you want at the end of your shift is someone chilling at your table, drinking water till all hours of the night and then thinking they are hilarious when you attempt to do the few things you can do to to wrap up your night. </div>
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I make my 'I don't really know him' face at her and she walks away with a smile that's almost as genuine as my desire to be there. </div>
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"So Grant tells me that you travel a lot. You ever get out to Vegas?" he asks.</div>
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We share our stories of Vegas night clubs, VIP service and DJs we loved. I tell him that Vegas is the halfway meeting point for my Australian friends and I, and what a blast we have when we go. He tells me about the pool parties and palatial diggs he scores when he stays out there. The conversation is actually flowing now. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75piQvQ4JaK3MdiSPILzYvF8vJ06TpYixZS8THvfvCXW8g0FTwRe_ktIl8WRCUhivV1asYWfiVv0PBehTnxV8bCyfQZDxGtVLtAQBaJR3jtlJv59fMIWA0ONp76U6R1b58IWAVzUaXvzM/s1600/IMG_1408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75piQvQ4JaK3MdiSPILzYvF8vJ06TpYixZS8THvfvCXW8g0FTwRe_ktIl8WRCUhivV1asYWfiVv0PBehTnxV8bCyfQZDxGtVLtAQBaJR3jtlJv59fMIWA0ONp76U6R1b58IWAVzUaXvzM/s320/IMG_1408.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year our alter egos were Miss Australia (middle), her stylist (far left), her best friend (polka dots), I was her PR person and far right was her manager. It was like an Australian Entourage. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I ask where else he has traveled to and he tells me <a href="http://www.atlanticcitynj.com/">AC.</a> I share that I was recently there for the opening of <a href="http://www.margaritavilleatlanticcity.com/" target="_blank">Margaritaville</a> at <a href="http://www.resortsac.com/" target="_blank">Resorts</a> and he tells me about Murmur and a few other night clubs I have not been to there. </div>
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We talk about our big Italian families and how crazy the holidays are. He shares that he lives at home with his parents where his mother does his cooking, cleaning and laundry. His down time is spent at the gym and off nights at various clubs in NJ like <a href="http://www.46lounge.com/#home" target="_blank">46 Lounge </a>and <a href="http://www.jenksclub.com/" target="_blank">Jenks</a>. </div>
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I realize more and more we are from two different worlds. I think he does too. </div>
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He's sweet, and kind, and is a good listener. He's got a great job and a great family, two qualities I think are important. He's a good looking man, but there's just something that isn't clicking for either one of us. </div>
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We've now finished our drinks and the waitress drops the check. He offers to pay, and on Grant's advice I agree to this. I thank him for being such a gentleman, because, truly, he was. He and I walk out to the parking lot to say our goodbyes. I thank him for a lovely evening. He offers to go have a few more drinks over at the <a href="https://plus.google.com/105542081867688645393/about?gl=us&hl=en" target="_blank">Ringside</a>, but I decline because it is nearly midnight and well, I've had a long day and I'm tired. I tell him to have a drink for me and enjoy the rest of his night off. </div>
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He tells me he'll be in touch. I know he won't and neither will I. Kind of thing where if we ran into each other at <a href="http://site.corradosmarket.com/home/home.html" target="_blank">Corrados</a> we would say "hi" and maybe see how the other was, but I don't see us out painting the town together. </div>
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As he walked towards his tinted out, shiny rimmed Mustang parked in the parking lot, I had to giggle. If I hadn't already been writing this blog with it's Greek tragedy conga line of stories already, no one would have believed me.</div>
YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-21136017414714285752013-08-19T09:04:00.000-07:002013-08-19T09:04:08.873-07:00The "Self-Destructing" Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7XhPQEvwyP2VkMMm-II-OLHYbcM1peVTK2Heegzqm8Pe-FG2gRGkSvhatCon6pQBFAKsvi-g9t4tNBfmLmrOXxmn2j-0LQf5rmauk4HQzrD1OcVXbjFI48gDxIybZdxQJSaMGs8-EHSr/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7XhPQEvwyP2VkMMm-II-OLHYbcM1peVTK2Heegzqm8Pe-FG2gRGkSvhatCon6pQBFAKsvi-g9t4tNBfmLmrOXxmn2j-0LQf5rmauk4HQzrD1OcVXbjFI48gDxIybZdxQJSaMGs8-EHSr/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<br />
There had been a long period of hardship with the blog. I realized more and more that this was going to make for a great book, but probably ward me off from dating for possibly, the rest of my life. I had set out with aspirations of potentially meeting a partner, however, each time I told a friend that I thought that this was possible, I was told "Do you really think so?'<br />
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I have hope. . . but I hear hope kills people, so I guess I was to tread lightly with that hope.<br />
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I was coming off a long string of dates that weren't really gonna go anywhere. You find out at around the third date, if they are going to turn into a pumpkin, they do. I believe that we all put our best foot forward when on a first date and by date three, if they are going to let their freak flag fly, it's unfurled then.<br />
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I was beginning to re think my strategy. I was casting a net that perhaps was too inclusive. In my EOE dating, perhaps my own pre-conceived notions and preferences were getting in the way. I never thought I really had a type. I had always prided myself on being the <a href="http://johnmayer.com/" target="_blank">John Mayer </a>of diverse dating, but maybe, as I aged I really did have some ideas of what I wanted. Maybe I wanted to be a bit more selective than I had been. Early on it was fun to have nothing in common with someone. Now it was just arduous.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJuXeoAS77LIYWxAHx1ouh7XkDH0ot2nPs0MO49m9CFK_GdOIrTy7VPnijJThkrQ9o8fC57NMh3mIbKZj1Y5CWZXLAxVEAraFBzC5PGKUPBeBrgrDYLSRk1aXmkcsDcSQ8CBXbuspd8FA/s1600/john-mayer-girlfriends-web1__oPt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJuXeoAS77LIYWxAHx1ouh7XkDH0ot2nPs0MO49m9CFK_GdOIrTy7VPnijJThkrQ9o8fC57NMh3mIbKZj1Y5CWZXLAxVEAraFBzC5PGKUPBeBrgrDYLSRk1aXmkcsDcSQ8CBXbuspd8FA/s320/john-mayer-girlfriends-web1__oPt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What is the story here. Is he using the Top Prospect finder as well??</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I logged on to the dating website for what seemed like a daily log in to a work email. Parsing through the inbox spam of "sup baby," "ur a hottie," and "wanna chatz" from the team of towel men, I found what looked like the golden ticket. I looked at his profile picture. He looked strikingly similar to someone I had dated in college. On close examination of this doppelganger, I realized that he was not the same man and I felt OK continuing to investigate. From the looks of the picture I immediately knew that it had been taken in Bangkok. One tick in the "we have things in common category," and a tick in the "I find you attractive category." We were off to a good start.<br />
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As I clicked on the profile I saw pictures of him in tropical locales, pictures of him at a Giants game and one of him at a swanky night club. OK. He goes out, likes football, has friends and good taste in places to go. All pluses. His message to me was simple. He came across my profile, thought we had a lot in common with our traveling and love of the finer things in life, and perhaps this could be a good place to start to see if there was an attraction.<br />
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I checked out his profile to see the rest of the stats. He was 28, interested in a relationship and lived about 45 minutes away. He worked at a family owned business and had a positive outlook on life and had a short About Me" highlighting work and his love of a good time. Under "First Date" he had put that he was willing to do whatever his date thought would be fun.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Yh2bkhv61oJyASYIBRuyS7Bs50rZHxl9Ab8Ep1IzPySUgqMoU3REWzHNgoZmduQ3hZ1Cx4eMg2wTyyuvog5lduc_gqV7i7cQl4OerlgF-HNclgkFBWenj9bazACpfYF5Fi24yljdmLOB/s1600/PS_0040_FART_DATE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Yh2bkhv61oJyASYIBRuyS7Bs50rZHxl9Ab8Ep1IzPySUgqMoU3REWzHNgoZmduQ3hZ1Cx4eMg2wTyyuvog5lduc_gqV7i7cQl4OerlgF-HNclgkFBWenj9bazACpfYF5Fi24yljdmLOB/s320/PS_0040_FART_DATE.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprisingly, not someone I have been on a date with. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I wrote back thanking him for the note, inquiring if the picture was, in fact from <a href="http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/countries/thailand-guide/" target="_blank">Thailand</a>, and what he thought of last season's Giants. He responded nearly immediately. He had his opinions of the season, he disclosed that he was in fact in Thailand in the picture and was impressed that I knew where the picture had been taken. He mentioned that he had traveled quite a bit on that side of the world because he had lived in Australia for sometime.<br />
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Huh. Who knew. I had spent some months in Australia back in 2010-2011 and loved it. Now we had another thing in common. Our love of Oz.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5I4PVecVDqqqNaXBeqTKURqqp0ydKU_6MgeW6By2y5itUGCm0VEXHE9kpRzEWMPad6t6lrcfYWzk1T2HZNX1M1-svzIqkvt5vXMtci5Pl7Wiov25XQsqhHW7WPz1L8ns8eL0n0SWI_nfk/s1600/IMG_0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5I4PVecVDqqqNaXBeqTKURqqp0ydKU_6MgeW6By2y5itUGCm0VEXHE9kpRzEWMPad6t6lrcfYWzk1T2HZNX1M1-svzIqkvt5vXMtci5Pl7Wiov25XQsqhHW7WPz1L8ns8eL0n0SWI_nfk/s320/IMG_0033.JPG" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He had sent his phone number and suggested I text him so we could get off this site. I agreed and sent on my info that began our texting.<br />
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I think we text for nearly two hours the night he gave me his number. We talked about our time in Oz, travels, what we enjoyed about being back in NJ and our favorite foods to cook. Throughout the day, on days leading up to the date, he would send me texts asking how I was, what I was up to and just general get to know you questions. No weird pictures. No creepy dick pics. Just two people getting to know each other via text. We were due to get together on a Sunday afternoon. When he asked what I wanted to do, I, wanting to capitalize on this "I'll do whatever you want" proposition had shot over<br />
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<b>Let's go check out the zoo. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfgDmoqpqun23_N9QTVqHSbFRgriBptnjoKX57kymhc4rz3kKlzRtz5uFDydRwaq7F5ig4wigsRdR4F5JF6-u8QOtFcCDsZsMTcO2a7eDLRxpdfTrjFv9EDEPLM0K5-0NX4vA3v-i-TMo/s1600/15864492-illustration-of-zoo-and-animals-in-a-beautiful-nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfgDmoqpqun23_N9QTVqHSbFRgriBptnjoKX57kymhc4rz3kKlzRtz5uFDydRwaq7F5ig4wigsRdR4F5JF6-u8QOtFcCDsZsMTcO2a7eDLRxpdfTrjFv9EDEPLM0K5-0NX4vA3v-i-TMo/s320/15864492-illustration-of-zoo-and-animals-in-a-beautiful-nature.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now let me preface this by saying, the zoo has a special place in my heart. When I was a little girl, I lived just down the street from the <a href="http://turtlebackzoo.com/" target="_blank">Turtle Back Zoo</a> for many years. Every weekend my father could, he took me to the zoo to marvel at all of the animals. I am sure you weren't supposed to pet the yak, or grab it by the nostrils for that matter, but this was father-daughter time. From the age of 3, I held huge boa constrictors, pet tarantulas and had my cracker filled pockets nibbled at by nanny goats, all while my father proudly looked on.<br />
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I had wanted to get back to this zoo for ages but each time that things would start to come together, something would happen and I wasn't able to get there. THIS WAS MY CHANCE!!<br />
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I also felt that it was a wholesome way to get to know someone. He seemed well traveled this mini safari might be just up his alley. I hoped.<br />
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He responded back that he had not been in a very long time, it was an original idea and "sure," he would go.<br />
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Like a child being told that they were going to <a href="https://disneyworld.disney.go.com/" target="_blank">Disney World</a>, I dashed through my apartment, phone in hand and threw myself onto my bed, as if I were 10. I was going to the zoo!!!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Epv0Si-b7ZTKvyofko07H43whzfDw92VDeP86eyLzDqJFpwnKZF-33uyt8pbXzVpPnOu_LZ-3QW5hpaM6ckMoZScXaC-plT2O-Z-3HYTLyGp1JlIfvLhLMLqQN5z2gsYgk8G_CO9Fvm8/s1600/Bed_Jump-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Epv0Si-b7ZTKvyofko07H43whzfDw92VDeP86eyLzDqJFpwnKZF-33uyt8pbXzVpPnOu_LZ-3QW5hpaM6ckMoZScXaC-plT2O-Z-3HYTLyGp1JlIfvLhLMLqQN5z2gsYgk8G_CO9Fvm8/s320/Bed_Jump-01.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
Perhaps this joy glazed over were going to be two of my hard and fast rules.<br />
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I asked if he wanted to meet me there. He text me that he wasn't able to because he didn't have his car.<br />
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I, stupidly, assumed it was in the shop. <br />
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He asked if I didn't mind picking him up. I said that it wasn't a bother because, I think that in this day and age I can pick up my date. Besides, WE WERE GOING TO THE ZOO!<br />
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The date was the next day. I arrived at what I thought was going to be an apartment: It was a house. From the looks of the house, it was not decorated by men of their late 20s but rather someone who was into the <a href="http://www.arts-and-crafts-style.com/arts-and-crafts-movement.html" target="_blank">Arts and Crafts Movement.</a> Hmmm.<br />
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I pulled up and put on the air conditioning. It barely works in my 13 year old vehicle but it was hot as balls out and not everyone is OK with the heat like I am. It began sadly eking out the vents and I prayed that the car actually cooled down before we reached the zoo. As I stood up out of the car I thought to myself, "God Damned, it's hot out here," as the sun scorched down upon me. I was dressed in a light, cotton sundress and flip flops. As my Knight exited the house, he looked just like his picture.<br />
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OK I guess I was at the right place?<br />
<br />
As he approached I noticed that he was very well dressed. His plaid shirt was pressed, his blond hair perfectly gelled in place, and he was wearing very well cut jeans. Jeans huh? It was 104 degrees in the shade today, and he was wearing jeans. Well, I wasn't his mother, and this was my first time meeting him. What was I gonna say, "Buddy, did you step outside at all today before you got dressed?" Nope. I was going to keep my mouth shut and just stand here and smile.<br />
<br />
He walked over to the car and gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug. He remarked about how hot it was. He even said, "I wonder if I am going to be OK in jeans." I offered to wait while he changed. Nope. He was going to keep them on. OK. Well let's see how this goes.<br />
<br />
As we drove the half hour to the zoo we talked about how unique this was as far as first dates go. I told him I really liked making the most of my days off and I thought that this might just be fun. I mentioned that there was a great place right next door called the <a href="http://www.mcloonesboathouse.com/" target="_blank">Boathouse</a> that would be a super place to grab a drink and a bite to eat after our outing at the zoo. I was willing to compromise on my usually paltry budget for a date to make this a great well rounded afternoon!<br />
<br />
I noticed that in the car, even with the AC on this poor man was sweating like he was being interrogated. Oh man. This might be a long day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLwzxezUDQh9FPzAjNQOdpwnq9uqWhPkeUrJ_K6V6TFcVMc-qbOxTpwZG8y__43RQFCSM5V4VkAT1oLiN4ysr848Yrhg3oy_R2Kc2Ixv53J8p6w6VC4wY_dw4JSSyADCXhI5c7weTrhVO/s1600/airplane_robert_hays_ted_striker_sweating_profusely.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLwzxezUDQh9FPzAjNQOdpwnq9uqWhPkeUrJ_K6V6TFcVMc-qbOxTpwZG8y__43RQFCSM5V4VkAT1oLiN4ysr848Yrhg3oy_R2Kc2Ixv53J8p6w6VC4wY_dw4JSSyADCXhI5c7weTrhVO/s1600/airplane_robert_hays_ted_striker_sweating_profusely.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We parked the car and as we approached the zoo he commented that we might be the only adults inside without kids. I told him children weren't required to enter and we both had a laugh. Once we walked inside I realized that this man now had sweat marks like the rings of Saturn around his armpits.<br />
<br />
In the distance I saw one of those sprinkler hoses that children play under in the summer.You know, kind of like the watering system at the grocery store that sprays the plants. There were children dancing under it, and fathers nearby, faining interest in the dancing and trying to get their soak on under the guise of mindful parenting. I playfully suggested that we should take a run under the sprinklers and cool down. I proceeded to run through and awaited him on the opposite side. He told me he didn't want to mess up his hair. I stood bewildered. You would rather sweat to death than mess up your hair. OK. So this man cared more about his hair than I did mine. Who am I to pass judgement.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijr51h9ATJVGuFgaCCk7YiLTsl1YLUCBQ0Cg0_3C2laMr51b8Pyz6JCW6tJoKKR1e03MS6nKkh5k1xRrB0AjHja0ehRACfzwvcr8_3OR3UlEKY0HocI5mpmTSg9eRF3T6sLwW4JH5xw3ni/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijr51h9ATJVGuFgaCCk7YiLTsl1YLUCBQ0Cg0_3C2laMr51b8Pyz6JCW6tJoKKR1e03MS6nKkh5k1xRrB0AjHja0ehRACfzwvcr8_3OR3UlEKY0HocI5mpmTSg9eRF3T6sLwW4JH5xw3ni/s320/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
He cautiously stood so the water barely sprayed him and definitely didn't hit his hair. I think that he may have mentioned that his shoes were new too. . .So I'm just more of a rough and tumble girl. So be it.<br />
<br />
I offered to get him a water to drink, or throw on himself, a multitude of times while we were walking around and he declined. We had a good time chatting each other up while wandering around. I was filled with dread that this poor man was going to pass out from heat stroke while we were trying to enjoy our day. Any opportunity we had to get into an air conditioned exhibit, the dark bat cave or even petting the sharks to cool down, we took it. I continually re assured him that we could go at any point. He insisted we stayed to see all the cool looking exhibits and that he would be OK. I thanked him profusely for being such a good sport and promised good food and cold drinks in our future.<br />
<br />
After nearly 90 minutes of torture we had finally completed the tour of the zoo. My date looked like he had been waterboarded. But keep in mind, his hair was still totally in place.<br />
<br />
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We exited the zoo and again he commented again how we were
the only people without children there. I asked him if he had a good time, and
aside from sweating bullets, he agreed it was a good time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We got into the car and drove over to the restaurant that we
literally could have hit with a stone from where we were. I wasn’t about to
make this poor guy walk one more foot. He was saturated from head to toe and
his clothes were now clinging to him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When we sat down I immediately summoned the server. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Can you please bring two LARGE glasses of water and some
sides of ice?” I inquired. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The waiter brought over waters and I ordered a glass of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prosecco" target="_blank">Prosecco</a>. I asked my Knight what he
was going to be drinking. He said he had “like four bottles of wine at the party I was at last night. I am super hung over and I can’t even look at wine. I didn’t even get to bed until
nearly 5am .” </div>
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Hmmm. So he's one of these rage until dawn guys. I don't know if I can keep up with that anymore. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll take a <a href="http://www.makersmark.com/age-verification" target="_blank">Markers Mark</a> Manhattan,” he declared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Welp, that is definitely some of the hair of the dog that
bit ya.” I thought to myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Usually the sight of water when I am hung over makes me want
to heave. This guy was going for the gusto with the bourbon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked at me beaming, “I learned what a Manhattan was watching
<a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/mad-men" target="_blank">Mad Men</a>. I think that Don Draper is my hero.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zdMevLsCNBAvnG55avI_jxQFK4vU4q2_uyKbUMFJuzKh94WwbtzlN41sEF00EVUE2ZBERDFabsAAZ5o6Xjt_G3ZIgRsnKxmROJdIOirEDuYg-1fK4G-Wp2KPAXKrI7N4ViUCxAyIIXsX/s1600/mad-men-reviews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zdMevLsCNBAvnG55avI_jxQFK4vU4q2_uyKbUMFJuzKh94WwbtzlN41sEF00EVUE2ZBERDFabsAAZ5o6Xjt_G3ZIgRsnKxmROJdIOirEDuYg-1fK4G-Wp2KPAXKrI7N4ViUCxAyIIXsX/s320/mad-men-reviews.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I drink like Don Draper, then I am Don Draper. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I smiled back feebly.
Hip hop horray?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he sat there cooling like a nuclear reactor on the brink
of blowing up, we chatted about our work and other previous jobs we had. He
asked me about my experiences on the dating site and shared his. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess he had been dating via this site as much as I had, and had stories of crazy women and tales of Catfish a plenty. He was definitely no stranger to dating or women in general. He was happy to tell me of his sexcapades and wild nights and professional wooing of women. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through all this however, I do have to say he was very complimentary. He shared with me that he loved
that I was Italian and blond. Only one of the two I had really had any say in.
At one point he had asked me if we would go out again. I told him that “we
would see how things went.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then shared that he was a womanizer that was trying to
change his ways and just be with one woman.
No more of this going out, getting drunk every night and hooking up. He
was looking to be a changed man. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t really sure if me and a wanna
be reformed party boy would really work. I had dated men with these ambitions
in my 20s, and found that if they really were going to change, apparently it
wasn’t going to happen during our tenure. My nights of drunken shenanigans, and
partying till the sun came up were long in my past. I was now happy if I made
it past 12:30 and seeing the sun come up seemed like an anxiety ridden
nightmare these days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s great,” was all I could come up with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Now," I thought to myself, "we begin the descent into the part
where the date is gonna go south." <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So why are you without your car these days?” I
inquired. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s get all the awkward
conversation out of the way right now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well I am in litigation to determine whether or not I am
getting a DUI,” he responded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OK. Many of us have
been there. I don’t think that is the particular issue. What we run into here is
one of the cardinal rules I tried to put in place at the beginning of this
endeavor. Dates must have a car/be able to drive. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was gonna be a challenge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I then thought it would be a good time to move on to
“inquiring minds want to know” question number two. I felt like I was on a
roll. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK. That’s good to know,” I said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So then are you living at home to save money for a house?”
I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well,” he said. “It’s convenient when I need rides places
that I can hit up my family members. I have my own room in the basement and
it’s not bad being there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guideline number two: Must not live at home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt like I was on a date with a teenager. So not only
would I have to schlep him back and forth from his home, but I would have to
jockey for a position on the couch when we wanted to watch a movie. Awesome.
I felt like I had done this in my 20s too. I would have actually welcomed him telling me
he was still living in a fraternity house at this point. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s focus on the positive I thought. “So what’s the best part about your job?’ I
asked. “Well I pretty much call my own hours, come and go as I please, only
work three days a week and I pretty much just show up and wine and dine
people.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So my reformed womanizing date, who is trying to give up the
party lifestyle gets paid to be a slacker and day drink as his job while others
support his “pursuits.” Oh and don’t forget Mom does his laundry, cooks his
meals and paid for his attorney for this court case. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUdzvH8ejcai6_fVFAfDxqvIEv3uZoj6YjhRQf6FqmKIa-InPi93FsIzBKVH5d3RTPAQTaEvTJT_0b7E3KRSyl2uLzGIxVsUvrscAIp2Ypbz3Vz_AWZIFgfe2Jc1Wlg6nFW5b51u6t-iq/s1600/600full-office-space-photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUdzvH8ejcai6_fVFAfDxqvIEv3uZoj6YjhRQf6FqmKIa-InPi93FsIzBKVH5d3RTPAQTaEvTJT_0b7E3KRSyl2uLzGIxVsUvrscAIp2Ypbz3Vz_AWZIFgfe2Jc1Wlg6nFW5b51u6t-iq/s320/600full-office-space-photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think that at 25 perhaps I would have signed up for this; because I was young and stupid. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would have said
“I love driving. I don’t mind sharing a space with a man’s family. I think that
it’s worth taking the chance that this man will become who he wants to be and I
can help him.” But now, today, I just wasn’t feeling it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My good friend Caroline tells me all the time, “You are not
a charity. You don’t have to save anyone. You need someone who is complimentary
to you and can be there and help care for you if you need it.” Her words echoed
inside my head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought it was admirable that he suffered through intense
heat and the onslaught of small children. I was impressed with the fact that he
paid the bill. I was flattered by the fact that he was intent to see me
again, but I wasn’t really sure that this was going to go anywhere. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we drove back to his place, I was trying to determine if I was being too judgmental. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again, he turned to me and asked me if we were going to go out again. "We'll see," I answered. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I looked over he was slathering his lips with some sort of lip balm. I commented on how I loved the lip balm I used and how addicted to it I was. He commented on how he had to continually apply it because being in the sun caused him to regularly have cold sores. But I wasn't to worry, because, it wasn't like I could get them from him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Umm. I didn't think that that was how all it worked and mentioned this, but he was happy to tell me I was wrong. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hmmm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he got out of the car and said good night he told me again how he loved that I was Italian and blond. He told me he wanted to see me again. He told me he wanted to see what it would be like to be intimate with me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"OK, awkwardly forward," I thought to myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told him that I had a lovely time, thanked him for suffering through the insane heat, and joked that he shouldn't run out and buy condoms yet. Trying to add some levity to this awkward parting dance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then looked at me and laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I don't believe in condoms," he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. This man must be kidding. Right??? Who says that???</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thanked him for a nice day, bid him farewell, never, ever to see him again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-52170944470061838712013-08-05T01:24:00.000-07:002013-08-05T01:24:54.175-07:00The Knight That Almost Was<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgVeKCouavxRb3PPiz2hMXq206yEBrkZDKpEyWuDH27CW8Q_zOVeMQ5_-i6XySuecncXenOJhnuMyPo-z-a3esNWVkDhpm0iYV9kG44ju4DjD1st9K6E5bt6-G6pzVCi2CDuhNXjDYyVzl/s1600/So-Close-Yet-So-Far.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgVeKCouavxRb3PPiz2hMXq206yEBrkZDKpEyWuDH27CW8Q_zOVeMQ5_-i6XySuecncXenOJhnuMyPo-z-a3esNWVkDhpm0iYV9kG44ju4DjD1st9K6E5bt6-G6pzVCi2CDuhNXjDYyVzl/s320/So-Close-Yet-So-Far.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
This is what I get for perusing men like shoes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I came across the email of this almost-Knight in my inbox and should
have listened to that little voice inside of me that said "you know that this isn't going to be what you think it is. The universe laughs at you regularly lady."<br />
<br />
The picture was too perfect. And well, it
sort of looked familiar. I couldn’t place it. Don’t blame me. I’m happy I can
remember what I had for breakfast this morning.
Beyond that, part of my mental blockage is I have met probably
thousands of people. No really. Thousands of people. Years of roller derby, traveling the world,
being just generally outgoing and don’t forget the many, many conventions I
have attended for a myriad of employers. Yes. I have probably met an entire
stadium of people and well, I think that is a conservative estimate. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQroeqVDMftCtz9GGkfI5IcSpZn8pURJTozLpi_oJFqjkEbq2gPXrgrQZRux8Zab61DfN4vFgAs6lZSVSiylYwdyySj3_HPZCIHdFoZDs0mQg9NRXlG-EXWiGYFKO6L5drYId2MnC04II/s1600/images-7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQroeqVDMftCtz9GGkfI5IcSpZn8pURJTozLpi_oJFqjkEbq2gPXrgrQZRux8Zab61DfN4vFgAs6lZSVSiylYwdyySj3_HPZCIHdFoZDs0mQg9NRXlG-EXWiGYFKO6L5drYId2MnC04II/s1600/images-7.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I imagine my wedding looking kind of like this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the downfalls of this gregarious and outgoing
lifestyle is you just are not sure where you met people or even sometimes, even
who they are. I am self admittedly HORRID with remembering peoples names. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can recall asking one of my best friends while we were
working together one night if a man at a table nearby was some I had dated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where that isn’t bad enough, I have often walked up to
complete strangers and totally mistaken them for someone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take case in point. My bestie and I are walking down the
street. From about a block away I see
who I think is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Sanchez" target="_blank">Mark Sanchez</a> the <a href="http://www.newyorkjets.com/" target="_blank">Jet’</a>s quarterback. I have met Mark on a number
of occasions while living and working in Morristown and therefore don’t feel
weird walking up and saying "hi". <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to miss this opportunity to say hello to my old
acquaintance I shout out, “Hey Mark!” And begin feverishly waving hello. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkteaA7BdWYeyaV_knqNlAGk3VXCLr2nsxqTpZVxM94IQ_R6SNdThGSK1UvM_Dxf6e8sGKBHj1b-rmv9EgaTKPXL-FKnkp-cSQRkqFOlGvvUTLU9Cg_FRt5OClx2t4GynxIy3iAYrvVfy/s1600/mark-sanchez-image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkteaA7BdWYeyaV_knqNlAGk3VXCLr2nsxqTpZVxM94IQ_R6SNdThGSK1UvM_Dxf6e8sGKBHj1b-rmv9EgaTKPXL-FKnkp-cSQRkqFOlGvvUTLU9Cg_FRt5OClx2t4GynxIy3iAYrvVfy/s320/mark-sanchez-image.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am now shoved off the sidewalk by my friend. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What the hell was that for?” I cry out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kris_Humphries" target="_blank">Chris Humphries</a> you idiot.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e0WK7xGcNh5a-QdeozNmK5KVztfqSwolRCVv8BS21mcv2g_Lnlx-0mIOvrWCYb0iIMFWB4iAxzxMTTJFRwPh9O3Pq2R4QvQYbA54GaR5Gr0Rnmu3PnrtKYsLIzgqJ9huSPehE0T3x3Cs/s1600/MV5BMTc0NDA5NjUzMF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzU2NTIwNw@@._V1._SY314_CR9,0,214,314_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e0WK7xGcNh5a-QdeozNmK5KVztfqSwolRCVv8BS21mcv2g_Lnlx-0mIOvrWCYb0iIMFWB4iAxzxMTTJFRwPh9O3Pq2R4QvQYbA54GaR5Gr0Rnmu3PnrtKYsLIzgqJ9huSPehE0T3x3Cs/s1600/MV5BMTc0NDA5NjUzMF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzU2NTIwNw@@._V1._SY314_CR9,0,214,314_.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come on. From a distance, maybe??</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Well what was he doing with <a href="https://twitter.com/KimKardashian" target="_blank">Kim Kardashian</a>? I thought they were divorced?" I respond. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She runs her hand down her face in aggravation. "That wasn't Kim Kardashian either dear."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You catch my drift.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Staring at this profile I am intrigued by the picture, and the handle is a
reference to Greek mythology which piques my interest. I think that his dark rugged looks and fresh face
in what was a poor gym outfit was strangely attractive. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I clicked on the email and it was short and direct. He said he had come across my profile and wanted to say hello. He inquired if I still lived in the Morristown area and if I would be interested in grabbing a drink. He signed the note "Rick".<br />
<br />
He only had two pictures of himself. One of him in work out gear as the profile picture and one of him in what looked like a friend had taken a glamour shot. It looked like both pictures had been re touched, but these days, it's easy enough to re-touch your own photos so maybe it's just that he's an avid photo guy? I just kept looking at the two pictures. Was this the same guy in both shots. I couldn't tell. They looked like they were similar, but there was just something fishy about this.<br />
<br />
I looked at his "stats". He was 34, worked in finance and described himself as someone into fitness and travel. In his pictures he looked Greek, I thought. His "about me" was brief, citing that he was new to the site, was happy to share info about himself with those who inquired, and interested in meeting someone to "date".<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure that I wanted to meet this guy so much to potentially date, rather than to have a re-con mission to find out if this guy was who he really was in his pictures.<br />
<br />
I just couldn't shake that the main profile picture looked so familiar. . .<br />
<br />
At this point of the blog I was on a dating bender. I figured if I just got through the last few dates that were rostered I could now be back to a normal life. It's the way I likened feeling when I knew I was in the last 100 yards and close to the finish line. You can pass out once you are over the line, but you just have to motor to get to the end of it until then. I was severely dating fatigued at this point and just wanted this 30 date spree to be over.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFz3pj2OcgZkyC907O_Y6olIeRxqAnQo3aJv5Ad-yLnyYqxCRM98BHPuB1EWU86IPArK4lkYP8uWelSQxbRcm2l9E-m6suFnaLwwtX97jGrAh8U1llXMyPwxPv7FiUodZ_09FwbUUzReN/s1600/251374-melissa-rollison-triathlon-300x168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFz3pj2OcgZkyC907O_Y6olIeRxqAnQo3aJv5Ad-yLnyYqxCRM98BHPuB1EWU86IPArK4lkYP8uWelSQxbRcm2l9E-m6suFnaLwwtX97jGrAh8U1llXMyPwxPv7FiUodZ_09FwbUUzReN/s1600/251374-melissa-rollison-triathlon-300x168.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I emailed him back to see if he was interested in meeting for a drink in Morristown. He offered to meet me at the Westin.<br />
<br />
Um, I'm not too keen on meeting at hotels, but I had been there before for dinner, and he mentioned wanting to get a bite to eat. I was happy to have a tasty meal at the <a href="http://www.westingovernormorris.com/gallery/bmbar" target="_blank">Blue Morel</a> on the ground floor of the Westin so I agreed to meet that Sunday evening.<br />
<br />
After sending emails back and forth, he had text me on and off on the days leading up to the meeting. Your typical hello, how was your day, sort of stuff. <br />
<br />
All this while I am still wondering how I seem to know this man's picture. At one point he had asked me to send him a picture of myself so he had a reference for when we met. Whatever dude.<br />
<br />
I sent the same picture I always send. Something from the neck up, smiling and looking wholesome. Generally in a cotton shirt and a casual hair do, cause, well that's the way I roll.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF12u15M5ur2MrAjBT80I0UJ3dYVpp8oZyq9Vz-rsHQIxSyhn5564rAinCg9GejDBr4w9Z0Ot8tQI71fXlqHdJXTe8ptwAKM29I7YbbvsUFiitTEvsxu6pzSgTYPGY3apckoaYSvRITaVh/s1600/IMG_2753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF12u15M5ur2MrAjBT80I0UJ3dYVpp8oZyq9Vz-rsHQIxSyhn5564rAinCg9GejDBr4w9Z0Ot8tQI71fXlqHdJXTe8ptwAKM29I7YbbvsUFiitTEvsxu6pzSgTYPGY3apckoaYSvRITaVh/s320/IMG_2753.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I then asked him to send me a picture of him. This is where it got interesting. At first he sent the same picture that he had on his profile. I saved this into my pictures and then text it along to a friend to consult with someone more opt to knowing who this person might be. It was just seering my brain that I couldn't place why this picture looked so familiar. <br />
<br />
I figured I was still a few hours out from meeting this guy so why not call him out to NOT get Catfished again.<br />
<br />
I told him that I had been in receipt of the last picture but did he have another one that he could send on.<br />
<br />
Now a new phone number popped up in my text messages. This person however wasn't the same name of the Greek guy I had been talking to but "Rick" had now turned into "Ricardo" and the picture that was attached to this phone number only reminded me of one person:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXnYf25hByJQRo18jN5QsQF4UlcHr5z31dUseA1F1s-iCgug7b-TGYzW82jfUrbfxAbdKY7fRUTdHRJ3SsSIUbhse3A_425B0PfM6vEgl8unkKNEnFVcAjgIyz7-Df2ctB3XdQYzW1R8f/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXnYf25hByJQRo18jN5QsQF4UlcHr5z31dUseA1F1s-iCgug7b-TGYzW82jfUrbfxAbdKY7fRUTdHRJ3SsSIUbhse3A_425B0PfM6vEgl8unkKNEnFVcAjgIyz7-Df2ctB3XdQYzW1R8f/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Who the Christ was this picture of?? This wasn't my Greek God? This guy looked like his old, miniature, mariachi band uncle?? </div>
<br />
I'm not even joking.<br />
<br />
The next picture that came a few minutes later from this new Ricardo email looked more like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK20JLgXDxhhPDFWu9kzdXWopt3Psluezken0xhDWT4wWrrnE5cWqsCqhTG-uVau8zEFFG6UxhO8oMtclVpKJDaYkGajHsGf2k91OK2HwC_bHpeYsqF69D9GF4VPSSebFugBzy35kKUF8Z/s1600/01-072307-BillyTheKid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK20JLgXDxhhPDFWu9kzdXWopt3Psluezken0xhDWT4wWrrnE5cWqsCqhTG-uVau8zEFFG6UxhO8oMtclVpKJDaYkGajHsGf2k91OK2HwC_bHpeYsqF69D9GF4VPSSebFugBzy35kKUF8Z/s320/01-072307-BillyTheKid.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Was this supposed to be the "moneyshot" that was going to cause me to say, "You're profile picture looks NOTHING AT ALL LIKE YOU and you have been LYING TO ME FROM THE START, but HELL YEAH, let's go out anyway?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
I was somewhere between horrified and perplexed. I had sent on the original picture from the profile pic on the dating site to my friend and I hadn't heard back from her.<br />
<br />
I pinged her via text again.<br />
<br />
"Look who sent me some 'more recent' photos of himself!" I exclaimed and attached the new photos to the text.<br />
<br />
What I got back made me laugh so hard I nearly peed my pants.<br />
<br />
"Well, I didn't think you were going out with <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1374980/" target="_blank">Zac Efron</a>."she replied.<br />
<br />
"What do you mean, 'you didn't think I was going out with Zach Efron'. Who the Christ is Zac Efron?????"<br />
<br />
"You know, that guy from the movie <a href="http://theluckyonemovie.warnerbros.com/dvd/index.html" target="_blank">The Lucky One</a>? Haven't you seen it?" she inquired.<br />
<br />
I guess I live in a vacuum?? Or maybe this is what happens when you don't watch schmaltzy chick flicks. I am part of like 8% of America that doesn't know who this person is. I must just know him from E television or from movie posters or promos and that's why he looked so darn familiar without me still having a clue who it was.<br />
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So I googled "Zach Ephron" and wa-la. There emerged two of my "Knight's" pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrt0i6bcS46-_zYydNjRMgKz2QGDIroHnzM-AWu6dPNgSZI_zOeiQ9jrObL3ANvyPLoYrrl3UmPCrpe4GosGjcwr-A3svOxIJkty131DE9pIfRIMakqi46FTZDd2wW2jXh_LpuOKOOIQN/s1600/Zac+Efron+Tops+T+Shirt+7JG-D-1rBUPl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrt0i6bcS46-_zYydNjRMgKz2QGDIroHnzM-AWu6dPNgSZI_zOeiQ9jrObL3ANvyPLoYrrl3UmPCrpe4GosGjcwr-A3svOxIJkty131DE9pIfRIMakqi46FTZDd2wW2jXh_LpuOKOOIQN/s200/Zac+Efron+Tops+T+Shirt+7JG-D-1rBUPl.jpg" width="131" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOKs31C-J2aFXSYifvRjHD0v2ZHQylygGODqc3pX3J8X2HnTrXUnqYNgxqva8whnLWf8PikXOT5eFae8WuxaRNxB2f51oJqRcsfK_ON87JHWSoS9SS1jqT0TjTp3fkmWnAblQ_FB7RHps/s1600/fashion4in.com*wp-content*uploads*2013*03*Zac-Efron-20130107-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOKs31C-J2aFXSYifvRjHD0v2ZHQylygGODqc3pX3J8X2HnTrXUnqYNgxqva8whnLWf8PikXOT5eFae8WuxaRNxB2f51oJqRcsfK_ON87JHWSoS9SS1jqT0TjTp3fkmWnAblQ_FB7RHps/s200/fashion4in.com*wp-content*uploads*2013*03*Zac-Efron-20130107-47.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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After my Knight that Almost Was had sent the second picture he asked why I had not responded. "Did you not like the picture?"he asked.<br />
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I just can't. . . .<br />
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I couldn't tell if he thought or hoped I was blind and dumb. In any case. There was no date as scheduled a few hours later. I told him I wasn't able to go, and that perhaps we weren't a good fit after all. To this day he still sends me pictures of some man that looks like the man from Treasure Island who I can only assume is the real Ricardo. I would really tell him to stop, but sometimes when I am having a crappy day, the thought that he thinks I'm a moron totally amuses me.<br />
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-43423187725974854372013-07-30T08:33:00.000-07:002013-07-30T08:33:13.674-07:00The "Catfish" Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOZueVlZnlVAus1iPw27eYPzMWpQQbdIjbWeRSL317-kgwaLcnQTm0j8JK-Ou23Ffr0ywK1ms9s_Y0IIJrGawHFkKh5CQo9aFfj7DnK9UFaxxx-mgwVLJuZf6he0iTH8C_87VGkAQ3SgC/s1600/images-6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOZueVlZnlVAus1iPw27eYPzMWpQQbdIjbWeRSL317-kgwaLcnQTm0j8JK-Ou23Ffr0ywK1ms9s_Y0IIJrGawHFkKh5CQo9aFfj7DnK9UFaxxx-mgwVLJuZf6he0iTH8C_87VGkAQ3SgC/s1600/images-6.jpeg" /></a></div>
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catfish: <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">A catfish </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">is someone who pretends to be someone they're not using Facebook or other social media to create false identities, particularly to pursue deceptive online romances. - Urban dictionary</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">This date was at the infancy of my Knight endeavor. Keep in mind that at that point I was much more naive and really wanted to believe that what people wrote and portrayed about themselves was <b>at least</b> mostly true. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Example: By this point I had to embraced that the height thing is just going to be a lie across the board 99% of the time. You live and learn, and wear flats. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">For a brief period when I first signed up for this online dating service I would sometimes click on their "Top Prospects" just to see if they, PoF, had actually picked people that I thought might be good partners. More and more when I checked this link I was praying it was an algorithm rather than someone like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patti_Stanger" target="_blank">Patty Stanger </a>on the other side. If not, I had no idea how she was holding down a job, let alone famous for it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I sometimes marveled at the selection that these "Top Prospects" provided me. They seemed to be all over the map, but well, I was picking all over the map: dark haired middle aged Italian men, young brown haired military guys, tall red heads, older, shorter men. . .</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Maybe the algorithm, in trying to provide me with a good selection of possible candidates, had too been confused by my recent selections. Even <b>IT</b> didn't know what I was looking for. </span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FsC-HFvnUJ2aQb0ZxUR6TFQDbXxpL7j6rXfjw0JaCOoh8Uvw3dp73ZnzXzWOmiE2KYBTuZszUTGuR5XRPGGs56ENmKdM3tqgZ9jwW-zNKqpuSCVsP3w9co9IRyFFKFjav0lK5x-a_Gew/s1600/patti-stanger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FsC-HFvnUJ2aQb0ZxUR6TFQDbXxpL7j6rXfjw0JaCOoh8Uvw3dp73ZnzXzWOmiE2KYBTuZszUTGuR5XRPGGs56ENmKdM3tqgZ9jwW-zNKqpuSCVsP3w9co9IRyFFKFjav0lK5x-a_Gew/s1600/patti-stanger.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure she would tell me my "picker was off".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">With this in mind, I would sometimes, whilst it was a commercial break from one of my series, or on a lazy morning I would check to see who the great PoF Gods had picked for me. I scrolled through profiles the way I scrolled through shoes while shopping online. I was fascinated with who the site had been chosen for me. Each profile as different as a snowflake and consistently I was still confused as to why they were "My Top Prospects."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">To give you an idea what I'm scrolling through, take a look at a professional sports team roster. Any major sport; It's kind of the same thing. What you see when you log on to this page is the beginning part of their "about me part" which should expand to a larger description, their picture, location and age. Just the facts and enough influence for you to make a "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blink_(book)" target="_blank">blink</a>" decision. The part where you had to fill out your description in the "about me" part ranged from the very well written and complex novellas to those of a few words or just nothing at all. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Clearly this tool wasn't working well for me. . .Or I thought. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">After reading stats for the first ten plus pages of my supposed All Star line up, I came across a profile of young man whose handle was just letters and numbers strung together with some reference to the military. Nothing fancy or like some of the "lookingfortheone," "hotforyou" or "onesexyLatinman"I had been seeing. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><i>Look men. You feel you are pressured! Sheesh. Don't you wanna stop when you see a self-described "sexy latin man". Yeah, no. Me neither.</i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DizqVEIHrc0H4I60TMwc09ZzC842HErNq6kwlRpuNBK2p0Fvz5RJhgeyA8nf5RiztStty4-1_Qg8Y2tkIQf6HWUuA6-aMhrNV_XtJqr3Us1sokQOMv5eHgZaSJx15PHIApI7O4fC7ow_/s1600/latin+lover_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DizqVEIHrc0H4I60TMwc09ZzC842HErNq6kwlRpuNBK2p0Fvz5RJhgeyA8nf5RiztStty4-1_Qg8Y2tkIQf6HWUuA6-aMhrNV_XtJqr3Us1sokQOMv5eHgZaSJx15PHIApI7O4fC7ow_/s320/latin+lover_0003.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure this same shot has been used 1,000 times in Pof profiles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">This profile I had stumbled upon was pretty average. He lived in the vicinity, was 28, 6' and had a picture himself. Clothed, I may add. It was of him smiling while taking his own picture from over his head (as opposed to the gratuitous in mirror, naked from the waist up, in a towel shots you see so often on here). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">The picture of him was taken the same way you would a selfie you were going to send to a friend or family member said, "sweet" instead of creepy. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I clicked on the profile. His job that was listed as military and you could see that there was a crew cut and the stereotypical white wife beater you see so many military men wearing in their pictures on here. He had listed that he had been serving his country, and went into a bit of detail about it, had recently returned and was brief in his description of himself. Under his relationship status he had interested in "dating".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Hmmm. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Couldn't really glean much from the profile. He was a man who was proud to have served his country, seemed like he was relatively happy from his pictures posted and was pretty attractive. Hey what the hell. Maybe for once this Top Prospect thing has the right idea. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">On a lark I decided I would send him a brief message. Nothing too crazy. Maybe just a quick note so he knew I had seen him and was interested. I authored a brief note and thanked him for his service. I had put at the end that if he was interested in reaching out, to feel welcome to. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I logged off then for the night and finished watching <a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/the-walking-dead" target="_blank">The Walking Dead.</a> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I think I logged on the next morning wondering if there was going to be a response. </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I felt like I was waiting to get picked for dodgeball. That same excited and sick anticipation you feel when you're not sure someone else's decision is going to determine if you are going to feel it in the head or the gut.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">There was and email!!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_o8DC3s1ZzsgiUAVug-Thyphenhyphenw39dUIj-sCB3-0w810ukM1IN_gLHOE-tLmEPTIk_JLIgysLUoYBDdjmCX6J8c6HpqNr7SxSDBpZzTztwcJz36LUiUuiexoupt51iiutmHq720PbcmgnYESD/s1600/bad-teacher--dodgeball-wallpapers_29798_1920x1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_o8DC3s1ZzsgiUAVug-Thyphenhyphenw39dUIj-sCB3-0w810ukM1IN_gLHOE-tLmEPTIk_JLIgysLUoYBDdjmCX6J8c6HpqNr7SxSDBpZzTztwcJz36LUiUuiexoupt51iiutmHq720PbcmgnYESD/s320/bad-teacher--dodgeball-wallpapers_29798_1920x1200.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I clicked on the message. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">He responded that he appreciated the recognition of his service and it seemed we had some things in common. He asked small talk questions about my weekend, and thanked me for reaching out. He seemed remotely interested. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">We emailed back and forth and then text messaged leading up to our meeting. We decided that the following Sunday evening would work for everyone. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">That Sunday I finished dinner with my folks and dashed off mumbling something about getting ready for a date with "some military dude from that online thing", which I'm sure left them both perplexed and wondering why I couldn't just meet a nice man at church. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I dashed home and threw on a white cotton long sleeved tee shirt I had gotten from a friend, a pair of jeans and a short pair of boots. We had decided to meet at the <a href="http://blackthornpub.com/" target="_blank">Blackthorn</a> around 7.30. I arrived at just about 7.25 and proceeded to the bar area. I walked around I surveyed the landscape: there were probably 10 people sitting at the bar. A couple that were retired. Nope. Not him. An older Asian man. Nope. Two girls in their late 20s. Nope. One guy with a wild head of hair hunched over his phone. Hmmmm. Nah. Prob not him. Four guys in their early 20s talking loudly watching some game on TV. OH, HELL NO. (In my best Anna Maria voice.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Was the older Asian man posing as a young blond haired, blued eyed American kid online? Um, not likely??</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5Sj01pLFaQuGOolYYj7peHAuqXf8FlHgkgraHQHuOZnYOEXin72kLWJGZW2dcdkP9kUX_s-y-jKE3jSMKLnVdanvfrFSL4KkM9FGMVOiLA4JRGRra1YD17IigVqhTfinlwOSKgjb_C-O/s1600/White+Guy+Impersonator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5Sj01pLFaQuGOolYYj7peHAuqXf8FlHgkgraHQHuOZnYOEXin72kLWJGZW2dcdkP9kUX_s-y-jKE3jSMKLnVdanvfrFSL4KkM9FGMVOiLA4JRGRra1YD17IigVqhTfinlwOSKgjb_C-O/s320/White+Guy+Impersonator.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Was it one of the dudes in the group. NOOOOO. This guy wouldn't have invited me to bro-out with him somewhere right? I hoped not. I studied this group of boys. No one glanced at me, and none of them looked like they were expecting anything but their team to win, let alone awaiting a date. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">"This guy?" </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I thought to myself</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"> as I turned to look at the man with the crazy hair hunched over his cell phone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I turned and took a long hard, "I'm trying not to be creepy," look at him. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Hmm. He was tall, probably over six foot. Check. He was wearing jeans and a large cotton tee shirt. That's not helping. Not like I had expected him to wear a wife beater to the date. . . </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Since he was so engaged with his phone I decided to text my Knight. I sent that I was here and where should I look for him. I then saw the guy in front of me start typing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">OK. Bingo. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I walked over to him and identified myself. As he looked up to greet me, yep, it was him. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">The picture he had posted online was clearly not recent. His once cropped hair was now this full, thick head of wild hair. It wasn't crazy as in, "I look like Jack Nicholson from One Flew Over the Cookoos Nest" crazy, but more like <a href="http://www.russellbrand.tv/" target="_blank">Russell Brand</a>'s controlled crazy. </span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSonRBLDJ4xe30p3sruF1P_57QmypEHF9zYI1Y9eLidWoHiRkhTzw3bFzwNEFoUyyENuSuGfhsqz0zAe8zrcmPtt9TCIFXGdrEjVzWceZVpmxUxFOHo7p-fthbLO6mp2AeMupxFvy9X3F/s1600/russell-brand-crazy-hair-katie-perry-boyfriend-hd-desktop-wallpaper-screensaver-background.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSonRBLDJ4xe30p3sruF1P_57QmypEHF9zYI1Y9eLidWoHiRkhTzw3bFzwNEFoUyyENuSuGfhsqz0zAe8zrcmPtt9TCIFXGdrEjVzWceZVpmxUxFOHo7p-fthbLO6mp2AeMupxFvy9X3F/s320/russell-brand-crazy-hair-katie-perry-boyfriend-hd-desktop-wallpaper-screensaver-background.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprise!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">It must be said that the bushy head of hair fit his face and he was pulling it off in a rock star sort of way. I noticed that he also had gauges in his ears, and visible tattoos all over his arms. Not as straight laced as I thought he was gonna be after all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I was trying to recall how much of what I saw in the picture. Maybe those towel dudes are posing that way so you know what you are expecting when you see them for the first time. That must be it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I guess one of those pictures would have helped right around now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I parked myself in the seat across from him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I couldn't help but study him. I wanted to see what else I missed or what else was in congruent with what my pre-conceived notion of who I was meeting. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I studied his tattoos. He was a Boston fan, he seemed to like <a href="http://phish.com/" target="_blank">Phish</a> and a saying tattooed on him that I would reference later if everything was going south with the date. I had options and that was what mattered. He already had a <a href="http://www.heineken.com/us/AgeGateway.aspx" target="_blank">Heineken</a> in front of him so I ordered a <a href="http://strongbow.com/" target="_blank">Strongbow</a>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">At this point I couldn't tell who looked more nervous. I was realizing that the shirt I was wearing was a hand me down and never been worn. As I sat down, my boobs all of a sudden became way more exposed than I expected. I was beginning to look like a Russ Meyer movie. Shit. I was now trying to yank my shirt further towards my neck while trying look like I was ready to engage in a conversation. This continual process was near exhausting and I finally gave up thinking, "awesome. I'm leading with my boobs now." </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sCU6k4E-jLV5maLe-VvFtHRRO2tQEpHpZp45wWBmdW89YaVVY5yLzn3GMkZLrTojiwgrOEvQtZX5Ehqhpy9vcZdQi8t_ZnRufsoqzpeWjlntSSG1nO-dzpM-vy6f-_NJA9qrQ4Kgc8ri/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sCU6k4E-jLV5maLe-VvFtHRRO2tQEpHpZp45wWBmdW89YaVVY5yLzn3GMkZLrTojiwgrOEvQtZX5Ehqhpy9vcZdQi8t_ZnRufsoqzpeWjlntSSG1nO-dzpM-vy6f-_NJA9qrQ4Kgc8ri/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I looked up at him. He wasn't staring at my boobs. He kind-of looked like he was staring at me waiting for me to speak. As I looked at him I thought how his eyes looked like the inside of blueberries. He looked a bit tense but had a sweet face. He was a little scruffy but you could tell that it was the same person from the picture. He looked like perhaps it had been about a year or so ago. We made small talk about how it had been a long week. He had been working all weekend and I had too so we both were a bit flat I think. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">He mentioned being kind of nervous and I told him what an easy person I was to talk to. I giggled at the fact that I made him nervous and he seemed to relax a bit. In order to make the conversation go towards something that made him comfortable I asked him about his service. I got the 30-thousand foot view of what he did and for who where, but after the basics, he told me that he didn't want to talk about it any more. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I didn't understand. He had made his service such a big part of his profile and now didn't want to talk about it. OK. I have no idea what people in a war go through, and I am no one to judge, it just really threw me for a loop. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">"Quick," I thought. "Ask about the tattoos!" Tattoos are a saving grace on a date that is tanking. Ask about some one's tattoos and you're buying at least 3 min talk time per tattoo. As he got to telling me about the ones we could see, you could see him start to relax more and more. He was kind of giving me a lesson in his history and it was interesting to listen to. We then talked about music, concerts we had been to, traveling we had done or not done and how we liked what we did for work. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsN-oSRDkB8VsJYt2scXmVw5iptm4TPXiv2md3gOO3AbzCIDFlzGiVVRpOlvLUMVKCmW7EPDCchY6AUj2_OrROSJb-ujZUq3DwZeRKaFgpUaeGtE0MfY7HFBsgMa8l-fFfSX_ukfHZ-NjP/s1600/David+BeckhamTattooTakeover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsN-oSRDkB8VsJYt2scXmVw5iptm4TPXiv2md3gOO3AbzCIDFlzGiVVRpOlvLUMVKCmW7EPDCchY6AUj2_OrROSJb-ujZUq3DwZeRKaFgpUaeGtE0MfY7HFBsgMa8l-fFfSX_ukfHZ-NjP/s320/David+BeckhamTattooTakeover.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry. Wanted an excuse to have David Beckham in the blog.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I thought the conversation was finally going well. Nearly as quickly as it started to get good, he looked at his phone and declared that he had to wake up early, had had a long day and probably should head home. He had just finished his Heineken and I still had just a few sips of my beer left. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Oh. OK. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Guess it wasn't going well after all. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Um, OK. "Sure," I said. "It's been a long day for me as well."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Well that was unexpected. I looked at my watch. It was nearly exactly an hour to the minute. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I guess my hour was up?? I felt like I had been part of some private speed dating. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">He picked up the tab for us and said he had had a good time and we should do it again.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">That is such a standard end of date answer I really had no idea if he was being honest or just felt it obligatory to say so. I was confused.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">We walked outside and I think I teased him about his <a href="http://www.patriots.com/" target="_blank">Patriots</a> hat. We both wished each other well goodbye and promised to text to let the other know we got home safe. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">I wasn't expecting a text. I had absolutely no idea what to make of this date. He wasn't who I expected, but I was kind of happy with who it turned out to be. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Surprisingly after I sent a text that I was home safely, I received a text back from him saying that he had a good time and hoped that he could see me the following week. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;">Well, I figured, what the hell. I wanted to try to figure out who this mystery person really was so here was another opportunity to see! </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-22307818511644847992013-07-19T11:57:00.002-07:002013-07-19T11:57:46.575-07:00The "Inadvertent" Knight<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="text-align: left;">So one of my blog dates cancels on me and it’s a Saturday night. I am kind of pissed because that was my plan for a Saturday night off but, well, what can you do. People are unreliable and I think perhaps he did me a favor. (Future blog date: The Catfish Knight)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decide that I am going to still have dinner out and watch
a hockey game to make the most of this debacle.
I head over to <a href="http://www.bonefishgrill.com/" target="_blank">Bonefish Grill </a>with the desire to have a great piece of
fish and a martini while I watch the <a href="http://devils.nhl.com/club/schedule.htm" target="_blank">Devils </a>play. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYInaNmNd-f8pjUPkS1fcVIGEoXZfl30Jc_ydpyTMEVy_1czMgF-VvzKDuTEwDLWzl2pm_sKQpxJlJWREGhFQ2ObixnmwdyMWELPkp6WDTMI2p-C0u_wFn7Xb42qwaxlEW0fd6ogYSk3S/s1600/flyers-devils-hockey-6e1aa492d4d61946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYInaNmNd-f8pjUPkS1fcVIGEoXZfl30Jc_ydpyTMEVy_1czMgF-VvzKDuTEwDLWzl2pm_sKQpxJlJWREGhFQ2ObixnmwdyMWELPkp6WDTMI2p-C0u_wFn7Xb42qwaxlEW0fd6ogYSk3S/s320/flyers-devils-hockey-6e1aa492d4d61946.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I arrive just as the game is starting and surprisingly there
are very few people at the bar. I make my way over to a seat and settle in. I
ask the bartender for a <a href="http://www.stoli.com/" target="_blank">Stoli </a>dirty martini and I begin perusing the menu while
I am trying to keep an eye on the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“This isn’t so bad,” I think to myself. I will have a
peaceful, healthy dinner and get to watch my boys in red kick the Sabres asses. Win win!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As I am perusing the menu a man sits down next to me. He has dark hair, a mustache, olive colored
skin and is probably in his late 40s. He
kind of reminds me of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eugene_Levy" target="_blank">Eugene Levy</a>. I gotta
let you know, I am not hot for Eugene Levy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjytIRaSQECDmJ0KlFhKqgcZ22nq5Hv6lEyM08HG5KfxyfGiksIKSU29HD04pi9TYnVgn4OVQXdT3dPXa68VSG6_F0dkjPDrCE5Z6aogSRxcUG52_AJoYH9svQazOMBRdKlBcAe7CW4fT/s1600/eugene-levy-225.jpg.html.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjytIRaSQECDmJ0KlFhKqgcZ22nq5Hv6lEyM08HG5KfxyfGiksIKSU29HD04pi9TYnVgn4OVQXdT3dPXa68VSG6_F0dkjPDrCE5Z6aogSRxcUG52_AJoYH9svQazOMBRdKlBcAe7CW4fT/s1600/eugene-levy-225.jpg.html.jpeg" /></a></div>
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He asks if anyone is sitting next to me and I let him know that
no one is. He then sits down and begins
chatting with the bartender. They know him at this bar, and he seems to be a
regular. I am hoping he doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s a full moon out and I
just have this theory that all the looney tunes come out on these nights (er go
why I am out). I just want to have my
dinner, have my drink, watch the game and go home. Period. The end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJng0uUf6_lS3XrjyFEdTEXQx_BmMB1I2luRCieMRNhrI07PQ-B8odCzTX0WyWyPptRaEtcoCtQmAyvTNhtOryO3ACckymBhbI_TgmDbJRz43O4DnMYPUfjKLNZ3C041qpWiGcp60FfY-/s1600/1328667913186_6120532.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJng0uUf6_lS3XrjyFEdTEXQx_BmMB1I2luRCieMRNhrI07PQ-B8odCzTX0WyWyPptRaEtcoCtQmAyvTNhtOryO3ACckymBhbI_TgmDbJRz43O4DnMYPUfjKLNZ3C041qpWiGcp60FfY-/s320/1328667913186_6120532.png" width="320" /></a><br />
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And here it comes . . . Just when I think that I am going to
get my wish, the full moon unleashes its fury.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“A pretty girl like
you shouldn’t have someone keeping them waiting, ” Eugene Levy look-alike tells
me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I nod and smile in his general direction, as if to say, “Please,
I beg of you, leave me alone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He doesn’t get this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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He continues on. “So
is he running late?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fuck. I am really gonna have to talk to this man. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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At this point I feel the chair on the other side of me get
pulled out and someone sits down. Please
let this be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Skarsg%C3%A5rd" target="_blank">Alexander Skarsgard </a>sitting on the other side so I can just run off
into the night with him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3Zm-l7I4YxwZNF-InIBhPNyhLsVzMQp0BvV_aYSgjAMvUehaKCurcaDV_PTaV7367W1_QiY72bYamUU6VvbCbv64d4NOpHLIcB2Rh3OBJtCTzCGtP_irb275rH7WkNAkNjV-zfEj3ikN/s1600/alexander-skarsgard-600x804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3Zm-l7I4YxwZNF-InIBhPNyhLsVzMQp0BvV_aYSgjAMvUehaKCurcaDV_PTaV7367W1_QiY72bYamUU6VvbCbv64d4NOpHLIcB2Rh3OBJtCTzCGtP_irb275rH7WkNAkNjV-zfEj3ikN/s320/alexander-skarsgard-600x804.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So if anyone knows him, and can let him know I'm single, we can stop all this crazy blog. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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It’s not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a single dude, also probably in his late 40s, wearing a
leather jacket, a black shirt, black pants and has about as much hair as Nero.
He looks like a Russian arms dealer (whatever your individual mental image of
this may be; yes). He smiles and cocks an eyebrow at me as he sits down. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am now stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turn to Eugene Levy and tell him that I am just dining
solo because my boyfriend couldn’t make it out tonight. This should buy me some
silence from both parties, I think. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He orders something off menu and it sounds amazing. I try to
inquire with the bartender what it is.
Instead he tells me it’s on the website but not on the menu. I am
intrigued with this and begin feverishly combing the Internet for this offer. He’s
now looking on his phone. Dammit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This has opened up the conversation floodgates. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Levy now wants to know why my boyfriend is not here, and
how he could let me out alone on a Saturday night. I make the mistake of
telling him my fictitious boyfriend is young and unaccountable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How young,” he asks.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I now need to pick an arbitrary number, but one that will
deter him from thinking he has a shot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“28,” I lie. Hey, he’s my fictitious boyfriend. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So if he’s 28, how old are you?” he asks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jesus, is this man writing a book? What happened to not
asking a woman her age??<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“35,” I respond because well, I am, and proud of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh you’re a cougar? Huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkC_BFoZF8sV32PO0ElTrKzqGrC-0cqS5dJ_y1eWfV5yOSW8Ff7Pa29ekB0op4Xgx3dkbyLuf0kQn88MM7hQgMQJvkiBnaYuFRF7vM9B5OKuZhlTeO2d8qhDaKjesFCCggebG2aJM5E1x/s1600/images-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkC_BFoZF8sV32PO0ElTrKzqGrC-0cqS5dJ_y1eWfV5yOSW8Ff7Pa29ekB0op4Xgx3dkbyLuf0kQn88MM7hQgMQJvkiBnaYuFRF7vM9B5OKuZhlTeO2d8qhDaKjesFCCggebG2aJM5E1x/s1600/images-5.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We discuss cougars in the last blog <a href="http://1girl30dates30knights.blogspot.com/2013/07/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html" target="_blank">post</a>. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WTF. This makes me mad. I am kind of getting sick of hearing
this. I feel that it’s pretty rude. I wouldn’t think of telling him he’s having
some sort of mid-life crisis if roles were reversed. I am dating down. Men have done this for
centuries. What am I, some sort of trailblazer for those dating with a few
years spread? So they are born in the 90s. Who cares?? My mother is older than
my father. I have always dated younger men. It’s not like I’m hanging out at a
high school football game taking home the quarterback. This incenses me. I feel
liberated to now retaliate . . . <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why am I a cougar? I’m not dating a child, and the age
spread isn’t that great. You men do this all the time and there is no negative
connotation, so why is it when I do it, I have a negative stigma attached to
it.” I’m nearly out of breath I am so
wound up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t know why, read the previous blog.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I look over to the black leather jacket Nero guy and he’s
snickering. He realizes that his competition is tanking and it seems like being
a fly on the wall for this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eugene then responded,
“Well you are a Cougar.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dude,” I think to myself, “this is why you are alone at a
bar on Saturday night.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am exasperated. I guess this dude gets that I am done with
him probably because I have now nearly turned my back entirely to this man. I
am now intently staring at the TV where the game is on, and I am trying to
appear totally engaged and fixated on the Geico commercial. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgLwbOdeWj10cGqXm-z-OYWH2e3aGmqwTinbw-RVAqM09H56LoVtcJ1SQsTk0zVVdZC7DOmQYfiYvZ6c6noUrwK2-dOrUzhgNZwWdcZklxPJEUZqis4_cPgsx4RMI2fWEQ4Dspo8iNbyB/s1600/Geico-Gecko.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgLwbOdeWj10cGqXm-z-OYWH2e3aGmqwTinbw-RVAqM09H56LoVtcJ1SQsTk0zVVdZC7DOmQYfiYvZ6c6noUrwK2-dOrUzhgNZwWdcZklxPJEUZqis4_cPgsx4RMI2fWEQ4Dspo8iNbyB/s1600/Geico-Gecko.gif" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keep in mind now, I have not even received my main at this
point. I am still working my way through my salad, and because it’s a busy
Saturday night, I know my entrée isn’t showing up anytime soon. F.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I try to throw myself into viewing the game. I am going to
ignore more awkwardness if it kills me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I look to my left. The man in the leather jacket is
there. He is still awakrdly sitting
there half watching the game, half watching his food. Not a good candidate for
a chat. I am already neck deep in weirdness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I fixate on the hockey game. The man next to me hasn’t responded
since my Hiroshima Cougar attack. My
main arrives and I delve into my lobster and scallops. I want to want my meal but I have been so God
damned hot today I can hardly eat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man next to me takes the butter warmer candle that comes
with my meal and puts it between the two of us. I think that this is either a
peace offering, or an attempt to make this more like a date. Either way, this
is still neck deep in weirdness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6Lp6_zuirqpAby8U0cD_05dcmedxknRqGMShtvJZ9UxR3pUHzIegWoxC_Q1OpuzvAQXHs8bv071cNHSgXjF9-8aJyYgnynbt3nSYO8WLpQP0ozUj-wFawzKfIS4PL6cAHUqwyYwnHKLq/s1600/candle_light_dinner_by_nockrocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6Lp6_zuirqpAby8U0cD_05dcmedxknRqGMShtvJZ9UxR3pUHzIegWoxC_Q1OpuzvAQXHs8bv071cNHSgXjF9-8aJyYgnynbt3nSYO8WLpQP0ozUj-wFawzKfIS4PL6cAHUqwyYwnHKLq/s320/candle_light_dinner_by_nockrocks.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You too can have a date with a complete stranger at a bar. Just add a candle. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Here you go,” he smiles at me. “It’s like we’re on a date.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WHAT THE CHRIST. CAN’T I JUST EAT MY MEAL IN PEACE? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I immediately put the butter back on the open flame and fain
interest in dipping my scallops in the butter. I throw back a butter-covered
scallop. This is now not even turning
out to be the healthy meal I so craved! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m now not even interested in the food. I just want to
leave now. But there is only 8 minutes left in the 3<sup>rd</sup> period. If I
leave now, I will miss the end of this nail biting game. If I stay, Eugene Levy may try to start
feeding me my dinner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decide that I am willing to risk a few more minutes of
this awkward dining experience to not miss the rest of the game. I still have a
few sips of my martini left and I imagine that this is as bad as it’s going to
get.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh no. It can always get worse. And it did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At about this 8-minute mark other trouble was a brewing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had watched them come in and debate over where to sit.
They were an older couple, probably retired. He was kinda of Irish drunk red,
and she was beaming so they must have been coming from somewhere where alcohol
had been served. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They sit down one seat over from Eugene. I can see them
surveying the landscape. The look intentely at Eugene, then me and then Eugene
again. They then look over at the Russian arms dealer. They seem to be huddled
in conversation. I don’t really know or care what they are talking about,
because I am trying to focus on the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The couple now emerges from their secret conversation and
seems to be focusing their attention in my direction. I quickly look back to the TV. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look engrossed in the game. Look engrossed in the game,” is all I can
think to myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No sooner to I turn my attention to this action packed game
but I hear from a few chairs over; “How long have the two of you been dating.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like she is speaking to me, but why would she ask if
we were dating. I make like haven’t heard the question. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eugene however turns to her and responds that we are not
dating.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why?” she asks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really lady?? This can’t be happening to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roughly 5 minutes left in the game and I just wanna watch
the end of the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You make such a lovely couple,” she coos.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You think so?” Eugene asks her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then turns to me. “She thinks we make a good couple,” he tells me with pride.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh great Scott. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I make a weak smile at him and am now staring at the game
like my life depends on it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why don’t you ask her out?” says this woman in her lovely
English accent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>
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</o:p></div>
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"She has a boyfriend,” Eugene replies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“And he’s 28 and she’s a cougar so she won’t want to go out
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The Queen Mum then replies, “well she doesn’t know what she
wants.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt65VTXaVil9QQKf6dTvcU3Mx2pBVacfLt1cwRwQChHsyvnznk5qPH_bz2fl6fRJjUKsptpBh_SLqgYNPTL6M0PP-keorszSFtTg3iNbGKGLE0nQQLVS9trVri9UZmvfNnZOMLk0aBB0JE/s1600/6a00d83452408569e20133ed848e5e970b-400wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt65VTXaVil9QQKf6dTvcU3Mx2pBVacfLt1cwRwQChHsyvnznk5qPH_bz2fl6fRJjUKsptpBh_SLqgYNPTL6M0PP-keorszSFtTg3iNbGKGLE0nQQLVS9trVri9UZmvfNnZOMLk0aBB0JE/s320/6a00d83452408569e20133ed848e5e970b-400wi.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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Hello?? WTF. I am still sitting here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“And you over there,” the English woman shouts to the
Russian arms dealer. “You don’t want him to ask her out because you want a shot
at her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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He looks as confused as I do. When did this turn into a soap opera. There
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I grab the bartender’s attention. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I need a to-go box and the bill please,” I tell her. I have
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I get the bill and I notice it’s way more than I expected.
Did they put an embargo on my Stoli? I read the itemized menu and notice that
they have Eugene and I on the same tab.
Oh Jesus. Even the bartender thinks that we are together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Um, miss,” I call to her. “I think that his food was put on
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“Oh, I thought you
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HUH??????<o:p></o:p></div>
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I shake my head vehemently NO and quietly pay my bill while
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<br /></div>
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I gather my to-go and my purse and catch the last glimpse of
the last seconds of the game. I think I
am getting away Scott-free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Eugene immediately turns from talking to the couple who have alerted
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“Would you like to go get a drink?” he asks me as I am gathering my things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I tell him I have plans and thank you for offering. I just
want to get home, lock my door and wait for this crazy full moon to go
away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I walk out and I can still hear the English woman carrying
on about how “she’s young and she’ll learn soon enough.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes lady. I have learned to stay home when there’s a full
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PcBt_st-e_MjLyKH6wbAfICC72qVKrSK8hl_votZDVZKtwEmcZJBl5AzICmRraDTu7VR-OU6QNpTPiWCeFpEvzWKKQxxtyFPMaA18gAsnnVNhVz2xXFr1h-vHHBLbaOgRnDEqBlpvP2L/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PcBt_st-e_MjLyKH6wbAfICC72qVKrSK8hl_votZDVZKtwEmcZJBl5AzICmRraDTu7VR-OU6QNpTPiWCeFpEvzWKKQxxtyFPMaA18gAsnnVNhVz2xXFr1h-vHHBLbaOgRnDEqBlpvP2L/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-81330927813232675772013-07-09T16:25:00.001-07:002013-07-09T16:26:39.960-07:00The "Cougar" Knight<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7uWuDfoRlNxJhHAdWWdZ2agZH77f5RXTutEK-FBqwuajgiDEzF9rGMb9psInaAc3XQwuPJOZqMKan34jBif-GT0GlDTyHwWSSDQibsIZs0ZXUZ19jlNzoCqHAn-y6MDg6I_y-jVH9j1t/s1600/20091102_cougar_560x375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7uWuDfoRlNxJhHAdWWdZ2agZH77f5RXTutEK-FBqwuajgiDEzF9rGMb9psInaAc3XQwuPJOZqMKan34jBif-GT0GlDTyHwWSSDQibsIZs0ZXUZ19jlNzoCqHAn-y6MDg6I_y-jVH9j1t/s320/20091102_cougar_560x375.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I am bartending on a Thursday night, surprise
surprise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me start by saying where I
bartend has the lowest rate of attractive men after a <a href="http://www.startrek.com/" target="_blank">Star Trek</a> festival. In the two years that I have worked there, I
have probably seen six men that I would want to ask me out; if I was forced at gunpoint to want that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t understand
what the deal is. How can one place be such an abysmal showing of the male species
. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6gUVfxH2bVz-iKHsdS4eMT3QhAvwvglI8AMQoFkvVNX7HSjuq4tY0_ywgo2NJsYfBOMbFaKDPYzHFhkkz24eXOKXL_oILifzyUGfDM-CyyTHKtqmsBk_HFTcpNbxLeEDMzJRC-gdKqag/s1600/OddLookinMan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6gUVfxH2bVz-iKHsdS4eMT3QhAvwvglI8AMQoFkvVNX7HSjuq4tY0_ywgo2NJsYfBOMbFaKDPYzHFhkkz24eXOKXL_oILifzyUGfDM-CyyTHKtqmsBk_HFTcpNbxLeEDMzJRC-gdKqag/s320/OddLookinMan.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This particular night we had been dead all night and then had
this massive surge of college students around 11pm. I jump off tending tables and begin helping out
the bartenders with the throngs of students drinking <a href="http://www.fireballwhisky.com/splash/?redirect=61A620F711A42C67E53F756E91EB0B8F" target="_blank">Fireball</a> shots and downing
<a href="http://www.millerlite.com/" target="_blank">Miller Lites. </a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWOXf-uF0SE2iucK5m1J8ndLTl04qe-SDPWQ2aHhCBYLWdVcmODqvDoF2rGe7j_CIAToNfmn140uTyXW8JFcxmMQqQcCc51BLsylPPQycU80SAnUqjRsQrBn2qztNJaaaI425e6orjVZ7/s1600/CrazyBarCrowd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWOXf-uF0SE2iucK5m1J8ndLTl04qe-SDPWQ2aHhCBYLWdVcmODqvDoF2rGe7j_CIAToNfmn140uTyXW8JFcxmMQqQcCc51BLsylPPQycU80SAnUqjRsQrBn2qztNJaaaI425e6orjVZ7/s320/CrazyBarCrowd.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this is an actual a place in Australia. . .</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I am slinging shots I happen to notice an attractive man
at the bar. I do a double-take. This is a first. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is sitting by himself, seemingly watching some game behind me. I am craning to see him. As I focus on him, I realize
that he is meeting my gaze. I quickly
look away. He’s just watching the bartending show, or the other bartender. He
couldn’t possibly be looking at me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looks young, but maybe, not terribly younger? I can't tell anymore. Whatever age he is, he's still older than 21 and has enough confidence to come to a bar by himself. Kudos kid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvVrNmA-A3B2nfVRF1HVNlqzJ7qgXdFpp9trurhOK3jsuQkz62PtEAU5BTtQf6QOGkyBKdQbP9sPVUM0NkbAeSbENfRcKo5KyA3wwoy6o5Z9paSCZdjcaeA83w__ROEPqFrGSi7O5lT-L/s1600/baseball-players-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvVrNmA-A3B2nfVRF1HVNlqzJ7qgXdFpp9trurhOK3jsuQkz62PtEAU5BTtQf6QOGkyBKdQbP9sPVUM0NkbAeSbENfRcKo5KyA3wwoy6o5Z9paSCZdjcaeA83w__ROEPqFrGSi7O5lT-L/s320/baseball-players-3.jpg" width="219" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's my sparkly teeth that attracted you to me."</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looks like he should pitch for a baseball team somewhere. He has one of those twisty fabric necklaces like the ball players wear, he's wearing a cotton <a href="http://www.abercrombie.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/StoreView?storeId=10051&langId=-1&catalogId=10901" target="_blank">A&F</a> or <a href="http://www.hollisterco.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/StoreView?storeId=10251&langId=-1&catalogId=10201" target="_blank">Hollister</a> shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers. No tattoos, clean shaven; I'd say some military service because his cotton outfit is pressed and his light brown hair is cut short. He looks like he's super fit but I wonder if he and I are the same height. That's a deal breaker, but I am willing to roll the dice. Well, I haven't had any luck with military men yet, why stop now. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decide I am going to ask one of the other bartenders what
his story is. He's not a regular and I have never seen him in here before. I grab my fellow bartender. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Erin, there is a cute boy at the bar!" </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I exclaim.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "This never happens!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“And he’s been checking you out, hard” she responds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Really?” I inquire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeah, he’s definitely been checking you out,” she tells me with 100% assurance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well shit. I am going to do something about this," I tell her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When
opportunity comes a knocking, I definitely don't wanna miss the chance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bar has now calmed down enough for me to get out from behind the
bar and get back on tables. I begin wandering around wondering how I can get close enough to see this man. Hmmmm. . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of my job is making sure that the chairs are
where they should be. I realize that there is a deluge of chairs over where
this man is sitting. This is my in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFGIBqaCErknlcy5chpZe9q3Wjc_a6cqzIjfkeXr9Y2HX8if58SwR1_4icLcWrmVY9MOeR6yNDg4oI1_uLu6iSmkvfQZhWxG14yvr07gFGXLjy1ZCzUYgKiyZoufwwuqLHDzGxJekzbH6/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFGIBqaCErknlcy5chpZe9q3Wjc_a6cqzIjfkeXr9Y2HX8if58SwR1_4icLcWrmVY9MOeR6yNDg4oI1_uLu6iSmkvfQZhWxG14yvr07gFGXLjy1ZCzUYgKiyZoufwwuqLHDzGxJekzbH6/s1600/images.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I go over and ask him if he is using any of the chairs that
have piled up next to him. He smiles at me and says, “Sadly, I am here alone. Feel free to take the chairs as you wish. I am not using them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I look at him and this just rolls off my tongue: “There’s
nothing sad about it. I go out on my own all the time.” I give him a smile and
a shrug and proceed to begin to pick up one of the chairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stops me from picking up the chair and says “ How about
some we go out some night and sit together.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smooth man. Super smooth.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-bj80zt9nxpkh-vJD6h2ngauHtl1dYPRvzHpfFLwb9KKduwdFlZPPEuoiRRFJvpYViV4zmJblQcciPqkzV0JFco5K30nqMd3kKfmAbSz_CxWo8NetICca9Tq7Hn_BuSTfGkzxFrbEZFM/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-bj80zt9nxpkh-vJD6h2ngauHtl1dYPRvzHpfFLwb9KKduwdFlZPPEuoiRRFJvpYViV4zmJblQcciPqkzV0JFco5K30nqMd3kKfmAbSz_CxWo8NetICca9Tq7Hn_BuSTfGkzxFrbEZFM/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm so smooth, I'm chilling this glass as I drink this martini"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a guy that looks barely 21, he clearly knows how to pick
up a chick. Sweet. He did the asking; I am in.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I flush red. “I’d
like that,” I respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Good,” he says.
“When are you not working?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Umm, this is sort of a wacky week," I share. "I think I am around on Tuesday night. Do you want to get my number so we can
coordinate?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Nope,” he replies. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Tuesday night at 10pm at George and Martha’s work for you? I’ve never
been there before,” he shares, “and I’d like to take you out there if that works
for you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Um, sure. That sounds awesome,” I reply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love that he is assertive. I love that he
made the plans. I think he’s super cute. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m beaming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bar picks back up again and I am back behind the bar. Now I notice that he is watching my every
move. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that says he's into me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m now excited for my Tuesday tonight. He pays
his tab and I get to see his name. It
occurred to me that I was so excited to be asked out that I totally forgot to
ask him his name. Well at least now I
know who the hell I am going out with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tuesday night rolls around. I drive myself to the bar. It's been a long time since I have been here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I am pulling in I notice he is walking across the lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Phew, here is my opportunity to suggest another place to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey there! So you still wanna check this place out?” I shout, hoping he is not set on having drinks here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeah, I have never been here before,” he responds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dang. I’m stuck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We proceed inside. We
sit down at the bar and then chat for over two and a half hours over our <a href="http://angryorchard.com/" target="_blank">cider beers</a>. He is pleasant and fun to talk to. The conversation ebbs and flows. There are some pregnant pauses when he talks about high school and his prom. I realize that there probably aren't a ton of years under his dating belt. It's sweet, but he's a bit novice it would seem. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He has a youthful
charm and innocence but has nearly a <a href="http://www.eljamesauthor.com/books/fifty-shades-of-grey/" target="_blank">Fifty Shades</a> control on his life and
destiny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We both love the same sports teams, are very into our
fitness and local, organic food. He has a dry sense of humor, and pokes me back
when I am playfully abusive. It was a
great chat. I am happy that I decided to come, even though I think he's too young. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then tells me he is going into the service and that he is departing in the
near future. This is kind of a bummer. I appreciate his service to his country, but I
don’t want to get into a relationship with someone who is going away for four
to eight months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc4C-DfVS1CWGQ5SHBpGyy2jqmWY19_HlvDeg7gATlNLs-a_6yrFPQNTzz1g8Tarkp7aVbRm8vXBf-odI697B4QpP5F_D1vcfJYiB-lOB8wqxnZ9GLHUKYsZO9f2Utnp1zeMhONgFUyIN/s1600/7fc867eb8e278a195f8a2acb35ccd74e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc4C-DfVS1CWGQ5SHBpGyy2jqmWY19_HlvDeg7gATlNLs-a_6yrFPQNTzz1g8Tarkp7aVbRm8vXBf-odI697B4QpP5F_D1vcfJYiB-lOB8wqxnZ9GLHUKYsZO9f2Utnp1zeMhONgFUyIN/s320/7fc867eb8e278a195f8a2acb35ccd74e.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am exhausted . I am just cooked from my big week and I
realize it is time to go home. I think he's a lovely kid, but he’s goin away for a while. A long while. I wanna date someone who is going to be around, not away, who knows where, for who knows how long. I kinda feel the universe giggling at me. I suggest since the bar is closing that perhaps we should pay
our tabs and head out on our way. Good bartender karma, you know.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He
agrees and asks me if I will go out with him again. I nod. I am not sure why.
This is going nowhere. Maybe I choose to nod in compliance because this is just easier. When he texts or calls, I'll just say I am busy, and it will just fade away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ask him if he has had a good night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He tells me that he has had an amazing night "with a hot
cougar". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnONiIBQVy5RCvEnTYzq5gSAPEc0O_fhnOm9p8EdQEV-2UfUmhlozrXeuxPZ3HFuW56kJfse7BFEUfSvqSNoKA3YCLJiA23K-tHRaW21wC9CRo0_SD4IYmEo2UyY7c5xi9GBKCor4nEZF/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnONiIBQVy5RCvEnTYzq5gSAPEc0O_fhnOm9p8EdQEV-2UfUmhlozrXeuxPZ3HFuW56kJfse7BFEUfSvqSNoKA3YCLJiA23K-tHRaW21wC9CRo0_SD4IYmEo2UyY7c5xi9GBKCor4nEZF/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't even drink coffee or tea. Oh wait. . .</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">HUH???</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ask him, "How old do you think I am?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't know," he stammers. "28?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I press my smile into a thin grimace. I am seething inside. I don't consider myself a cougar. I looked it up online once and the definition was "<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">a woman 40 years of age or older who exclusively pursues very young men."</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am not 40. And it's not like he's young enough to be my son. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I perceive this term "cougar" as a way for men to poke fun at those of us who are just doing what men have done for eons. There is no negative connotation for a man who dates women significantly younger than he is, why do I get to bear this scarlet "<i>C"</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not having it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't respond.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decide I am not going to say anything further. He doesn’t notice this. Perhaps because he is smitten with this older woman. Perhaps he is mapping out in his head what he is going to tell his friends about going out with a cougar. Either way, this is over. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bid him goodnight and get in my car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't hardly wait to tell my friends this story. I can't hardly believe the exchange that has just happened. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kudos kid on your epic fail with your "cougar". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-16484500842640412932013-06-26T08:59:00.001-07:002013-06-26T08:59:23.915-07:00The "Serial Killer" Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ux4Ixtcils22255Yj8jc6wO9sF7bFIUQO2Ai9CIRELcUQhNjwGNIThHvdmAv6NDPBmCIrcWJPNP7oQB0sWkaf3jhrqQ0OO-Hdw6v0rOVTg5rl4myFbNOkgGKpFMFBaKfd7fTafzRASNY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ux4Ixtcils22255Yj8jc6wO9sF7bFIUQO2Ai9CIRELcUQhNjwGNIThHvdmAv6NDPBmCIrcWJPNP7oQB0sWkaf3jhrqQ0OO-Hdw6v0rOVTg5rl4myFbNOkgGKpFMFBaKfd7fTafzRASNY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Let's preface this blog entry by stating: I love people who let their freak flag fly. If I did not feel this way, I would have allowed what was a great experience to pass me by. . .<br />
<br />
I was checking my inbox on my dating site of choice and I came across an email that caught my eye. I can't recall what the title was, but "hey" or "sup" wasn't the subject, so I decided to read on.<br />
<br />
In this man's intro he wrote he had been on the site for some time, but had not really contacted anyone. For whatever reason, when he came across my profile he decided that he HAD to reach out to me. I wish I still had the email because it was so witty and well thought out, for the first time on this crumby dating site, I was impressed. He had a great dead pan humor way of writing and if you took offense easily, well, he wasn't your "cup of tea," he wrote. He was complimentary, witty, and already had a plan for a first date according to his email. This was a lot more than I can say about most of the men I have dated so far! Come to think of it, his intro email was probably one of the most sincere emails I have gotten while on this dating site.<br />
<br />
While still basking in the glow of this awesome hello letter I went to check out his profile. His handle was something like SerialKiller. The glow is now beginning to fade. . .<br />
<br />
As I began to read the profile, I realized that a lot of his profile stats were BS. If you didn't, you were an idiot.<br />
<br />
I'm just sayin. . .<br />
<br />
He spoke <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tagalog_language" target="_blank">Tagalog</a>. He was a dictator of a small African nation, and had a summer home on the <a href="http://www.google.com/moon/" target="_blank">moon</a>. I liked the irreverence. It was refreshing.<br />
<br />
His profile was LONG. Longer than mine and probably one of the longest I have read from the varying suitors. He had a scpheal on his profile about "if you were attracted to the dictatorial, baby seal killing, 6'7 type" he was your ideal mate. He then went on a whole diatribe about how if you had pistachio shells for brains or wanted a man "who's wallet in his back pocket weighed him down more than his manhood in the front," you weren't going to be his cup of tea either.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hPan-SMJfZkhTTV3ExMiw8t_MWBSJJV1N3huQDo_2MH6KlmI5RzgG_IRN1EtZbXA4quVcKHLfk3miTpxv8wnMh8omIupZjey_rT5vpxPc_jZlNV1nQMzPpBfNDzhdW1CRDFCNWOcDbem/s1600/images-7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hPan-SMJfZkhTTV3ExMiw8t_MWBSJJV1N3huQDo_2MH6KlmI5RzgG_IRN1EtZbXA4quVcKHLfk3miTpxv8wnMh8omIupZjey_rT5vpxPc_jZlNV1nQMzPpBfNDzhdW1CRDFCNWOcDbem/s1600/images-7.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
At this point most women would probably be horrified, but me, nope. I was enthralled. This guy goes on a dating site to meet chicks and writes psychobabble. I thought it was revolutionary.<br />
<br />
I looked at his pictures to see what this radical dictator/astronaut did in his spare time. I was pleasantly surprised to see pictures of him from all over the world. The funny part was that I KNEW where he was in most of the pictures. . .and I'm not talking he was standing next to Mickey with a <a href="https://disneyworld.disney.go.com/" target="_blank">giant castle</a> in the background. He had pictures of him on tropical islands, on the streets of <a href="http://www.lonelyplanet.com/europe" target="_blank">Europe</a> and poolside at <a href="http://www.rivieramaya.com/" target="_blank">Mexican</a> resorts. He likes to travel. He's in.<br />
<br />
I decided that despite the craziness in his profile writeup I loved the email, loved the pictures and if two out of three gets you somewhere on <a href="http://www.americanidol.com/" target="_blank">American Idol</a>, who am I to argue with this logic.<br />
<br />
To further see if I had totally lost my mind about this specific specimen I invited my friend Denise to listen to me read a few excerpts of his profile entry and his intro email to me. As I sat there, reading to her, her face sliding into a state of shock, I knew I was nuts.<br />
<br />
"Chris, his handle is SerialKiller or whatever. Don't you think that that is a reason to NOT go out with him?" She looked exasperated.<br />
<br />
"Nah. I think it's a front. I think he's detached or something. Maybe we're supposed to meet so I reattach him,"as I laughed wildly. <br />
<br />
This dating death march has definitely affected me.<br />
<br />
I email him back at 4pm that day to tell him that I think that we should speak sooner rather than later. He calls me at 5pm. I am still with Denise. It's friend time. No boys horning in on friend time. It's like, you don't talk about <a href="http://youtu.be/2QgFWXLN-ug" target="_blank">Fight Club.</a> It's not debatable. I text him that he should try back later around 9pm.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWW3PXmjw8zPxOSo6HDvCkwRvBLxfyxnxm2TthzC94DZWfWPpHpT0hCd3EpQrjN1t2-ESRFjDDYK9lsa48MY9yh0xaSD7gs1qvLSMiClFWVl15wApU1ZOkns_yg4lC_u1TnNZQHBTxVLA/s1600/images-8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWW3PXmjw8zPxOSo6HDvCkwRvBLxfyxnxm2TthzC94DZWfWPpHpT0hCd3EpQrjN1t2-ESRFjDDYK9lsa48MY9yh0xaSD7gs1qvLSMiClFWVl15wApU1ZOkns_yg4lC_u1TnNZQHBTxVLA/s1600/images-8.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Well by 9pm we have been sipping margaritas for the better part of happy hour and I am blush with <a href="http://www.donjulio.com/" target="_blank">Don Julio</a>. Denise has departed and I am arranging and re-arranging clothes and dishes. SerialKiller gives me a call and I can't help but pick up. I am more than relaxed enough to talk to a complete stranger. After the last Eminem event, even if this goes south, it may be good fodder for the all girls lunch this week. I mean, we still talk about the random dick pic.<br />
<br />
SerialKiller and I proceed to talk for over 2 hours. We talk politics, religion and favorite places traveled around the world. We periodically speak Spanish to each other, because we can. He has me giggling like a school girl and I feel like, finally, I can connect with someone.<br />
<br />
I am not a phone person, and the fact that this man has kept me on the phone for the better part of 3 hours is no small feat. We agree that we will meet later on this week somewhere in between he and I. He asks if I like the <a href="http://www.bonefishgrill.com/" target="_blank">Bonefish Grill</a>, and I tell him it's a great place and I love their bang bang shrimp. He agrees that we need to go drink good wine and eat good food and that is where we are going to go.<br />
<br />
The night of the date I arrive at the Bonefish Grill before him and take my seat at the bar. It's been a rough day, and I am excited to have what seems like it will be a great evening ahead. After waiting for a few minutes I notice someone out of the corner of my eye.<br />
<br />
When he sat down next to me he was strikingly more
handsome than his pictures portrayed. He had pale alabaster skin and eyes that
reminded me of the water of <a href="http://www.gotobermuda.com/default/" target="_blank">Bermuda</a>. He seemed as if he was about 6'4 and pretty slim. His head was shaved with a slight hint of brown stubble under the smooth surface.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
As he was getting comfortable in his chair, he seemed to be studying me as he sat there. I couldn’t tell
if he was impressed, beguiled or just stunned. He sat there looking at me like
he wasn’t sure he was there. I in turn began to wonder if I was the person this
man was looking for, or if I was part of some traveling staring contest. As soon as I was going to say something to
break the ice, he did.<br />
<br />
“Why hello,” he cooed. I said “hi” and introduced
myself. He sat back in his chair and the bartender stopped by. He ordered a <a href="http://www.budweiser.com/en//_age_gate?redirect=%2fen%2fus%2f" target="_blank">Bud</a>
and then apologized for ordering crappy beer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well at least he knew
he was ordering crappy beer. I sat there with my three olive <a href="http://www.chopinvodka.com/" target="_blank">Chopin</a> martini that I
had paid for in full prior to his arrival. I had been eyeing it up for the
minutes before he arrived, hoping that it was going to be worth sitting
through.<br />
<br />
I know, I am sorry.<br />
<br />
I know I
sound jaded but at this point I had been on nearly 20 dates and was really
questioning the world and my place in it.<br />
<br />
Was I looking for too much? I didn’t
think so. . .<br />
<br />
Other women out there had gainfully employed, fully functioning male
counterparts who didn’t make you feel like they were going to either drive you
crazy with their idiosyncratic quirks or smother you in your sleep at
night. So far everyone I had gone out with made me think
that perhaps being married to my career had been the RIGHT choice and this
dating thing, well it was, bush league at best. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I came-to out of my "what am I doing with my life" mental montage to see the man sitting
next to me still sitting there so this must be my reality. We spoke of how he had decided on Bonefish Grill and I expressed how pleased I was to not to have to pick the restaurant. He began to ask questions about my day and trip over and truly seemed engaged. We chatted about my time with roller derby
since he knew someone who had done it, his job in sales and why we couldn't get non GMO labeling in the US. We then spoke of the parameters
there were for dinner, since I am allergic to nearly everything, and he had hard limits with the kind of fish he
would eat. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We segued over to a table after I insisted in paying the bar
tab. I felt a level of, “I can walk away
from this date if it goes South" because I paid the bar tab. I don't know why I always feel that way. . .<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we arrived at the table the great conversation continued. We seemed to have very similar values and beliefs. There were even some similarities that we had that were not common or popular. He was eloquent, kind and really listened. We were now closing the restaurant. We had been at dinner for over 4.5 hours. Since I believe in restaurant karma, I felt badly sitting this late and suggested we make our way outside. As we were beginning to gather our things to get up and go outside, he stopped speaking abruptly and just looked at me. I thought I had sprouted a lobster out my ear. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
He looked at me and said "I don't want to do this once again."<br />
<br />
I sat across from him wide eyed and mouth agape. I have been turned down before, but this was like a harpooning. I thought it had gone well!!<br />
<br />
"I want to do this as often as we can," he replied with a smile.<br />
<br />
I nodded in agreement and a sigh of relief escaped me. I felt like a high school girl who just got told a boy liked her.<br />
<br />
We departed the table, since the restaurant was now closing, and he offered to walk me to my car. I think I had the spot literally right next to the door, so I pointed, smiled and he nodded and laughed.<br />
<br />
"Should we do this again soon?" he asked.<br />
<br />
I nodded in agreement. He kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good night and promised to text when he got home so I knew he got home safe. He asked me to do the same and I agreed.<br />
<br />
As I walked to my car I was really excited. I felt like he and I had a ton in common and really connected. I was excited to see where things were going to go.<br />
<br />
As I put my key in the ignition to begin my journey home, I noticed that the car he had gotten into was not heading towards the parking lot exit, but rather racing towards me. The car was coming at my drivers side door at such a clip that I thought that his car was going to ram into mine!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
"What the hell is he doing?!?!?!"<br />
<br />
Just as I thought that I had been duped by some crack pot, demolition derby fan, the front end of his car stopped just short of my drivers door. As I was going to roll down the window to scream "what the hell are you doing?!?!" he threw the car in park and got out.<br />
<br />
I am now totally baffled. Am I getting carjacked?<br />
<br />
I had the window rolled down to call out to him and as I leaned out it, he kissed me. He then stood back and said "I needed to do that. I guess we can go home now."<br />
<br />
I was a bit taken a back. It was sweet and scary all at the same time. I couldn't tell if my heart was a flutter for the fact that he had done this outrageous thing to kiss me, or if I was just scared for my life. <br />
<br />
In any case, I was definitely going out with this guy again.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-26829959306500716212013-05-29T06:55:00.000-07:002013-05-29T06:55:25.103-07:00The "Professional Dater" Knight<br />
Prelude: <i>At this point of the blog: my family thinks I need psychiatric help and my friends regard this as better than TMZ. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am thinking that re-devoting myself to my career and publishing this as my first book because I am nearly convinced I am NEVER going to meet anyone like this. Story time. . .</i><br />
<br />
While doing my weekly check-in on my inbox on the dating site, I came across an email from a guy that had a GREAT smile. I am talking, I think that guys teeth twinkled at me through the picture. Game show host quality smiling. I read his intro email and it showed he had actually read my profile. He talked about being a fellow entrepreneur and traveler, and he encouraged me to look at his profile. Very LinkedIn of him.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix83-B8csTzzXppuvJjNe6Bnk_g1Az_t3jyJ08BNdAiFIkH2X4sRghcON1qrXvGtC-zq4B9yYGs_VVXh_KpiFk3aHV83IxLXAnt2pGaY3ZckD9JzRU9Tigh8NRn084LZa6pkJl1x2maPMm/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix83-B8csTzzXppuvJjNe6Bnk_g1Az_t3jyJ08BNdAiFIkH2X4sRghcON1qrXvGtC-zq4B9yYGs_VVXh_KpiFk3aHV83IxLXAnt2pGaY3ZckD9JzRU9Tigh8NRn084LZa6pkJl1x2maPMm/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good smile, but totally not someone I would date.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Of course I then went and stalked his page. (Is it stalking if the assumption is that you will take up the invite to stalk?)<br />
<br />
He had standard issue stats: 5'10, career in marketing, looking for a relationship, father, entrepreneur, nearby resident, into health and fitness, divorced. OK. Requirements of not living at home, has job, not married and dating, writes in full sentences, seems interested in me and didn't write a form letter as an intro, check. He makes the cut.<br />
<br />
I sent him a message back talking about traveling and asking about his companies. He then writes back and asks if I wanted to have dinner with him to discuss any of these questions further. <br />
<br />
I have now gotten much more expeditious with this dating thing. I started this blog MONTHS ago with the hopes of banging this out in a month. I am now nearly 8 MONTHS in. Nearly another full year of my life!!! You know that I am saying yes.<br />
<br />
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<br />
He sends me his number, and tells me to text him to confirm the day before a date we loosely agreed on. I get totally harried with my week, and forget to text him the day before, because I am hair brained like that. Since we have not confirmed, I assume that we are not meeting and I text him the day we had originally specced to meet when I realize that I have missed the prior day's deadline.<br />
<br />
He sends back this text saying that he's at the restaurant by himself. He texts he's never been stood up before.<br />
<br />
Wait, what the hell? I scroll back through the texts. I didn't agree to a place or a time. . .What the hell is this man talking about? <br />
<br />
I send back: "Being stood up would imply that we had landed on a place and a time. I don't see that. Did I miss something?"<br />
<br />
He sends back that he is just joking, but I can buy the first round of drinks because I moved the date. I don't agree, but tell him I am willing to reschedule. He asks if we can reschedule for the weekend. I agree, put it on my calendar and am still baffled by the previous texts. Whatever.<br />
<br />
He tells me he will text me later with options on where to go. I feel that even if we don't have chemistry to date, he seems like a pretty interesting business person, and if all else fails, we have our work to talk about.<br />
<br />
He offers <a href="http://www.rootssteakhouse.com/menu-dinner.html" target="_blank">Roots</a>, or Urban Table. I choose Roots because I haven't been there in AGES. Keep in mind, Roots is a steak house. I ask what time, and he tells me our reservation is at 8.30pm.<br />
<br />
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<br />
This is the first man who has made a reservation for dinner and only the third man I am having dinner with. Yes folks, this is what the fish bowl is like these days. . .<br />
<br />
He suggests that we meet at the bar at 8pm for a drink, and then head to our table. I agree. I see what he is doing though. . .If it sucks having drinks, or he wants an out, he can bail before dinner. I would do the same. Touche. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
He then sends me this odd text: "And I don't eat red meat."<br />
<br />
Strange. Why would one pick a steak house then. My dreams of a lovely Porterhouse, great wine and great conversation have been squashed. I wonder what he's going to eat? Why do I care? Whatever, not my problem. <br />
<br />
The day of our date I arrive just before 8pm. The bar keep clears a place for me at the bar amongst the throngs of patrons. I thank him and order myself a <a href="http://www.stoli.com/" target="_blank">Stoli</a>, dirty martini. Two can play the half hour game.<br />
<br />
I text him that I am sitting at the bar wearing jeans and a black shirt.<br />
<br />
All of a sudden my Knight is standing next to me and immediately slinks into the seat that is available to my left. He is as attractive in person as he was in his pictures. You can tell he works out and he is dressed well in his pressed, black button down shirt and jeans.<br />
<br />
He orders a <a href="http://titosvodka.com/" target="_blank">Tito's</a> and club soda and gets settled in. He sort of busts my chops about moving the dates, but I brush it off and tell him how "happy I am to be here today."<br />
<br />
He begins by talking about his work in the health services industry and how he got his start building his empire. He is quite accomplished and he is very eloquent. He is exceptionally engaging and probably kills it at business development. He's a great conversationalist. He asks me about my work in marketing and for the first time on pretty much any of these dates, the man totally and fully understands what I do for a living. I am impressed.<br />
<br />
The maître d' stops by us at the bar to tell us that our table is ready. The bartender asks if we are going to transfer our tab to the table. I tell them that is is fine and leave a cash tip. My Knight then tells them that he doesn't want to transfer it to the table. I say OK and reach into my wallet to get out my money to pay for my drink. My Knight then looks over at me, says "thanks," and walks off towards the table.<br />
<br />
I guess he did get his free drink on me after all.<br />
<br />
When I arrive at the table he is standing there waiting for me talking to the waiter. Seems he is a regular. I am a bit ticked that I just plunked down nearly $30 for the drinks. This was going to severely cut into my personal steak budget. Dang. Now I am at a steakhouse and I'M not eating steak. WTF?<br />
<br />
As I turn to sit down I notice that I TOWER over this man. He is not only shorter than me, but think middle school dance girl boy height ratio difference. Awesome. 5'10 my ass.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I re-compose myself, and for whatever reason decide I am going to stay for dinner. Probably because I am starving and well, I am one of these people that always hope for good to come out of situations even if it looks bleak.<br />
<br />
He orders a Caesar salad and a mac and cheese side and a glass of wine. My budget has me now down to a tomato salad. I am assuming I am paying for at least my dinner and have embraced this. However, I now have no budget picking up his dinner as well as mine. Not happening.<br />
<br />
We chat through dinner about his work, my work and then we begin to discuss the topic of dating. He tells me of the many, many dates he has been on. How he can tell if someone is into him or not, how he usually dates early 20somethings, how some of the dates have been complete disasters. I agree that dating is a real challenge and ask him about his worst date. The conversation continues like this, and I realize that this man may actually have been on, as many, if not more dates than me! I am fascinated by the stories and we carry on like this for a while. We wrap up dinner and decide against dessert. He is a charming man, but seems to be happy dating and lying about his height. No worries, just not for me.<br />
<br />
He offers to pick up dinner and I thank him. This was a lovely gesture.<br />
<br />
He walks me to the door and I tell him that I will find my way to my car. We sort of nod to each other good night in a very business-like fashion and head our separate ways. As "professional daters" we both know that this is the end of the line.<br />
<br />
As I arrive back my car, I realize that, after quite a bit of digging, I don't have Svetlana's key. Usually it is buried in some nook in my bag, but tonight the car key is gone. Legit.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I am in monstrous heals and am dreading the three block walk from my parking space BACK to the restaurant. As I get a few steps into the restaurant I walk right smack into my Knight. We look at each other quizzically.<br />
<br />
"I think my key fell out of my coat pocket during dinner," I stammer.<br />
<br />
"I had to go to the bathroom," he replies.<br />
<br />
Neither of us have unscrewed the shock on our faces at this point though. <br />
<br />
I begin to head towards the booth we were sitting in hoping I won't have to ask some poor person if I can crawl under their table. Thankfully there is no one there. I crawl all over the floor while the staff shines phones and my Knight jockeys chairs. No success.<br />
<br />
The search party now carries over to the bar, which has significantly cleared out. Thank God. This is just awkward enough without digging under more chairs.<br />
<br />
As I walk over the bar keep smiles at me. He asks me if I am looking for "this," as he holds up my car key. Turns out the sucker escaped into the crevasse in the chair I was sitting in, and the guy sitting next to me found it in my chair when I stood up. I thank him and the Knight and I begin heading for the door for the second time tonight.<br />
<br />
Again, he offers to walk me to my car, I politely decline. It's like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107048/" target="_blank">Groundhog Day</a> with my date. I say goodnight and wave as I wander off. I meander back to my car, feet aching. As I stare up at the moon, just to check if it's full or not, I again question why it is I am doing this.<br />
<br />
If everyone says that you meet someone when you are not looking, maybe I should really stop looking. Or do I believe that everything does, in fact, happen for a reason. Hence the reason I am trying to stick out this thirty date endeavor is because this is what needs to happen. I don't know. Each day I seem to feel differently. The dating has been 80% terrible with the two exceptions: it has given me a lot of perspective and this has provided me the ability to learn that, perhaps, I can write.<br />
<br />
I hop in my car, throw on my flip flops and drive home to my sanctuary on the hill. I try to author my text message farewell to this evening's Knight, but I end up falling asleep watching <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-atlanta" target="_blank">Real Housewives of Atlanta</a>.<br />
<br />
I awake the next morning and see no signs of him having text. Well, I feel I am absolved from messaging. Super!<br />
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At lunchtime the text comes in. He had a great time, and maybe we could do it again, but not at a steak place. I send back that I had a great time and hope he has a great week. Nebulous and polite. I believe that the professional dater will be able to take the hint. <br />
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-70987186474519154832013-04-26T11:55:00.002-07:002013-05-06T18:05:36.642-07:00The "Dude of 1000 Pictures" Knight<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a reason why there are advisories against drinking and pretty much any activity. Even online dating should have a breathalyzer. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBy7RsKSz9Ehx8q0pErtXGDRkfJBcNJSdhdbJ43Jmd2v6nh3M62RNWsmzihFfBCzOkC_VoKGClErCC2et0YOISyHYr4JbXDF00TysaIcmtmHaqJ3mCnLQ_Aa609HSxtqLQ0oZ2rJVbyWp/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBy7RsKSz9Ehx8q0pErtXGDRkfJBcNJSdhdbJ43Jmd2v6nh3M62RNWsmzihFfBCzOkC_VoKGClErCC2et0YOISyHYr4JbXDF00TysaIcmtmHaqJ3mCnLQ_Aa609HSxtqLQ0oZ2rJVbyWp/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had finished up after a long day of work and decided to sit down to watch the <a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/the-walking-dead" target="_blank">Walking Dead</a>, as I do on a Sunday night during the season. Generally on commercial breaks I work on making dinner for myself for the week, and enjoy a few glasses of wine while I am manning these various activities. I sometimes pepper the bevy of activity with some online shopping, reading, or as of late, checking my online dating site email. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On this particular evening I found a message in my inbox from a man who had a handle (suchandsuch)Ranger. With all this dating of men in the service, I still had not been out with a <a href="http://www.army.mil/ranger/" target="_blank">Ranger </a>and I am learning a lot about the military through these dates, so why not continue to expand my education. . .</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0Lv9q0aEAGzXcwyJPgcJ0vZxmlovoJ1-QYveuumdzeS45_F8bu5AHChEkOLC-8us_tRO_PcnZeJWosGhFJB_IXVlo14MBoUHyb96yfqoG8xYehBA4z_h_ccgfuNnt04O_oopmfIWAxQB/s1600/us_army_rangers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0Lv9q0aEAGzXcwyJPgcJ0vZxmlovoJ1-QYveuumdzeS45_F8bu5AHChEkOLC-8us_tRO_PcnZeJWosGhFJB_IXVlo14MBoUHyb96yfqoG8xYehBA4z_h_ccgfuNnt04O_oopmfIWAxQB/s320/us_army_rangers.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I open the email and it was very sincere and kind. He expressed that he lived in the area, was a "nice" guy, looking for a "nice" girl and wondered if I would like to get together for a cup of coffee. I read his profile. It had a NUMBER of pictures of him, all of which portrayed him as a fit, dog loving, country loving, man of the military who looked great in plain clothes. He appeared to be tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed, but didn't really smile in any of his pictures. What, nothing to smile about? That's sad. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read his profile and it was pretty basic and brief. He talked about his time with the military, his dog and how he believed in chivalry and being good to the people he dates. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unable to really do some qualifying with this person based upon their profile, I sent him a message back. I told him I loved dogs, was interested in hearing about how one becomes a Ranger, and thought that based upon the fact that he believed that chivalry was alive and well in his universe, if he was interested, perhaps we should meet for a cup of coffee to see how we got on off line. I included my number and hit send. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A short while later, while I was now about three glasses of wine into my evening of Dead and pretending to be <a href="http://www.bettycrocker.com/" target="_blank">Betty Crocker</a> (or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betty_Ford" target="_blank">Betty Ford</a>, depending on how you look at it I guess) I received a text message from a strange number. I opened it up to find a picture of my ****Ranger and a big "HELLO!"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It struck me as odd that as an intro that this man would immediately send a picture, but he was 25 and I find that the next generation down LOVES SELFIES. Odd to me, but a good sense of self never hurts, right?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2C27FeQka_zicP-st49fhiC_-0ASHONeObfV1oC7WCuP0YWSIkmezzuj84O_Qfb3Hl7vBdoHhqqa5Nr0bsskImbcWUrZjh29Ir8D38XHudakyQoTEuUQcDH7DbDWw-ZwUWAZemG5FiMPX/s1600/images-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2C27FeQka_zicP-st49fhiC_-0ASHONeObfV1oC7WCuP0YWSIkmezzuj84O_Qfb3Hl7vBdoHhqqa5Nr0bsskImbcWUrZjh29Ir8D38XHudakyQoTEuUQcDH7DbDWw-ZwUWAZemG5FiMPX/s1600/images-5.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I text him back hello and how was his evening going. I was a bit tipsy at this point and really probably shouldn't have been texting a complete stranger, but this was fun at this moment. He text me back and forth about how he was a good cook (picture of dinner), enjoyed the outdoors (picture of him outdoors), loved his time as a Ranger (picture of him as a Ranger), loved his dog (pictures of him with his dog). You get the picture. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I comment on some of the pictures as much as I can keep up. He tells me that the ones that are not selfies were taken by a girl that he's friends with that has the hots for him but he doesn't care for her. Interesting share. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now keep in mind, I am not sending ANY pictures back. This photo bombing is a one sided assault. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asks if I am available tomorrow night for a cup of coffee. I await a picture of him drinking coffee. Strange, he doesn't have a picture of him drinking coffee, but I agree none-the-less. He clearly is photogenic, can cook, loves his dog, the great outdoors and has shared in great detail how he opens doors and says bless you because he wants to keep chivalry alive. . . Those details have allowed me to say yes to the date. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He tells me that he will text me tomorrow and confirm, and of course, sends a goodnight picture of him CLOTHED but in bed snuggling with his dog.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now even in my <a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/find/masi+masianco+pinot+grigio+e+verduzzo+venezie+italy" target="_blank">Pinot Grigio</a> soaked mind I know that there is no way that this man has had 22 outfit changes and cooked a full dinner to picture perfect this very evening. Sooo, this means that this guy has a ton of pictures because:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A. He's narcissistic. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">B. He's a total player</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">C. He's a budding photographer</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I immediately rule out C and despite the negative connotations with A and B, I just wanna meet this guy because I wanna know who this "Dude of 1000 Pictures" is. It's not like I haven't been on a billion bad dates by now or something. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe this is the alcohol impairing my judgment. Whatever. I'll take this as my "last mistake of the day," finish my wine and head to bed to read. I knock out on my couch to <a href="http://www.eonline.com/shows/chelsea" target="_blank">Chelsea Lately</a> and dream I have a talk show and have invited her on. Odd.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am awakened from my nesting as a couch urchin to a 5:30am text - "Good morning. Did I mention I was a morning person?" (picture of him working out at gym) </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, it's not me. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am tempted to text him back "Did I mention I wasn't," but I refrain and don't send a message back. I drag my ass into my bed, put on my eye mask, shut the blinds and pass out face down in my bed to once hopefully now dream of being Oprah, or at least living her life. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6:00am - (incoming text/picture) "So are we on for tonight. How's 5?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have I mentioned I'm not a morning person?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, my dear friend Sean can attest to my wrath in the AM when you text me while I am deep in my re-slumber state. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I immediately pick up the phone and type into the keyboard, "Hey, yeah. . . tonight doesn't work for me. I had this thing come up. Can we reschedule. I'll text you later." I flip on the Do Not Disturb feature on my phone, and resolve that I can't, nor do I, want to do a planning session right now. I roll over attempting to grab one last half hour of sleep. Sleep does not come for me. I guess I will start my day. Awesome.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrC9lSnyzFNIN-IU1Bg67rITNTUynsJfuJFgQrF4_qu9BuSBJ13WUZrmHpLba99MoWDSNMJXB62SDlFYVZit2FIbhn74Bb3QwHe3vZkjEPvfZzNAVSX9FtOZelr65pMFeiR94R-TFEfrN/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrC9lSnyzFNIN-IU1Bg67rITNTUynsJfuJFgQrF4_qu9BuSBJ13WUZrmHpLba99MoWDSNMJXB62SDlFYVZit2FIbhn74Bb3QwHe3vZkjEPvfZzNAVSX9FtOZelr65pMFeiR94R-TFEfrN/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later that afternoon, I decide I will reach out about the AM text and the three subsequent texts. He had expressed in his text message that sometimes when you don't meet immediately after talking (odd, I thought we were texting?), you lose that "spark".</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK Dr. <a href="http://www.kinseyinstitute.org/" target="_blank">Kinsey</a>. . . So he wants to meet up, if we can, tomorrow before he goes away to a Ranger get-together in <a href="http://georgia.gov/" target="_blank">Georgia</a>. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I let him know that tomorrow doesn't work for me. I mention that I don't feel that the "spark" thing is an issue if someone really is intent on getting to know someone. I let him know that he should have a good time at his Ranger event and if he's still interested in me when he gets back, to ring me then. I figure I'm not so thrilled with Mr. Early Riser, and will cut down with the potential of wasting time with a dude on this site that just wants to hook up. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roughly a week later I get a text message: "Hey. I lost my phone in Georgia and didn't have a phone till today. I had to go back on line to get your number. How are you?" (picture of him in a suit and tie)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So his phone got lost at his Ranger Gymboree. . .jeez. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I reply back that I am doing well, and inquire how things are with him. We have a brief exchange of texts and he asks if I want to get together. I now have a powerfully busy schedule this week. I still want to meet the "Dude of 1000 Pictures". I'm not sure why I still want to go out with him but, well, everyone comes across differently via phone and email so maybe he's amazing in person. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decide that we are going to meet for brunch, and he suggests the <a href="http://morristown.hyatt.com/en/hotel/home.html" target="_blank">Hyatt</a> in Morristown. I agree and put the date on my calendar. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day of the brunch I throw on a cotton long sleeve shirt, jeans, my cowboy boots and head on over to Morristown. I arrive at the hotel and sit myself in the lobby. A short while later I see a man who looks like the man from the pictures walk in. As he walks closer I can see it is definitely him. As I stand up to greet him I am eye-to-eye with him. This is not a good start. I'm tiny and so is he. He actually looks EXACTLY like Eminem. Weird. Didn't get that front the pics, but, oh well.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He hugs me hello and ushers me over to the brunch area. He tells me that he comes here some times after church. We begin to sit down. I explain that I was worried I was going to be late. I had broken my sunglasses and was trying to fix them. He turned to me and laughed. I inquired why he laughed and his response was that because I was a girl, didn't I have like six other pairs of sunglasses at home. I said no and asked if I was supposed to, and he went on about how girls have all this crap at home. Odd. I don't. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We sat down to breakfast and I asked him how his Ranger convention was. He said it was fun, but wild and crazy. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't even imagine what this exercise is for.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked how his new job was going, because he had mentioned a while ago he was starting a new job. He said that he had not started yet, and that he wasn't sure what was happening with it. "Well," I thought, "at least he will have a ton of time to take pictures."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We kind of muddle through the conversation. He is sweet, but truly, there is no spark. The more we talk, the less we have in common. He is polite and I am trying to come up with engaging questions to ask, but it's a lackluster performance on my part because I want the date to be over now. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had mentioned he had somewhere to be around lunchtime. This was my out. We had been at brunch for nearly an hour, and I was so done you could stick a fork in me. He was very pleasant, but, just not for me. I mentioned that it was getting late and I also had somewhere to be. I offered to pay for my half of brunch and he said that he was happy to get the check. I thought that that was a nice gesture. I told him I would leave the tip, and so I did. He walked me to the elevator to the garages and we said goodbye and I waved. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the drive home I was trying how to formulate how to tell this guy I had a nice time, but I didn't want to see him again. Nearly an hour later, I was sitting on my couch, still trying to put together what to say to him. He had been pleasant, but I definitely didn't want to continue with anything. Hmmm. What to say. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, as if the Universe had answered me, a text came in from our Knight. It was the picture below with they caption "I can't stop thinking about you."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had himself in a pose I had not yet received, nor one that I wanted to see. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In disgust I deleted the message. At least this saved me from having to come up with a message back. </span></div>
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-14165277537390600332013-04-18T10:36:00.001-07:002013-04-18T10:36:39.215-07:00The "Dodgy" Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;"><span class="hw" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">dodg·y</span> <object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,0,0" height="21" style="margin-bottom: 1px; margin-left: 1px; margin-right: 1px; margin-top: 1px;" width="13"><embed src="http://img.tfd.com/m/sound.swf" flashvars="sound_src=http://img.tfd.com/hm/mp3/D0318700.mp3" menu="false" width="13" height="21" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></object> <span class="pron" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(128, 158, 131); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; cursor: pointer;">(d<img align="absbottom" src="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/obreve.gif" />j<img align="absbottom" src="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/prime.gif" /><img align="absbottom" src="http://img.tfd.com/hm/GIF/emacr.gif" />)</span></span></div>
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<i>adj.</i> <b>dodg·i·er</b>, <b>dodg·i·est</b> <i>Chiefly British</i><div class="ds-list" style="margin-left: 1cm;">
<b>1. </b>Evasive; shifty.</div>
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<b>2. </b>Unsound, unstable, and unreliable.</div>
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<b>3. </b>So risky as to require very deft handling.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During the <a href="http://www.fbschedules.com/nfl-13/2013-new-york-giants-football-schedule.php" target="_blank">Giants</a> season I was trying to catch all the games I could while I wasn't working. This is a difficult depending on how my day business was going, and how much I was working during the evening. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had the whole season laid out for me on a wallet sized card, but weekly I never knew what was going to come up that I would prevent me from watching my Boys in Blue. I tried to make all of the games I watched, while not standing at work, as enjoyable as possible. I generally went somewhere that had a TV larger than my 13 inc</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">h so </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could actually see the ball when it was thrown down field. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a place that we "locals" refer to the bar down the street as <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/main-event-sports-bar-and-grill-lake-hiawatha" target="_blank">The Box</a>. I think that it was supposed to be a sports reference, a dog's age ago, but now we have no idea why it's called that. Judging by the crowd there on any given night, I could sometimes call it the penalty box. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truthfully, most of the locals that come here are lovely. However there is another faction of bar goers that laddered up, (as you corporate people would say) to one of two camps. Either people had been cited for a penalty and were waiting their time given, or were spending their time given in this bar. I liked the fact that no one really came there to watch the hockey games, and usually the football games still had seats available even well into the second quarter. It was a good place to meet your Bail Bondsman, and in hindsight, maybe not a potential boyfriend.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On this day in particular I was there watching a Sunday evening Giants game. I had made my way down to The Box and had watched the Giants lose this particular night. Nights when I come to watch the game, I generally bring my laptop with me as to avoid conversation with some of the patrons which are part of the Box penalty serving crowd. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was going to wrap up the work I was doing on my computer, finish my beer and head home in disappointment. I began to collect my various items: pad, pens, laptop. As I was putting all of my materials back into their respective bags, I noticed that a man had walked in. He waved hello and smiled at the other folks at the bar.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK, so he must be a local too. He was wearing a knit hat, so I couldn't see him well, but even from this cursory glance, I could tell I had not seen him before. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he took off his coat, he was wearing a Giants jersey. I check out the number on the back. Cruz. OK. Interesting. Popular choice. Actually a fan though?? Hmmmmm . . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I continue to watch my version of the <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/" target="_blank">Nature Channel </a>here at the Box. The main programming tonight is a roughly six foolish, dark haired, swarthy man. This species looks like he could be Latin or Italian. His jersey, jeans and work boots make it look like he's been working hard somewhere. Men in work boots = employed? Now I am making all sorts of wild assumptions. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He puts his belongings on the chair a few down from me, asks the bartender for quarters, and heads to the jukebox. This is about to get good. All I need is popcorn. I am starting at this man like he's the after school special "New Guy in Town". God help me. This is the best entertainment I have had all night.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The jukebox now goes from silent to the words, <i>"<span class="Apple-style-span">Yeah, this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>I'd never amount to nothin',"</i> and I realize that this young man is playing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Notorious_B.I.G." target="_blank">Biggie</a>. The Notorious B.I.G is one of my all time favorite artists. I'm just sayin'.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGPKp-lhZXV9ndoEun_2qJGCdZtWqhz4IrpxztAPNxqyMxb3tq48iM3rQkahRrkWNUQACyn-tFfg4b_CfTH4m2RXtG5APLGnei6Mq8DeTrnhGtdDMOD3DWZQZY5qQON4Fk4RsA1dP7YPg/s1600/images-11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGPKp-lhZXV9ndoEun_2qJGCdZtWqhz4IrpxztAPNxqyMxb3tq48iM3rQkahRrkWNUQACyn-tFfg4b_CfTH4m2RXtG5APLGnei6Mq8DeTrnhGtdDMOD3DWZQZY5qQON4Fk4RsA1dP7YPg/s1600/images-11.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So just to recap for you folks at home, our Nature Channel pic of the week is: a Giant's fan, employed(?), likes good music and I find him attractive. He's smiling as he turns from the jukebox and makes his way around the bar shaking people's hands as he goes and the bar tender buys his drink. OK. So he's well liked by The Box patrons. Plus or minus column?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span">The next song comes on. It's <a href="http://www.2pac.com/" target="_blank">TuPac</a>. Old school rap. My favorite. I decide that there is more work to be done with this man and re open my computer, take out my paperwork and decide to continue to work while someone else is playing DJ. A <a href="http://www.drdre.com/#!news" target="_blank">Dr. Dre </a>song later and my eye candy wanders past me. Up close he remains a good looking guy. Probably late 20s? Looks like he's a happy man and he smiles as he passes me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he returns by me a short while later, he stops by and asks me if I liked the music he put on.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I responded, "yes," and that it was rare I ever heard rap coming out of the jukebox here. He asked me what songs I liked that he chose. I told him and he laughed. Apparently, for whatever reason, it doesn't seem like I should be a fan of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gangsta_rap" target="_blank">Gan</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gangsta_rap" target="_blank">gsta Rap</a>. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He offered to buy me a shot and I decided what the heck. I think the bartender suggested some kind of <a href="http://www.threeolives.com/" target="_blank">Three Olives Vodka </a>that tasted like a fruit loop. We decided we would have a shot of it to give it a try. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Drinks poured, presented and poof. We giggled at how much it did taste like fruit loops and continued chatting about the music. I asked him about his interest in the Giants and shared that I was a huge fan as well. He asked me what sort of work I was doing and he seemed fascinated with the spreadsheet. He just kept staring at my Excel spreadsheet like it has the answers to the universe embedded in it. If only it did. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He worked outdoors and enjoyed the labor intensive job. He told me how it was challenging but he had a good work environment and liked the hours. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked for a while longer about living in the area and some of the hobbies we had. He showed me some pictures of fish he had caught recently and just seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I realized it was getting late and that I should probably be heading home to finish up my work. I thanked him for the drink, packed up my belongings and started to leave. He stopped me to ask me if he could get my number. I thought, "why not?" and scribbled my number down on a piece of paper. I'm a dater of the 90s. I still put my number on a slice of paper, and sometimes, said person and I have a laugh about it as I realize that I CAN just put it in my phone.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you ever used one of these phones, yes. You are old. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pulled my things together and wandered home. I sat and thought about the evening. I didn't think that I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man but, it was another date and I still believed in the power of positive thinking. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We sent a few texts back and forth over the week and decided we would catch a Giants game at a local pub that Sunday. I had the day available, which seemed to never be happening these days, and was excited to get to see my Men in Blue!! He offered to drive us to <a href="http://www.miamimikes.com/" target="_blank">Miami Mikes</a> which is a giant sports bar. I had never even been there to see a game but there is a first time for everything right?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He picked me up in his late model Honda. I don't want to that to sound condescending and this is not intended to be. I think of it as more Lloyd Dobbleresque </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sPlkL7FiuTOKe-fZmM8yDNgWa6wt_mxzbRDLtt4ZEo_025tOGpQNEfqVN2P0CZxlRGWb3Hdr-8zowfN7yjC47W0rJNS_Q1YAP70wQsFqt0CT7WqSrBRxNBRMXIEK3Rd1WIqqqtOuYRaO/s1600/Careers-Say-Anything-325x260.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sPlkL7FiuTOKe-fZmM8yDNgWa6wt_mxzbRDLtt4ZEo_025tOGpQNEfqVN2P0CZxlRGWb3Hdr-8zowfN7yjC47W0rJNS_Q1YAP70wQsFqt0CT7WqSrBRxNBRMXIEK3Rd1WIqqqtOuYRaO/s320/Careers-Say-Anything-325x260.png" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I can't really work it all out now, I'm just kinda hanging with your daughter."</span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That, and I choose not to throw stones in a glass house. My Jetta is 13 years old, has had 14 recalls and is literally the 90K dollar Volkswagon from the amount of work that has gone into decoding and attempting to fix her lemon ass. Svetlana, as I have been calling her for the better part of a decade, was a befitting name. She was no different than the Russian girls that used to dance where I bartended (not the other way around). They were attractive from the outside, took a ton of maintenance to keep happy, cost a small fortune to keep up with and at any given time when they had a meltdown or malfunction, it was epic. I digress. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we headed for Miami Mikes he was asking me about my week. I had mentioned that it had been a particularly busy and he was happy to swap stories about work and the like on the way to the restaurant. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was a bit late to pick me up, but I wasn't upset. I was just happy to have the night off and get to sit and watch a football game. Part of me didn't even really care how it went. I just wanted to embrace my eight plus hours of not serving the community or the social media sphere. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We may have arrived as the dead last people at the day's festivities. As I walked in, my enthusiasm was quenched by the throngs of colorful jerseys. This facility had a number of rooms, ALL OF WHICH were filled. It was the second quarter and we looked like the Johnny Come Lately's to the party. I was going to make the most of this. I immediately surveyed my setting. I was like one of those chefs at a cooking competition. I had foie gras, white chocolate, seaweed and a squirrel to make an amazing meal with. Go. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Same concept. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I scoped out a chair which may have been used for a bouncer, and one last chair at a comfortable table of eight I could easily poach. Wa- la VIP seating. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we sat ourselves at my miracle invention we happened to sit right smack in the middle of the stations for two severs. . Manifique! Everyone had pitchers of beer. I thought that popular convention was the way to go. We got our pitcher of <a href="http://www.millerlite.com/" target="_blank">Miller Light</a> and the waitress put in orders for lunch. I decided on beef brisket and he had a burger. We began some small talk. The ride over we had gotten in a bit of conversation, but now we really had no way of talking. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The televisions on multiple walls boomed over us. He leaned in to ask how things were going. I said great. I noticed that he and I had nearly drank the first pitcher. I having now hit my two glass maximum, was going to head the water route. It was still pretty early in the game, and I wanted to make sure everyone was getting home in one piece. He ended up ordering another pitcher. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had not thought about dining when I got our "create your own table" location. Thankfully, the nice men at the table next to us were amenable to our sharing their table. This made for a great way to have a squatters picnic, but kind of made for an awkward first date. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Knight would periodically lean in and chat me up about the game. He had mentioned during this time how he really wasn't drinking that much since being out of rehab. Hmmmmm. I didn't think you were supposed to drink AT ALL when you were out of rehab, but, maybe there are different techniques I am not aware of. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't really ask about his time in rehab but he offered up that it was instead of doing more jail time. Hmmm. I wasn't really sure why he had done his jail time, but I have this feeling, without even asking he was going to tell me. And of course, he did. It was the blow that jammed him all up. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fantastic. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've dated people in recovery, people who have been in jail and people who have done drugs. Everyone deserves a second chance. Lord knows the universe helps me out every now and again. It just seemed that this specific sequence of events didn't bode well for me or honestly even him, seeing as we were a pitcher into his recovery efforts. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked if this was a good idea coming to a sports bar for lunch. He just shrugged at me and said "nah, it's the other stuff I have to stay away from." I am glad to see that the drug community is now distinguishing between class <a href="http://www.druglibrary.org/schaffer/library/studies/runciman/pf3.htm" target="_blank">A and class B </a>drugs for rehabilitation purposes? We both leaned back into watching the game and I just wondered to myself "who is this man I am out with?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It worked out well that we sat where we did. We have conversations with those around us, hi-fived other Giants fans and heckled the opposing teams' fans. We watched the game to completion. The second pitcher still had quite a bit of beer left when we were getting ready to leave. We hadn't really spoken all that much to each other. He had stepped outside a few times for cigarettes and I had gone to the ladies room a few times to text a friend or two to share the license plate and make and model of the car just in case they heard of a renegade drug cartel shooting up a late model Honda on the news at 6. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the check came I politely took out my card with every intention to split the bill with him. He immediately looked at me holding my card and answered "Oh cool. I'll get the next one." Huh?? I guess I was footing the 70$ plus bill which was way outside my free/I'll pay for myself dating parameters. I just quietly paid the bill and collected my bag and coat to leave. I asked if he was OK to drive and appeared to be. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the way home, he shared more stories of his sordid past. The crazy ex-girlfriend, the strung out buddies who made random appearances at his home and the Probation officer he wasn't looking forward to seeing next week. I just sat there wide eyed, nodding, having NO REFERENCE POINT for any of this lifestyle. When we arrived out front my house, I wondered if it had even been a good idea letting him pick me up. There were four choices for what apartment I could live in, but even that made me uncomfortable. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He said he had a great time and he definitely wanted to take me out again so he could repay me for the afternoon today. I told him it was OK, and thanked him for accompanying me. I wished him well with his probation officer, pending court case and continued success (?) in recovery. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walked up to the wrong door and walked into the wrong apartment hallway just to make sure that he wasn't sure where I lived. I think it was safe to say I was NEVER going out with this guy again no matter how great his taste in music was. </span></div>
YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-51312725927872537002013-03-15T09:18:00.000-07:002013-03-16T06:40:15.323-07:00The "Perfect" Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggs34JX1mdFJeIuKC9g4hhmdHYmNOpdkAfpccfQDtVaCya9Yn75TfGHQo28Ei1HG65XlKY4YDh2p9EhSo3AEQ1h2_MtyH_bvgEE0U8gk-TrQwSdJluDHYLYikCjFflESEefe85gSBCYWMl/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggs34JX1mdFJeIuKC9g4hhmdHYmNOpdkAfpccfQDtVaCya9Yn75TfGHQo28Ei1HG65XlKY4YDh2p9EhSo3AEQ1h2_MtyH_bvgEE0U8gk-TrQwSdJluDHYLYikCjFflESEefe85gSBCYWMl/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To say that this has been a successful endeavor so far would be like calling the war on drugs successful. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was beginning to wonder if perhaps by choosing a free dating site, was this what was hexing my dates. Perhaps segueing to a paid site like <a href="http://Match.com/">Match.com</a> would get more Knights in "buying mode" if you will, and produce better affects. While I have been mulling over this idea, I decided maybe I had to be more proactive in my pursuits.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I was relying too much on the luck of the draw of the dating site, and I had to get out in public and make myself known. Take initiative, if you will, and try more traditional modes of meeting men.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no shame in approaching someone and introducing myself. I guess it comes from the life mantra I have of, "if you don't want to know me, I've come this long in my life without you. I will continue living without you hereafter."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I must say though, most of my great relationships have started with me introducing myself. Knowing now what I didn't know then, they probably would have NEVER approached me in public. Many mentioned well into our dating I appear unapproachable when with my friends, or that they didn't think that I would "go for" someone like them. This is all very odd to me. Why would they think that?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But using this research and developing based upon the past mistakes and newly acquired intelligence, I began to put myself out there as much as I could in real life; not just my virtual one. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have attended concerts, gone to night clubs and attended parties where I didn't really know anyone but the host or hostess. I even stumbled upon a singles mixer (actually I had no idea it was going on, I was just there having birthday drinks), joined day trips and taken a small engine classes to "put myself out there" in a traditional manner. It's gotten me what my father likes to call "gatz." (If you are Italian you will know the answer before I translate it for our non-Italian peoples.) Nothing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was beginning to get concerned that perhaps I would not be able to do a blog with 30 dates, if there were not going to be 30 Knights. The pool that had been soliciting me, however unique and interesting they were, just weren't what I was looking for. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was reaching a new level of despondence with the blog. As I sat at my local watering hole with a few friends, my mind wandered and I wondered why I was doing this blog. For whatever reason at this time, I happened to look across the bar and see a large gathering of what looked like co-workers getting together for a happy hour. I noticed one man in particular that seemed to be the center of the conversation of the group. He was laughing and smiling, and telling some story that had the whole group engaged. He was tall, well dressed, with nicely styled light brown hair and eyes that seemed to twinkle when he laughed. He seemed to be fit, and employed, judging by the group he was with. He also seemed older. Perhaps in his early or mid forties and I DID NOT SEE A WEDDING RING! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizB7SSJ0P4qzIFhjAikB8u1wBtUhgoSYIRoxinLHteRzpFPpPnGdsLLPZn9srjnq1bKCokJ5yYPFAzFT8li6nuriNSGkHQoXRj5cPulNU1GDyKRf3XbAfKsFO9ME7NqhW_ejQXmXnwxnZg/s1600/images-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizB7SSJ0P4qzIFhjAikB8u1wBtUhgoSYIRoxinLHteRzpFPpPnGdsLLPZn9srjnq1bKCokJ5yYPFAzFT8li6nuriNSGkHQoXRj5cPulNU1GDyKRf3XbAfKsFO9ME7NqhW_ejQXmXnwxnZg/s1600/images-4.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought perhaps that the glass of <a href="http://www.cal-italia.org/varietals/pinot_grigio.html" target="_blank">Pinot Grigio </a>I was having had gone to my head. From a distance, this man looked like opportunity knocking. I was not going to miss this opportunity! I pulled out one of my business cards, scribbled a note that read "If you would like to grab a drink at a later time, give me a call" on it, and proceeded to pull myself together. Unlucky for me, because I was in all black, I looked like the rest of the waitstaff at the restaurant. Damn my all blacks!! Whatever. My business card clearly said that I had a job outside of the world of waitressing so maybe this would help. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what about this crowd of people around him. . . If this didn't go well this could make me the laughing stock of the whole group. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh screw it," I thought. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had never seen these people before and would probably never see them again. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stood up, straightened myself out, took my hair out of its ponytail, did a flip and fluff and walked over to him. I tapped him on the shoulder. I looked straight at him and said "I am sorry to disturb you while you were with your friends. I just wanted to give you this," as I placed my business card in his hand. I then proceeded to walk as if I was continuing to the ladies room where I shut the door, pushed my back up against it, (like he was somehow going to come in) and wondered to myself "what the hell did you just do?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shortly thereafter scurried out of the bathroom, making sure to hide myself as I returned to my seat across the room. I happened to glance at my unsuspecting victim and his cadre of people. They were huddled around him holding up my business card. My worst fear confirmed!!! Oh Christ. What have I done. I was awaiting the prank phone calls asking for an Al Coholic or text messages with lewd pictures. I began to assume the worst. What have I done!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided it was a good time to make a break for it. This looked like it wasn't going down well, and maybe this was a mistake. Nothing like sneaking out the side door as you are publicly humiliated by the man that you thought was hotter than baked bread.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I slinked out the side door unnoticed, and that is when the text messages started.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Who is this," someone from a strange number wrote.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trying to make light of it, I decided I was going to play dumb. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't know. You're the person texting me," I responded.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next text came as the ultimate surprise. "Are you some sort of stalker?" he responded.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh man. This was going south at warp speed. How can I salvage this?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"If you are texting the number that you received on the business card, as I believe you are, I am not some sort of stalker. I am a girl that was sitting at the bar and thought perhaps it would be nice to see if you wanted to get a drink. You were surrounded by your friends, and I didn't want to disturb you, so that's why I dropped the card and ran. Remember me?" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Were you the waitress," was the response I got back. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh jeez. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clearly this man has had quite a bit to drink, but I guess being in all blacks, it was easy to assume I was the waitress. I think I could still salvage this. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I authored the next text which was either going to make or break my situation. "Does this help?" I attached the most G rated, wholesome, above board picture I had of myself. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMh8tPDs96xWW8wSYafFeTGD5YsW2YiiB2Xq5vLAxO4fr3JeePsQDnekwhdtbh4YYiyCZwgfd0slWCBHh1S-eeugBXPV93UDRU4-Cox5LTW0RDX71nsgVdpS0X5nEKiuOZXt2ZjXzJObK/s1600/IMG_2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMh8tPDs96xWW8wSYafFeTGD5YsW2YiiB2Xq5vLAxO4fr3JeePsQDnekwhdtbh4YYiyCZwgfd0slWCBHh1S-eeugBXPV93UDRU4-Cox5LTW0RDX71nsgVdpS0X5nEKiuOZXt2ZjXzJObK/s320/IMG_2013.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes, yes, yes!" Was the response I got back. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now here is the affect I am looking for from these men!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I thought you were the waitress!" he proclaimed.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well that's OK," I thought. Then the next text rolled in. . ."And who would have thought such a beautiful woman would have given me her business card." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now we were getting somewhere folks.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What are you up to?" he asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well," I responded, "I am heading home right now," as I scooped my belongings and ran out the door before he could see me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked if we could get together in the near future, and I told him I was game. After all, I was pleased as punch that he was interested in meeting. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decided via a few texts that we would meet at the <a href="http://www.famishedfrog.com/" target="_blank">Famished Frog</a> around 7pm for a drink or two. I put on a sweater dress, leggings and boots and bundled up to head out in the freezing weather. I was excited. I recalled what he looked like, but I find that over time, even if it's a few days, I begin to get hazy on the specifics. I blame it on anything from the conga line of bar patrons at my night job, to glamorizing people to some extent. I hoped that he would be somewhere obvious, so that way I would be able to spot him easily. And there he was.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was half into his pint of <a href="http://www.yuengling.com/over21/over21.php?referrer=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yuengling.com%2F" target="_blank">Yuengling </a>when I arrived. He stood up to greet me. He was more handsome than I had recalled. He had this smile that sparkled like a game show host when he greeted me "hello!"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stood from the table dressed in a chunky sweater, jeans and black shoes. I thought to myself "what a snazzy dresser he was!"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat down across from him and just sat and stared for a minute. "Wow, this guy's even better looking than I remember!" I thought to myself. I actually began to get nervous.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My ship has come in!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He remarked at how it was so odd how we "met", and that how he wasn't sure who I was so he was a bit pensive about our meeting. I told him that it was a little odd, but really, who wants to meet totally normal people. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ordered myself a glass of <a href="http://www.momswhoneedwine.com/2012/12/review-cupcake-sauvignon-blanc/" target="_blank">Sauvignon Blanc</a> and settled in for what I hoped was going to be a great chat. His first question, was the same as many of my dates. "What type of business do you own," he asked. I find that across the board, everyone wants to know what I do for work during the day since I profess to "work for myself." I often feel like this is some sort of qualifying question to make sure that they aren't going to have to pay for the date beyond drinks or something odd like that. Generally when I explain the work I do in marketing, you can nearly watch their faces awash with relief. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I inquired about his work since he had mentioned he worked independently and had flexible hours as well. He was an investment banker and had been for nearly 20 years. I was now doing the math trying to figure out how old he was. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked like my peer. I would have said late 30's and probably bet money on it. He was fit, with a youthful face and a thick head of dark brown hair. However, the way he was talking, I could tell that he was older. That was totally cool with me. I'm not an ageist. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked what I had been up to in the recent past, and I mentioned that I had been planning my birthday vacation to <a href="http://stlucianow.com/?src=orgRedirection" target="_blank">St. Lucia</a> and the last trip was a girls night out in <a href="http://www.atlanticcitynj.com/" target="_blank">Atlantic City</a>. He then asked me how old I was. Well, where this bothered me at the beginning of this Tour de Dates, now it was just old shoe. Besides, if they couldn't take the heat, better to get out of the kitchen now. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Thirty five," I responded, with near pride.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then told me that I didn't look a day over 25 (points) and that he was 48. I nearly fell off my chair. This man looked AMAZING for near 50. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told him how great he looked and asked how he kept up this great shape. Turns out the guy was totally into yoga, biking, running and diving. Wow. This guy just gets better and better!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked him about his diving experiences, having had my fair share as well. I enjoyed listening to him talk about his adventures and felt quite comfortable talking with him since we seemed to have a number of hobbies in common. This may be the perfect knight!!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He mentioned that he had two children that were not yet teenagers, and how active they were with sports and activities. I commented on how proud he must be of them and he shared that they were "great". However the next story was kind of off-putting. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He shared that he had not felt well over the Christmas holiday and despite the fact that he had missed Christmas with his children, he had managed to rally to go skiing the following day. Hmmm. Didn't seem very fatherly of me, but maybe I was being super critical. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We continued on with our conversation. He asked me questions about my work, and I about his. We talked about how we had both enjoyed living in Morristown, past trips we had taken and some of the things we were looking forward to come Spring. We talked about how we love horror films, good wine and great food. He asked how my trip to AC had gone and I told him it was a brief girls night out, and how bizarre AC could be on a Sunday night. He then launched into an odd story about his last trip to a casino in Pennsylvania. He shared that he and his buddies were three sheets to the wind and a group of girls came over and started to chat them up. Then he divulged that one of the women made her home on his lap and how he could tell she wasn't wearing any underwear while he was grinding on his leg. And that was the story. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Gross. Really? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"But you were doing so well!" I thought to myself. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why ever would he want to tell me this story? Well, maybe it was because in less than two hours he was now enjoying beer number five, that I had seen. Hmmm. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got up to use the rest room. I walked off assessing this date. It had started out so magical. What happened? Was I being critical? Had I just come to the point of dating fatigue? I was going to rally and give this the old college try to make sure I was to remain open minded. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I went to sit back down in my chair he commented on how "bootylicous" I was. Really? Was I getting punked? Oh shit. Here we go. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Growing concerned about his drinking and potentially driving, I inquired if he had far to go. He divulged that he lived down the street and had walked. Phew. This segued to his next lot of stories that to save time I will entitle, "Times the Police Definitely Should Have Carted Me Away for Public Intoxication/Drunk Driving". There were roughly a half dozen of these. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I am doing this weird running check sheet in my head. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This near 50 year old man, acts like a boy on Spring break, parties like a Fraternity kid, has the self control of a toddler, who seems to be a self-centered crumby father and keeps referring to me a being bootylicious. I think it's time to bow out gracefully and exit the first door, or window I can find. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I then proceeded to do my patented "Oh my gosh, I'm so tired," while yawning. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He tells me he has had a great time, and we should do this again soon. I nod in silence. I tell him I am going to head out, and he tells me he is going to stay behind to have a "few more" and watch the games. Awesome. I am getting away scott free. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walk to my car fearing I have been judgmental and I don't like that. I tell myself that I am going to give this man another opportunity if he texts me and asks me out again.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following day he texts me. He asks me if I want to bring my bootylicous self by to his place one night this weekend to watch horror films and have a sleep over. I don't even respond. Why have a sequel to this horrifying event. </span></div>
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-46284372289703503982013-01-31T11:09:00.000-08:002013-01-31T11:09:00.508-08:00The Time Crunch Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQi4c2ZwPu8DU9zztjdTf3TGk2emNZmTr3ZCh4KdHBpJl2R6ipH6rtuM7qMjTMdRcsCLq6s57kcBqEYkKh-vmbbIytG06o2EWDyzlTuSI6ecwTPJbt5EKgNpx7gpLED8WfPaZMsgG_VL3/s1600/images-6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQi4c2ZwPu8DU9zztjdTf3TGk2emNZmTr3ZCh4KdHBpJl2R6ipH6rtuM7qMjTMdRcsCLq6s57kcBqEYkKh-vmbbIytG06o2EWDyzlTuSI6ecwTPJbt5EKgNpx7gpLED8WfPaZMsgG_VL3/s1600/images-6.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
So Veterans weekend was spent dating a number of men recently out of any number of divisions of the armed services. I figure what better way to say "Thank You" to men that served this country, than to offer myself as a potential dating partner.<br />
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Wait. That sounds odd. Yep, that sounds, em, cheap and easy . . .and we all know I'm not cheap. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjmNz9wJLebwDpyRQSdcbr7QIwFdY-Eu8uT8_Kf4lyBfXVG434dP7MhEgW2O050501hCwEo4ZHJNngN_gdTAIAtEJdS9IdN73_NFTA_bobyh7kaUBLWVKfe3D_8KjC4puR4N0F0mDjUrB/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjmNz9wJLebwDpyRQSdcbr7QIwFdY-Eu8uT8_Kf4lyBfXVG434dP7MhEgW2O050501hCwEo4ZHJNngN_gdTAIAtEJdS9IdN73_NFTA_bobyh7kaUBLWVKfe3D_8KjC4puR4N0F0mDjUrB/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<br />
Through my online dating site, I had received an email from a man that recently out of the Coast Guard and new to town. He was getting settled in and was aspiring to get out and meet some of the locals, either for friendship or dating, when he had a few minutes between work and school. He asked if I was interested in meeting up to see if there was any dating or friendship potential.<br />
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I like the "no pressure" dating where you feel like perhaps if there was no chemistry, there could still be a friendship. However, I feel like that never happens. . .but I guess there is a first time for everything?<br />
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His pictures were few. There were a couple with friends (always good) and in uniform (we know I love a man in uniform), and his solo pictures portrayed an average guy: brown hair and brown eyes with boyish smile. His profile said 5'10 (but so does everyone else's I am finding), never married, no kids and he worked in finance. I don't recall his profile talking about much beyond his job and interests in biking and hiking, but I need more excitement in my life like the Octomom needs another kid.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HzHP1bI3tHYH3uiotZWzhf2jwxcPN7A6aoeA8Ehg0Iesma_G8ITHFQzv1MayzPL90G4jsWAqmeE5gpJ_M6CiljBNyh5fFIZTeQMD3T_oLyP8a1AJuiCvyhOUPleFLCRM1eqTFhrtxu2I/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HzHP1bI3tHYH3uiotZWzhf2jwxcPN7A6aoeA8Ehg0Iesma_G8ITHFQzv1MayzPL90G4jsWAqmeE5gpJ_M6CiljBNyh5fFIZTeQMD3T_oLyP8a1AJuiCvyhOUPleFLCRM1eqTFhrtxu2I/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why not try for a bakers dozen?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We decided a la text, (because no one really ever calls before the first date, it seems) that we were going to meet for a cup of coffee in Morristown. We landed on <a href="http://www.smartworldcoffee.com/" target="_blank">Smartworld</a>. I think I picked this because I could sit in the window and keep watch, and if he didn't remotely match the pictures, as some of the other dates have, I could quickly exit wrapped in my hat and scarf hiding behind a giant cup and no one would be the wiser.<br />
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He text me the week of the date and mentioned he had recently been working late and that he would try his best to meet me on time around 6:30pm, and would let me know if he was running late. I thanked him for the heads up, and told him I was looking forward to our date.<br />
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I arrived at Smartworld at roughly 6:20pm. I had no idea what parking, traffic or just the daily hub-bub of Morristown might have been on this evening so I wanted to allocate enough time to do it all; primp to look put together, and then scope out my seat a in the window. No sooner did I arrive but I got a text stating that my Knight would running late. I let him know that I was there, to not rush, and just get there safely.<br />
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I decided it had been ages since I had a cup of hot cocoa, so to warm up on this frosty night I thought this might be the best bet. I got a small hot cocoa with whipped cream and chocolate chips and sat back down in the window looking around for the mystery man. As soon as he walked up, I realized it was the same man from the picture. OK this was starting off well. He came in, took a quick glance around and immediately noticed me. He waved hello and came over to shake my hand.<br />
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Can I just stop for a second to convey that it is always interesting to me how I am going to be greeted. I have gotten everything from a kiss on the cheek hello, to a pound. Yes, a pound hello. That's a later Knight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66A-LNpN-CpiMBJp-CPJoaAhIC_7VMx2J01PXUho_JHjheFli71QhX7OFynq4oEMRg9cNtlXSgMV7FkjBWlQcpJLBWcF4Vj5ehxNKduYujxafM4FJHFM2_jUxiauJWwXSiQ_K0UouJIZC/s1600/images-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66A-LNpN-CpiMBJp-CPJoaAhIC_7VMx2J01PXUho_JHjheFli71QhX7OFynq4oEMRg9cNtlXSgMV7FkjBWlQcpJLBWcF4Vj5ehxNKduYujxafM4FJHFM2_jUxiauJWwXSiQ_K0UouJIZC/s1600/images-5.jpeg" /></a></div>
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He asked if I needed anything, and I mentioned that I had a hankering for a hot chocolate to warm up from the cold, so I had already gotten a drink. He looked at me strangely. <br />
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"A hot chocolate? Really?," he replied.<br />
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"Umm, yeah" I said.<br />
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I was now feeling strange that I was now self conscious of my chocolate delight.<br />
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"I don't drink coffee," I mentioned.<br />
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"And I'm afraid I'll be wired for sound if I have an espresso at this hour."<br />
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I was now over-compensating for my tasty drink. Way to be awkward Chris.<br />
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He said he was going to grab a cup of coffee and be right back. I sat down, totally self conscious of my hot chocolate. I DEFINITELY wasn't going to tell him that I had asked for whipped creme and chocolate chips. Can't have this man thinking I'm a 13 year old trapped in the body of a 34 year old woman.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-5x-19TqeUoJsgd1bFs_hinHlMIu5vhyphenhyphenBQgXMAKOr0tVRE_UNHakjBSJq7Zls4G509X_IUM4a86xSBXwGKw0_K5Fj3p0-pMQB_e8XraPp1-zyrWUJomgkCKt3Qm20cWz-gw5eyq9PXUJV/s1600/13-Going-On-30-13-going-on-30-3326364-360-240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-5x-19TqeUoJsgd1bFs_hinHlMIu5vhyphenhyphenBQgXMAKOr0tVRE_UNHakjBSJq7Zls4G509X_IUM4a86xSBXwGKw0_K5Fj3p0-pMQB_e8XraPp1-zyrWUJomgkCKt3Qm20cWz-gw5eyq9PXUJV/s1600/13-Going-On-30-13-going-on-30-3326364-360-240.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess he won't want to hear about my Hannah Montana Club membership either?</td></tr>
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He sat back down and I smiled. He seemed like he was either harried or nervous. I asked how his day had gone and he told me he was crazy busy with work. OK so at least the nervous look wasn't because of the date. <div>
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He mentioned that he was also near completing his MBA and he had virtually no time for anything for pretty much two years. <div>
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Hmmmm. I'm a busy person. He's a busy person. This might be a tough one. </div>
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I asked about his MBA program, what led him to want to pursue an MBA and what he had hoped for professionally now that he was ascertaining this degree. He talked about school, the classes he enjoyed and the hours of work that would be rewarded with more job opportunity and advancement. He mentioned a NUMBER of times the lack of time he had for his own personal pursuits because of work and school. Not looking good for integrating someone to date I thought. </div>
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He was cordial and asked about my education, why I had chosen my professional career and about my various businesses. He was very interested in hearing about my work, how I had started my companies and my qualifications to do the work that I was doing presently. I enjoyed that he was so engaged with my professional career, but I was hoping for a date, not a networking session. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLWct0iNkllDKymh_hyphenhyphen_zBj3HgWLY88XbhYDwi-4jl0OxGb4mTQdJsgamsd400EnwNJsy-CXrwzAt-zz_GmAUgGgHfM-MtvWXRS3TQC9sVnQrnoZpCnxMhEhb6vIozm_bveUhGj1MvR-M/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLWct0iNkllDKymh_hyphenhyphen_zBj3HgWLY88XbhYDwi-4jl0OxGb4mTQdJsgamsd400EnwNJsy-CXrwzAt-zz_GmAUgGgHfM-MtvWXRS3TQC9sVnQrnoZpCnxMhEhb6vIozm_bveUhGj1MvR-M/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you mean this is a date and not a networking event?</td></tr>
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I was about to try segue the conversation to more personal pursuits when the barrista announced that the coffee place was closing. WHAT? How could this be! I looked at the sign on the door and sure enough, they were a closing. What now? It was kind of cold to be wandering around, and I didn't have a plan B for this date. Why universe do you always have to throw me a curve ball? I wasn't loving this guy, but I hadn't banked on a 25 minute date. Maybe I was missing something with him if we wrapped up the date now. Hmmm. What to do. </div>
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He looked at me and mentioned that he had some studying to do later on in the evening but didn't want to wrap up our talking yet. I then uttered words I didn't think I would ever say on a cold night. </div>
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"Why don't we have a wander?" </div>
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As soon as I said it I was now talking to myself in my head. </div>
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"Are you out of your mind. It's cold out. You hate the cold. Why would you offer to wander around on a cold windy night. Do you think at all?"</div>
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Even he looked a bit shocked that I suggested it, but well, it was the only idea that we had come up with. I didn't want to commit to a dinner or drink, and according to all accounts he didn't have time for either and that was why we were meeting for coffee, so walk it was.</div>
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We began walking and I took this opportunity to change the conversation to get to know more about the non-professional side of his life. I asked about hobbies. He told me he didn't really have any with all the time he had devoted to school and work. OK. I've been down this road before. . . </div>
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I asked him about where had had come from since he mentioned in his profile that he was new to the area. He was originally from the Mid-West, had joined the Coast Guard with a friend for a fresh start and pretty much hated every minute he spent based in Staten Island while with the Coast Guard. We exchanged jokes about <a href="http://www.visitstatenisland.com/" target="_blank">Staten Island</a> and did our impressions of accents there, and had a good laugh. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ju gotta problem wit Staten Island?</td></tr>
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At this point I noticed that we were not really having a wander or a stroll, but rather speed walking. We had made it from Smartworld to the <a href="http://www.themorristowngreen.org/" target="_blank">Green</a> in at time that would impress the <a href="http://www.jamaicaolympics.com/" target="_blank">Jamaican Olympic Running Team</a>. I felt like perhaps this wasn't really working out. It was like a race to ask the next question and see if we could answer it while sprinting around the Green. My face was freezing, my feet hurt and I was not feeling it at all with this dude. The over arching sentiment was that he had no time, was going to have no time till Graduation four months from now, and then potentially wouldn't have any time after that because he would be transitioning to another job, that demanded more time. </div>
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I get it. </div>
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After we finished our 2K in record time we were back where we started, at Smartworld, colder, sweaty, and I was relieved that I could claim close proximity to my car to bail. </div>
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"Well," he said.</div>
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"Well," I said. </div>
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**Awkward moment**</div>
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"I'm parked just around the block so I guess this is a good place for me to head back to my car," I began my exit speech. </div>
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"Yeah, I have a lot of work to do and studying," he replied. </div>
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"Well, I had a nice time wandering around the Green and talking to you," I said, sounding like I was reading it from some script on how to put the kabash on your date. </div>
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"We should do it again some time," he responded equally uninterested in ever doing this again. </div>
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"Have a great night," I said as I hugged him goodbye. </div>
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"It was nice meeting you," as he gave me the pat on the back while hugging thing. </div>
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We both walked our separate ways knowing that was the one and only 2K we would ever be doing together. </div>
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-64293239194972061912013-01-17T05:22:00.002-08:002013-01-17T05:22:55.395-08:00The Diplomat Knight (Part Deux)<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The morning following my day in the trenches with the Diplomat Knight I sat straight up in my bed at roughly 5:30am. I think the horror of what today could bring had woken me from a dead sleep. The rest of my bunkmates in the hostel were tucked in their beds, sleeping peacefully . I was on the brink of a panic attack. My gears seemed to be going before I opened my eyes. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What do I do? Do I sell the ticket on Craigslist? Do I go to the game and try to find a fan in the parking lot to sell it to? Do I just eat the $100? AND WHAT ABOUT TODAY! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguyCeA5L489vRHUQDREYpniT-gdl0JLIBTR98A7xPSo3JxPlWJAfHhBSAgg7juR6ZO1EI33B74vOLQ5X5fnrWc87zbN4vL64j04z_eCnBhuw8HGotUwl8q13oVIkEKJKiS7t8pBsb-qDqz/s1600/images-8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguyCeA5L489vRHUQDREYpniT-gdl0JLIBTR98A7xPSo3JxPlWJAfHhBSAgg7juR6ZO1EI33B74vOLQ5X5fnrWc87zbN4vL64j04z_eCnBhuw8HGotUwl8q13oVIkEKJKiS7t8pBsb-qDqz/s1600/images-8.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Knight had mentioned when we were parting the day before, that he would have the whole day available today, and "wanted to try to get to see some of the museums today". This was not on my agenda at this point AT ALL. Mission for today was move the ticket, and come up with some excuse as to why I could not spend the day with him. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First task: See if I can make lemonade out of this ticket business. It was early in the morning and not too late to believe that I could sell/give away the ticket to one of my friends in Jersey or the surrounding states. I began to reach out to anyone I could think of. I didn't care about the money, I cared about having a great night at a great game, and making the most of it. I called and texted Giants fans back in Jersey to see if anyone wanted to come down for the game and a night of fun. The over arching sentiment was that I was insane for going to a game in Maryland, and no they couldn't drive 4+ hours to come with me. DANG.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next step: <a href="http://geo.craigslist.org/iso/us/nj" target="_blank">Craigslist</a>. I put up a post stating that I had one extra ticket, the price and my contact info. I felt like this had to work. Everyone sells things on Craigslist. . . this sucker is going to move! I calmed down a bit. I was willing to sit next to some complete stranger rather than this guy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I had to formulate an excuse as to why I could not be available for the day. I can't say I am going back to Jersey because, well, if the ticket doesn't move than I'm stuck with it. I knew he was interested in seeing the game and had offered the money for the ticket yesterday, but I declined because it was one of the first things he mentioned, and stupid me had left the ticket at home. He had put his money away when I mentioned I didn't have the ticket and we both agreed that we could handle the money business the day of the game. Totally dumb move on my part. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurGHDjSXurpfiBELKnirJ8jehC1tsT_EAycUTfoZdeGbUHXCQamkU4pXyGdxqq9QgD5tDXxBHmqnRLzeaHgMFjuU9HCU3AKepw9Yf_VxKYq-2yIu1Xr6QLOvS0OIxr8R66jrV6iCBi8ZY/s1600/images-9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurGHDjSXurpfiBELKnirJ8jehC1tsT_EAycUTfoZdeGbUHXCQamkU4pXyGdxqq9QgD5tDXxBHmqnRLzeaHgMFjuU9HCU3AKepw9Yf_VxKYq-2yIu1Xr6QLOvS0OIxr8R66jrV6iCBi8ZY/s1600/images-9.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Excuses, excuses. Where was I going to find one! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He knew I could work remotely and had earmarked time for the game and touring this day, so how could I make it work related. . . Hmmmm. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't like lying and I'm actually quite crap at it, so this was very difficult. How do I deep six the day together, but not put him off for the game if I don't get an opportunity to move this ticket. As I was mulling over my options the phone rang. It was him!! Ahhhhh!! Instinctually I picked it up before it went to voice mail. My mind was darting all over, combing my brain for excuses. I don't think my brain has ever been so vacant in my entire life. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was chipper and friendly. He asked if I was ready to go into town in the next hour or so to begin walking around and seeing museums. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Um, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that," I said sheepishly. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe you call it instinct; like the way a mother can pick up a sedan if her baby was stuck under it. Nearly as quickly as I was fishing for an answer in my head I had one materialize.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I got a call from a colleague who is putting together a marketing plan for their company. They have some crazy deadline to present it to their big wigs and they are freaking out because they need help with the social media part. They want to bring me in for that aspect of the business, which would be great for me, but this means that I am going to have to work on this project TODAY."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was shocked at the ease with which this story rolled off my tongue. Who was I? I guess desperation had led me down a path of lying, and I was totally shocked at how believable it was. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh," he said. "Will you still be able to go to the game?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I think so right no, but I will have a better idea around 2 today. Does that work?"I asked.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sure. Give me a call then. I am going to go into downtown and probably go check out some museums."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Excellent. I had bought myself some time during the day to try to find someone to take this ticket, left the door open to go with him as a last resort and now had the day to myself. I packed up my belongings, loaded up my car and caught a bus into downtown to have a wander for a few hours. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxFXK8RZxZ4RhZVvDm4JRo8oPHMqg03coeGt6mg4Vn5HZ1D6Te3DxlL3Sx1gL9vT4hH63mcd7XgEs5LscLYXA4ymfGrwaR5E52MHTKInwAwQuq99X5zDmyEW4sh1kRxu0N17hRjsL-DdY/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxFXK8RZxZ4RhZVvDm4JRo8oPHMqg03coeGt6mg4Vn5HZ1D6Te3DxlL3Sx1gL9vT4hH63mcd7XgEs5LscLYXA4ymfGrwaR5E52MHTKInwAwQuq99X5zDmyEW4sh1kRxu0N17hRjsL-DdY/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I periodically checked my phone throughout the day to see if this ticket was getting any bidders on Craigslist. Nothing.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Really," I thought. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had put a hard stop on heading out to the game around 6pm so that there was time for transit, a bite to eat and maybe even have a wander around the parking lot to see how Redskins fans tailgated. At 2pm he called to check in. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"How's it going?" he asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Umm, I am hoping to be done by 4pm. Can you ring me then?" I responded</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"OK. Let's meet at the <a href="http://airandspace.si.edu/" target="_blank">Air and Space Museum</a> around 6pm. We can then go get a bite to eat, before we take the train to the stadium so dinner is not so expensive," he added. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sure," I said. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This gave me two hours to sell a ticket, get back to my hostel to get the tickets, dress for the game and head out. Damn. It really looks like I am going to end up going with this dude. Shit.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When 4pm arrived and I still had no takers on the ticket I gave up. I would just go with this guy to the game and suck it up. I was already hemorrhaging money between the stay, the drive, the tickets, hostel and meals. I was going to have to make this work. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rang him back at 4pm to confirm our plans for the evening. He carried on about his day, and I think I put the phone down trying to find the inner peace it would take for this event. I hung up and began to get ready. I was going to have to fight rush hour traffic in addition to all this other nonsense so it was best I got a move on. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stop number one on this crazy train: the liquor store. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When going to a football game, this novel event it is marked with my ceremonious beer drinking. I enjoy having a beer in the parking lot, while wandering around the tailgating area to show my solidarity to those who are there drinking their faces off. I was also going to need a little boozy treat to make this man more bearable for what could be hours. Some people drink till he's cute. I was drinking so I didn't want to run screaming out of this game that I had worked so hard to get to. I knew I was breaking my two drink rule tonight, and I was totally OK with it. To be funny, I picked up two 20oz cans of beer and a small plastic flask of <a href="http://www.smirnoff.com/en-us/newmain/home.aspx" target="_blank">Smirnoff</a> vodka. One for the road and one for the game. I was lock, stocked and ready to go! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9YSELBYdcs3VH5ZFHyS-0YPVJ9C7sSwcCjMhErxOmmo84om0jta047PkiwLeWqgNvyTruj8nU7jQjsUnFWnpVTTUMG9hsx-kRA1pcRW9oQyPSaoxv5OqTYk-aZRYDD7ao6NPzrMlGbt7/s1600/images-10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9YSELBYdcs3VH5ZFHyS-0YPVJ9C7sSwcCjMhErxOmmo84om0jta047PkiwLeWqgNvyTruj8nU7jQjsUnFWnpVTTUMG9hsx-kRA1pcRW9oQyPSaoxv5OqTYk-aZRYDD7ao6NPzrMlGbt7/s1600/images-10.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I began my journey to the Air and Space Museum to meet him. Rush hour traffic was a nightmare and it was taking way longer than I thought to get there. I had been texting him with my progress, to make sure that he knew I was coming. When I finally arrived at the museum I was over 45 minutes beyond the specced time, starving and dying to get to the game. He met me outside the museum, presented me with some space ice cream (which I love) and I remarked at what a nice gesture it was that he was so thoughtful. Turns out the explained that this gift was part of a few packages of a multipack he purchased and were keeping for himself. Not so special after all. Here was the guy I knew from yesterday!! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked if I had gotten something to eat. I said that I had not eaten dinner yet, and agreed it was a good idea to grab a bite before we got to the stadium. He suggested McDonalds. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Um, no," I thought. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I said that it wasn't really my thing, and perhaps we could stop somewhere on the way to the station. We ended up grabbing a bite to eat at a sandwich shop where I had a side salad and a roll and he got a three course meal. He graciously picked up my food as well as his dinner and I thanked him for his generosity. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We boarded the train to the field, which was filled with Giants fans!! I was decked out in my Giant's regalia from various kind friends who were supportive of this trip to see our boys play. He mentioned to me on the ride out to the stadium that he was thinking of wearing his Vikings jersey. I couldn't figure out why he thought this was a good idea, but I smiled and nodded none the less.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_ywkPJx7YnaxejoVZSAfIV4xhOX7WHm_TPsjLCP2o5N0GAYvwtw864oIEo5zdvtSvTk_DQopNRSX5swzwYMIJhuIDLSXrjbHhVYeQwPpA5sRxXMe3i7PJVfY9AznC6-iVtWTAMviEkXo/s1600/images-11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_ywkPJx7YnaxejoVZSAfIV4xhOX7WHm_TPsjLCP2o5N0GAYvwtw864oIEo5zdvtSvTk_DQopNRSX5swzwYMIJhuIDLSXrjbHhVYeQwPpA5sRxXMe3i7PJVfY9AznC6-iVtWTAMviEkXo/s1600/images-11.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we arrived at the field I handed him his ticket and he paid me for it. It was like someone handing me freedom after years of captivity. I was awash in emotion knowing now, no matter what happened, I just didn't care. I proceeded to reach into my bag and pull out one of my 20oz cans Miller Lite to celebrate. He looked startled and distressed at this.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Aren't we going to get in trouble for drinking this in public," he asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You don't work for the State Department any more. What do you care? Here have one," and I handed him the other can. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had no idea about open container laws in the great state of Maryland, and nor did I care. I was going to have a good night with or with out this dude. He took the can and began drinking his looking unsure if someone was going to come and cart him away to prison for this. Now this was getting entertaining. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decided it was a good idea to wander around he parking lot for a while to check out how the fans tailgated in these parts, and kill some time before the game started. I was impressed at the number of Giants fans that were there. Periodically we would walk past a group of Redskins fans that would heckle me for my slammin' Giants jacket and some friendly banter would be exchanged. Well, sort of. He would take this opportunity to sell me down the river and share with whomever that <b>I </b>was the Giants fan, and he, being a Vikings fan, had no ties to me or my affliction. Nice guy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We finished our respective beers and took a few pictures outside the stadium and decided now it was going to be time to make our way into the game. He was dreading the "expensive beers" inside and I knew that this was a great opportunity to really get going with the fun. Just to freak him out a bit more, I decided to go all hood on him. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I whipped out my plastic bottle of vodka and proceeded to bend down and take off my shoe. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What are you doing," he asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh yeah. I figured you may not want to pay for drinks inside, so I got us a bottle of vodka to split. I figure if I smuggle it in in my shoe, no one will notice." A big smile crossed my face as he seemed appalled at this. Operation Ditch Date had gone into effect. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I now walked with my "pimp walk" as I was calling it, because the bottle in my shoe was causing me to limp. I strolled through security and into the stadium like a boss. He said he needed to go to the bathroom, so I took this opportunity to head over to the concession stand and get my <a href="http://www.dietcoke.com/" target="_blank">Diet Coke</a> to spike. I got him and extra cup and we headed to our seats. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As it turns out, our seats were right next to a pole. He offered me the seat further from the wall since I was the Giants fan and he didn't really care about the game. I guess that was nice? I said we should move down a few rows till the other people got here so we could potentially sit there if they didn't show up. He begrudgingly moved down a few rows and I was now glued to watching the players warm up on the field. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No sooner that we had done this but the folks who's seats they were showed up. It was a group of men and women, predominantly Redskins fans, with one Giants fan. One of the guys in the group told me that we were in the wrong seats. I apologized for sitting in their seats and he told me he would let it slide because I was cute. I think I smiled at him because I thought he was cute too, and then took my albatross and moved down to our assigned seats back by the pole. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we settled in we took some pictures of the stadium and the teams warming up he decided that this was a good opportunity to take a walk around the stadium. I said I was going to hang back and sit tight. I was excited at the opportunity to be alone because now it had gone from a running monologue like the day before to akward silence that neither of us really seemed to care for. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While he was gone I asked the group of Redskins fans behind me if they would mind taking my picture. The nice man in the group who had told me we were in his seats volunteered to take my picture "even though I was a Giants fan". We playfully heckled each other back and forth. He told me that he was going to convert me and that he was also going to get my phone number and take me out. I felt that this was bold but exceptionally sweet. I was trying my best to not let his advances get to me, but I thought he was attractive and funny and therefore I made sure throughout the game to turn around and talk to his friend who was the Giants fan so we could also continue talking. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhtFcVFmsk0DLDFol7SQUOm1fZQABTjCrbvOevy-YuX0cw4O5EgMwdO1mHO3cDPnosj3J1Rzp81m8M-dzTNKWlrnTbZaLIeYcZhDP9OhKn6uSoQKndK6e5xt7FtEd5mV4PkjCVlZ98uuk/s1600/IMG_1933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhtFcVFmsk0DLDFol7SQUOm1fZQABTjCrbvOevy-YuX0cw4O5EgMwdO1mHO3cDPnosj3J1Rzp81m8M-dzTNKWlrnTbZaLIeYcZhDP9OhKn6uSoQKndK6e5xt7FtEd5mV4PkjCVlZ98uuk/s1600/IMG_1933.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The game went on like this. The Knight wandered around taking pictures, talking with other people in our section and I spent a good portion of the game drinking, talking to the group two rows behind us and randomly hearing the dude who took the picture tell me things like he was going to take me out and make me his girl. It was like a three ring circus. Everyone was buzzed with the exception of my date who had passed on the second and third rounds of drinks, so I was now picking up the slack and I was OK with that. He had made friends with two dudes that spoke only Spanish and was talking to them about their cameras and not even paying attention to the game. I could have cared!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At some point during the game when my date had gone for another wander/bathroom break/to politic with those in my section, the guy two rows behind me leaned over to talk to me again and invited me to sit with him. I expressed to him that he was sweet, but I was on a date, and even if I did want to sit with him and his friends there were no seats where he was. He offered that I could sit on his lap. This guy was phenomenal! I told him he was only hitting on me because he was drunk, and he told me I was a beautiful woman and it had nothing to do with his drinking. He didn't care I was on a date with some other dude, he was trying to pick me up anyway. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was seriously considering ditching my date and sitting with them! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that I had a pretty good buzz on this seemed like an even better idea. I began thinking in my head, "If I just make out with the guy behind me, then my date will probably leave, or at least ignore me for the rest of the night."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QyhB1HYt2h5ZBcTTNcl1e8GVl7O4iqBQ7L0nh4L_akKS3v8JlaINgf05rCo8YNnn7AUhOmvK2UxZO6M-Uz1u9iQln7bwc5ma69BEK1Vhrqaxqtlpm-6hbYEghoEO7HA6qIhKpeQEaPX_/s1600/images-12.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QyhB1HYt2h5ZBcTTNcl1e8GVl7O4iqBQ7L0nh4L_akKS3v8JlaINgf05rCo8YNnn7AUhOmvK2UxZO6M-Uz1u9iQln7bwc5ma69BEK1Vhrqaxqtlpm-6hbYEghoEO7HA6qIhKpeQEaPX_/s1600/images-12.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clearly this was the alcohol talking and I'm now realizing that I have a long trip back to my hostel, and I need to have my wits about me. I've got to pull the plug on this game/date from hell and get back to my hostel before I am sleeping in the parking lot here. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Knight arrives back to our seats and I decree that I never stay for the fourth quarter (again, this is the booze talking). It's late, I'm tired, and I don't want to miss the one and only last train from the stadium when the throngs of people let out. He can't believe that I want to go. I tell him I am going to go and he's welcome to come or stay. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I got up to get ready to leave, I begin to say goodbye to all the new friends I had made in our section. I hug and kiss goodbye the nice Spanish men next to us and the Redskins fan from two rows behind me sees do this and tells me HE wants a kiss goodbye. For whatever reason, I acquiesce to his request and kiss him on the cheek goodbye as well. He proceeds to shove a phone in my hand. He tells me that I have to give him my number so he can call me to take me out. I write in his phone notes: "The Redskins can suck it" and put in my email. Let's see if he remembers who I am tomorrow!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stop by the concession stand to grab a hot dog and the Knight goes to the bathroom for the umpteenth time. I have resolved that as soon as I eat this hot dog, I am off like a shot for the train by myself. No sooner do I do an about face to figure out what exit to go out, but I run right smack into him. Foiled again! He then takes the liberty of eating the rest of my hot dog. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am just as cooked as this dog now.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We proceed to the parking lot and begin walking towards where I think the entrance to the train is. He thinks it's the opposite direction. I tell him that he is not right, and that I am going to walk the direction I am headed because I am sure that I know where I am headed. He takes off to look for signs for the train and that was the last I saw of him. I am not sure who ditched who, but I walked the way I thought would get me to the train, hid behind a pole so he wouldn't see me at the station and boarded the train back to downtown DC. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I arrived in downtown DC at roughly 1am. I had no idea where I was in relation to getting back to my hostel and was a little freaked out. The mall where the Smithsonian was was vacant like I was the last person on earth. I began walking towards where I thought there may be civilization. Nearly 35 minutes later, I hailed a cab that ultimately took me back to my hostel. Home safe finally. What an adventure!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following morning around 8:30am I got an email from the Diplomat Knight .</span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey there, </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tried to find you after we left the stadium but you were no where to be found. It was nice to meet you. Be well.</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pictures of the day before were attached. I guess this is the email I expected and was grateful that clearly both of us knew that this was the last correspondence we would ever have. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few days later I was on Facebook and got a friend request from the super sweet man from the football game. Not only this, but as fate would have it, he had emailed me twice during the game after I gave him my email. I never thought to look for the emails because my phone had died and the following morning I was in such a rush to get home, I all but forgot that I had given him the email that I rarely checked. I guess I called him "panoramic" instead of photogenic or who knows. We had all been drinking. . .</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Subject:</b> <b>Hey, panoramic dude from the game</b><br /></span></div>
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<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wanted to message you now before a result of the game because I might not want to after lol</span></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Subject: Still the panoramic guy</span></b></div>
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<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just wanted to let you know you missed an amazing 4th quarter... And I hop to hear from you :)</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember. . . I love persistence. </span><br />
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YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-20292837552343779302013-01-11T11:34:00.001-08:002013-01-11T11:34:04.865-08:00The Diplomat Knight<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">** This knight will require a two blog post. I still have not determined if this counts as 1 date or 2 separate dates. Perhaps my level of dating fatigue will determine this as we near the end of this EPIC journey**</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Diplomat Knight</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While wading through the random messages in my PoF inbox of "hey whtz up" and "hey wanna chat," which I feel warrant none of my attention, I saw an email that caught my eye. So very often on this dating site you get a, "looking good" or "ur cute" or my personal favorite, "why are you posting pictures of your daughter here?"(They are all pics of me.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway. . . This particular man who I will talk about had taken the time to author a note to me that extended beyond a sentence, was punctuated, and not in text speak. I thought that this, therefore, deserved my attention. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In his note to me he expressed that he was a diplomat, who had just recently wrapped up living abroad in Africa, and was heading back stateside to start the next chapter of his life in <a href="http://dc.gov/DC/" target="_blank">DC</a>. You could tell that he had actually read my profile because he echoed a number of the sentiments I mentioned in it, and asked questions about my wants and life in general. I was impressed at the time that he had devoted to inquiring about me, and the fact that he actually seemed interested in my life, and meeting me. Perhaps he wasn't just looking to fill a Friday night? Thrilling!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I responded back asking him questions about his job, travels and hopes for returning to the US. I was impressed with his traveling, eloquence and work. Further captivating were his pictures which were a veritable montage that portrayed him as a worldly person, showing off his travels from the Far East to Russia. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, anyone who knows me knows that travel is my passion, and I find this to be a hot commodity when looking for a partner. If you are not willing to sling on a backpack, take a 17 hour plane flight, or experience the local souk, you need not apply. This man had been to well over 100 countries and apparently had no fear backpacking a third world country. Bonus!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jAUV0nIWP-Ept3InCY3QYs0xMST5LKmd2mRGS_uumgXEA28llfILvhIDJmaf2Rcmbn15A8ogroynZbh9TDPOM9JHJfAIAjy9m5JF3D6QfB91n-xQQh9PRSbVxx75mYcwMgWxerOI9S3N/s1600/18657_1307691616082_3951039_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jAUV0nIWP-Ept3InCY3QYs0xMST5LKmd2mRGS_uumgXEA28llfILvhIDJmaf2Rcmbn15A8ogroynZbh9TDPOM9JHJfAIAjy9m5JF3D6QfB91n-xQQh9PRSbVxx75mYcwMgWxerOI9S3N/s1600/18657_1307691616082_3951039_n.jpg" height="320" width="222" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His pictures indicated that he was a bit older; perhaps in his late 40s at best; totally OK. He appeared tall (plus), well dressed (another plus), and had very kind eyes (I'm a sucker for kind eyes). He seems to be fit and youthful looking (awesome!). I had been having 0 success with the last umpteen dates and thought perhaps I had found someone I could really connect with, so why not try to get to know this guy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a number of emails back and forth on the dating site, we exchanged numbers, and began to text and call. Texts were brief, and the phone calls usually were just a few minutes when one of us was heading in the car here or there, but we were making an attempt to connect when we could to get to know each other.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">NOW. . . During this time, I got a wild hair up my ass, as I sometimes do, and decided that with the <a href="http://www.giants.com/" target="_blank">Giants</a> season nearing a close, I MUST GET TO A GIANTS game. I don't know why the universe wanted me to go so badly, but I literally felt that if I didn't go to a Giants game ASAP, the world was definitely going to end on December 21st. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being a loving family member and friend and hoping to spare my friends and the rest of the world the horror of the world ending I began to research tickets for a game. As fate would have it, the next game they had was to be played was in Maryland at the <a href="http://www.redskins.com/fedexfield/index.html" target="_blank">Redskins home stadium</a> on a Monday night. PERFECT. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How serendipitous. Here I was, talking to a man that was in DC reconnecting for his next career path and the Giants, my favorite football team, were due to be right in his old stomping ground. I began to have hope maybe all this crumby dating had been for a reason!!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7Cadlk92gCsTHZqXo2d1QIwTNxaIUc7XFhXbBTTIPjvWI1AHBz0_gC8j4Kbp4_uoXTOoLypMuowPV_YselQEcIo5O0sLU3Sx1OI2tKfgMFZvvSNIxBGcjJEFCa4dwj62MfN5pM8nWljC/s1600/11738851-standard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7Cadlk92gCsTHZqXo2d1QIwTNxaIUc7XFhXbBTTIPjvWI1AHBz0_gC8j4Kbp4_uoXTOoLypMuowPV_YselQEcIo5O0sLU3Sx1OI2tKfgMFZvvSNIxBGcjJEFCa4dwj62MfN5pM8nWljC/s1600/11738851-standard.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked out ticket prices, which were moderate compared to the over inflated prices back North, and rang him with my idea. How much fun would it be to have a first date at a football game! He was impressed with the idea, and never having been to a Redskins game at the new <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FedExField" target="_blank">FedEx Stadium</a>, he agreed that this was a great idea. I was elated. He was so excited, he thought that it might be best if instead of just driving down to see the game, why not spend a couple of days in DC so he could take me on a tour the city and really get to know each other.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was hesitant. I am all for going to a game that ran potentially three hours, but more than one day? That seemed excessive. Hmmm. I rang Kristina who has been my sounding board for this whole dating endeavor. I spoke with her about my concerns. Some of these dates had me wanting to pull my hair out 30 minutes in. What was I going to do hanging out with some strange man for two days?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was encouraging and made a good point. DC was a big place, and if it all went south I could always ditch him in a museum. I thought about what she said, realized the merit, and perhaps against that little voice inside of me, decided "what harm could a few days in DC be!"</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI65_4tanI4MNGZ3E61TErAR-rtwxP_wqTIjhk-QXkVUxuUElicNNeU0Ak_wwmHAWaubhIKZ3h-1PL1tIlaU_IZHsDJADbpQvM1gS6MveZBrx5lXrL4A__38M7ErnQH-GlsAunR7MYN8Hz/s1600/IMG_1908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI65_4tanI4MNGZ3E61TErAR-rtwxP_wqTIjhk-QXkVUxuUElicNNeU0Ak_wwmHAWaubhIKZ3h-1PL1tIlaU_IZHsDJADbpQvM1gS6MveZBrx5lXrL4A__38M7ErnQH-GlsAunR7MYN8Hz/s1600/IMG_1908.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went online and found a hostel in DC close to the down town and booked a room at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DiplomaticStay" target="_blank">Diplomatic Stay </a>for Sunday and Monday night. I then purchased two tickets to the Monday night game, and let the Knight know that we were a go to meet up when I got into town on Sunday. He was overjoyed that I was coming to DC, and I was thrilled, since my last visit to the capital was when I was in college. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5gw5fcLVa7QB7N7xTDKvS7_GZr1_QgAe2XEnFQTJdVPmYIx1B3PnGW-EvceErzTHvlOciKhFQv46X0gkmuemTckrzK8LA2X_tP08zAwSfr0axT3CMD-TxCduYzkk3nz_fL-Ydi0aQZ6n/s1600/IMG_1879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5gw5fcLVa7QB7N7xTDKvS7_GZr1_QgAe2XEnFQTJdVPmYIx1B3PnGW-EvceErzTHvlOciKhFQv46X0gkmuemTckrzK8LA2X_tP08zAwSfr0axT3CMD-TxCduYzkk3nz_fL-Ydi0aQZ6n/s1600/IMG_1879.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sunday morning of my trip I packed my bags, loaded up the car and began the four plus hour journey down to our nations capital. I enjoyed my book on CD, stopping to grab a Diet Coke and chocolate croissant at my old stomping ground in DE and arrived in DC at just about 2pm. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hostel I chose was apparently previously the home of the former President of the <a href="http://www.redcross.org/" target="_blank">American Red Cross</a> and was beautiful! I checked myself in to this palatial mansion, got my bunk squared away, and rang the Knight to let him know that I had officially made it to town and was ready to tour DC with him. We weren't sure where to meet up, since I wasn't familiar with the city or really any of the train or subway stations. He thought it was best if he came to pick me up. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Twd-v1ii0ThcSGnZ34gAZ-0T2NVNixgq_bHwoyvwWI6jCLAzM9dkz60jQur16nAvnzrWwkkPX_w6h-1E1rduirm_tcz_N-wKR4JlE8WHr-R5wpAXU5QFoDsSLN0n_6bcSridWWRw7W-G/s1600/IMG_1891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Twd-v1ii0ThcSGnZ34gAZ-0T2NVNixgq_bHwoyvwWI6jCLAzM9dkz60jQur16nAvnzrWwkkPX_w6h-1E1rduirm_tcz_N-wKR4JlE8WHr-R5wpAXU5QFoDsSLN0n_6bcSridWWRw7W-G/s1600/IMG_1891.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat with nervous anticipation in the living room of the mansion. This had all the potential to be a great afternoon of touring and getting to know him, or it was going to be an epic journey of human torment. I was hoping for the former rather than the later. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I got the call that he had arrived at my hostel I guess I thought he was walking or driving; who knows? Maybe I didn't give it a lot of thought. When I walked outside my building there was a cab parked there and a man getting out of it. Strange. I guess this was him. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He hailed me over to the cab and I hesitated across the street. Rule number one as a child. Don't get into the car with strangers. Well, this wasn't a car, and I guess he wasn't a stranger? I stood there for a minute debating the idea of getting into this cab with someone I didn't know. Isn't this how horror films start? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think the movie <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0145681/" target="_blank">The Bone Collector</a> had been on the week before and maybe my gears were going. The reckless side of me said "fuck it". What are the chances that the driver and this diplomat are in cahoots? I crossed the street and he hugged me "hello". I said "hello" in return and he helped me into the cab. I waved hello to the driver, and he smiled warmly back at me. OK. Perhaps I am not going to be a head in a jar in this guy's fridge.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were now being shuttled off to the subway station where we were going to take the subway into the city. I settled in for what was about a 10 minute ride and began speaking with the Knight. He talked to me as if we were old friends, having always known each other, and this was not the first meeting and first time face-to-face. He actually seemed more interested in talking to the driver about how bad the neighborhood we were heading through was, but I sloughed this off as perhaps just nervous banter and re would eventually redirect the conversation back to me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he was talking I was surveying him. He resembled the man in the pictures on his profile, but it was as if he had been photo shopped in his pics. My first thought was "this man resembles a not-so-handsome John Edwards". He was dressed in a red sweater, white tee shirt underneath, khaki pants, a brown suede jacket and really awful brown shoes you would see on someone in a homeless shelter. He dressed like an old man. Ugh.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I looked at him closer, I noticed a few things that were just shockingly different than his photos. First: He had a HUGE pot belly that made it look like he was hiding a pillow under his sweater/shirt. As if this wasn't bad enough, his comb-over, that had been very well hidden in his pictures with various hunting, fishing and ski hats, began somewhere at the base of his skull and swirled his head full of grey hair forward in this bizarre bouffant that made Donald Trump's bouffant look moderate. Oh boy. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As he continued to talk and gesture I noticed he had INCREDIBLY small hands. Like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118655/" target="_blank">Austin Powers</a> Carney small hands, small. His finger nails were chewed down to the nubs and I was grossed out at the thought of the amount of time that this man must have his hands in his mouth. YUCK.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We arrived at the subway station and he had literally not stopped talking the ENTIRE TIME we were in the taxi. It wasn't a conversation, it was a running monologue that continued well into the subway station. OH MY GOD. HOW AM I GOING TO GET THROUGH THE NEXT TWO DAYS! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We exited the cab and walked into the subway station. He had a metro card but it didn't seem to work and I needed to buy one anyway. We walked over to the machine for the subway and he seemed confused by the purchase process. Instead of asking me what I thought, trying to figure it out or READING THE DIRECTIONS he immediately asked one of the attendants to come over and help him. OK so he seems like one of these guys who if he doesn't get it immediately he has to have someone do it for him. Great. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The attendant proceeds to tell him that he will first have to initiate the sale by putting, maybe it was $1.50 into the machine to tender the card. This threw him into a tizzy. $1.50 to just get the card going! This was preposterous! Why did he have to pay $1.50 to activate a card he was going to have to put money on anyway. He gets into this whole conversation with the attendant about how everything is so expensive these days and how everyone is always raking you over the coals for more money. I could have been taken away by a band of chimpanzees and he wouldn't have noticed. He is just on a diatribe about this card and the injustices of capitalism. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decide to step in and say that I am happy to pay for the subway tickets. With my money and his attendant we FINALLY purchase our cards and get a move on. We board the train and his running monologue continues. He's going on and on about how he as 20K pounds of furniture in storage overseas and how expensive it is going to be to get it out, and how costly it will be to get his Mercedes C class from Iowa where it's been at his family's home. I pretend to care but I am already not sure how this is the same person I talked with on the phone. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We arrive at <a href="http://www.unionstationdc.com/" target="_blank">Union Station</a> and decide to get lunch. I ask him where he would like to go, since he is the local, and he tells me that everything in Union Station is different since the last time he has been there. We have a wander and decide on <a href="http://www.unionstationdc.com/store/thunder-grill/2137040099/2138814773" target="_blank">Thunder Grill</a> to have buffalo burgers and beers. Mind you, the only question he has asked me in this whole rant from my hostel is if I eat <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_burger" target="_blank">buffalo burgers.</a> We walk inside and sit down. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and wash my hands. The whole way there and back I am trying to figure out what I am going to do about this game tomorrow. Being the perpetual optimist I am hopeful that this date will get better, but being a stark realist as well, I realize that I have zero chemistry with this guy and now he's just a warm body reimbursing me for a ticket. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I return to the table to find that he has asked the waitress to not only put on the <a href="http://www.vikings.com/" target="_blank">Vikings </a>football game, but has moved seats and positioned himself to watch the game. Great. Maybe this will cause him to stop talking or at least promote a conversation with some back and forth. We eat our burgers and he continues to tell me about his old job and how they owe him over $400K, his travels, yada yada yada. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only information he is getting about me, is information I am offering up so there is some form of a conversation and not a lecture about him. He houses his burger and returns the first beer that he doesn't like for one that he finds more acceptable. I am still working on my burger and pretending to fain interest in what he is saying. I find myself watching the football game just so there is something to talk about outside of him. He then proceeds to order dessert while I am still working on my lunch. He works out on the piece of pecan pie, asks question number two for the day, "Do I want a bite?" I respond OK, accept to be polite and smile as I chew on this bittersweet dessert.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lunch has now ended and we are only two hours into the day. He seems excited to be out and about in DC and I guess I am happy to have a tour guide? We wander up to the <a href="http://www.visitthecapitol.gov/" target="_blank">Capitol Building</a> and he tells me about his previous work in DC. I ask questions about working for the government, what it's like living in DC and going to college there. I am trying to get some ping pong going in the conversation, but he just takes the question, answers it and moves on to talking about the next topic. This process has now become punctuated with the periodic stop to get a picture - of him. In front of the capital, in front of Union Station, every couple of feet. At one point he offered to take a picture of me, but instead of with my camera (which would have been cool) he takes it with his. I get a bit creeped out, and wonder what that picture will be used for later. I digress.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's now rounding 5pm and he's not really sure what will be open at this hour. We head to the <a href="http://www.usbg.gov/" target="_blank">National Botanical Gardens</a> and since I mention (unsolicited) that I love flowers, and we think that this is probably one of the only places still open we decide to go inside because it's free. We wander through the Christmas exhibit impressed by the beautiful displays of flowers, Santa's train and the holiday decorations. I feel some relief from the verbal battery, and though I am sweating like a whore in church under all my cold weather clothes in this terrarium, I am so happy that we are having a pleasant walk with lovely scenery. This, of course, is interrupted by the curator yelling that the place is closing, thank you for coming, and now it's time to go home. Dang. Now what. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We exit the botanical gardens, and as fate would have it, it begins to rain. This does not faze me. I am dressed for crumby weather since it is December. He, on the other hand, in his 1983 brown suede jacket is now panicked by the ensuing rain. He tells me that he's not sure that anything else is open now, and has no idea where to go, but we MUST get out of the rain to spare his coat. I look at him helpless for a suggestion. I thought we were going to tour the city. I thought he knew his way around. I thought perhaps he had a plan. NOPE. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We walk back to Union Station. He wants to duck into a video store and check out DVDs. I think I was up for anything at this point that didn't involve he and I having to have a conversation so I agreed and began to intently scour the DVD racks. Five impulse-buy DVDs later we were leaving with still no idea where to go. I tell him that perhaps now is a good time to begin to head back but he has a eureka and tells me that it's best to head to the Pentagon Mall. I think it's like the mall where the museums are so I agree. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We take the subway to get to this <a href="http://www.simon.com/mall/the-fashion-centre-at-pentagon-city" target="_blank">Pentagon Mall</a>. I am excited to get to see something else cultural or artsy and make the most of this abysmal date. We get off the subway and I realize this is not a place of art and culture. It is just a mall. REALLY? I am from New Jersey, the land of malls. I hate shopping. Wow. Now what. As we wander the mall he dips off into stores that interest him and I felt like I am being dragged around. I decided to step away for a few minutes and call Kristina. He barely noticed I was gone. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh my God! This date is tanking, " I tell her. She tells me to hang on and just get through today and then once I am done with this date, we can formulate what to do with this guy, his ticket and me. I agree, hang up and proceed to find him eight stores away. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tell him that I am really in need of finding a bank, and perhaps we should venture outside the mall to try to find one. We do this only to realize that we were in Nowheresville, so to kill some more time he suggested that we wander through a kitchen and home goods store. REALLY? Could this get any worse? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hi light of this part of the trip is that they were giving away free cups of espresso that I capitalized on because I was glazing over like a doughnut. I suggest that perhaps we grab a lite bite to eat since it was nearly 8.30pm and restaurants probably closed at 9. He tells me that he wasn't hungry, and I shared that with my blood sugar issues if we didn't eat something, I was destined to pass out. He acquiesces to my request. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We choose a Thai place to have dinner. I had already decided that this was the last stop on the crazy train for today. I could punctuate the end of the date by claiming I was exhausted, needed travel time to get back and would easily be able to make my departure back to my hostel WITHOUT HIM in tow if we left from this subway hub. All of this was mentally arranged in my head BEFORE we even ordered. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.thaiphoon.com/" target="_blank">Thaiphoon</a>, thank God, had a bar. I felt that I deserved a martini for the hell of a day I had endured. He ordered Plum wine. I internally scoffed at his choice feeling that plum wine was the white zinfandel of the Asian world. I feel that you should, as a bartender, be able to ask someone to leave your establishment if they order white zinfandel. It's grape juice with alcohol people! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Returning to my nightmare of a date. . . </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We order a soup and an appetizer of dumplings to share since he's not hungry and I have a feeling it's going to be me picking up the tab. He continues to go on about himself and his life living in Africa. He shares how he had created the online dating site profile while he was there to try to find women back home to get to know better because he didn't want to "go local", as he called it, and because it was free, he had no problem keeping this account for years. . .Well that explained the pictures from twenty years ago! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He then proceeds to ask me if I knew about <a href="http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs241/en/" target="_blank">FGM</a>. I know what it is, but I had no idea where this is going. I shared that I did, just to see where he's going with this. He then shares with me that after having "gone local", he decided this was not the best choice because his ego was bruised by these women when they didn't seem "satisfied" with his sexual prowess. He then shares that it must be the FGM because he's amazing in bed. REALLY? Is this conversation for dinner, let alone a first date? But he continued on. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had made a list of all the expats in the area and then figured out who was single, to pursue his hit list of potential partners. OMG. Get me out of here! The night couldn't be over soon enough. How was I going to tackle another day with this guy? I had spent nearly $100 on a ticket; should I just eat the money? God damn it. The best laid plans. . .</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I start to yawn and tell him that I am exhausted and that I really should begin to make the journey back to my hostel. He offers direction on which train to take back, but doesn't offer to accompany me to make sure that I get back safe through what he called a "bad neighborhood." Whatever. I am over it. I'll take a mugging over another hour with this guy. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is still looking forward to the game and tells me that he is ready any time tomorrow AM to get our second day of touring the capital on. I am exhausted by the thought alone. I wonder if he even realizes that I have NO INTEREST in him. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The check comes and he stares at it with a "I paid for lunch and now it's your turn" stare. I pick up the check, pay for it, tip the waitress and we head for the door. At the subway station he is solidifying plans for when we are to meet tomorrow.I am nodding in agreement with everything and am literally backing away to try to run to the subway and get on the first car that comes in. I wave goodbye and plaster a fake smile on my face. As I sit down on the subway train I wonder how am I going to get through day two with this guy. . . </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(To Be Continued in the Next Blog tomorrow!!!)</span></div>
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<br />YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-57874585341580310742012-12-27T23:46:00.000-08:002012-12-27T23:51:59.897-08:00Why on Earth Would Someone Want to do This?I have found in the recent past that I have said that I was going to try to get out and start dating and well, when you work nights, have a growing business and an amazing extended circle of friends, you find that dating takes a back seat to all of the other wonderful things in your life.<br />
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I had always said that I thought it would be fun to do a dating blog . . .I have had such unique dating experiences, I thought perhaps recording them would be a good way to learn more about myself and document all the fun/not so fun experiences I had with each new potential partner. Plus, the idea of fancying myself the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candace_Bushnell" target="_blank">Candace Bushnell</a> of the 2000s did appeal to my ego :) I had always been regarded as the "Samantha" of the group so who better to "take one for the team" than me with this odd adventure!<br />
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I had intended to start this blog over the "2012 - Summer of Not Suck" (as we were referring to this past summer; well most of it) when my single-hood was running full tilt. The girlfriends and I were having a blast, I was loving life and we all thought it would be a great point for me to start thinking about dating again. It had been nearly three years since I had a "serious" boyfriend and well, why not! My one bestie Kristina thought is was a great idea and everyone else thought I was just the nuts enough candidate to do this date and blogging thing. So, with their love and support I got myself a online dating site page, put up a profile and put my lure in the water on Plenty of Fish.<br />
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Alas, no sooner did I do this, I unsuspectedly met someone and that was the end of the dating blog idea. . . well, for a few weeks. He and I ended up having had a hot and heavy "drive by" relationship that ended abruptly and then I spent Labor Day weekend, knee deep in bottles of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinot_gris" target="_blank">Pinot Grigio</a>, <a href="http://www.stoli.com/" target="_blank">Stoli</a>, tissues and sappy girly movies wondering WTF happened?<br />
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When you are trying to get over your last relationship that left you wondering about yourself, life and "how the hell do I pick these people?", you find yourself trying new approaches and ways to find answers to the age old question: is there really someone out there for me. I know I am at a place where I would be a good candidate for a relationship. . . why am I not meeting the other half that is?<br />
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If you are me you look at life like this: everything comes down to gathering as much information as you can about a situation, making determinations and then proceeding with a plan based upon your research and determinations. It is what has made me successful in business and I figured, hey why not apply it to my personal life.<br />
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So now it was time to get out there and doing this "field research" if you will.<br />
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I am committing myself to truly getting out there and going on 30 dates. I don't think that I am looking for a partner per se, but am quietly hoping that the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Law_of_averages" target="_blank">law of averages</a> works in my favor. I had intended on doing the whole project in 30 days, but felt that it would turn into more of a job than a fun endeavor and how could I be my wonderful, charming self if I was suffering dating fatigue?<br />
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I also thought that if I committed to blogging about this adventure, it would give me another important part of research. How did I really feel about this person when I met them, what were the qualities that I liked in them, what about our dates did I like and how did I know if there was chemistry. I had also resigned that, at worst, the whole thing would be a bust and we could all laugh at my expense for pretty much. . ..forever. <br />
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Now let me preface this by saying. . .The intent of this is not to humiliate anyone (well, potentially other than me). This blog is merely to put together a running history of my dating adventure. My friend Dave (THANKS DAVE) came up with the 30 Knights name and this gave me a great way to protect the anonymity of those I went out with. Some would know that this was an adventure for me, however, most would have no idea. I put together a criteria for the dates, who I would go out with and certain rules I would have to abide by. So. . . with that said, stay tuned for the first of the 30 dates!YourFavoriteJerzGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01977773337742641989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4176988434229990879.post-19958620461131992692012-12-22T11:06:00.001-08:002012-12-22T11:06:55.651-08:00The Collegiate Knight<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know that there have been a number of wacky dates and it's been a while since I had a date where I didn't wonder why I was doing this. Fortunately for me, this Knight was a breath of fresh air. It's an odd start to a good story. . .here we go.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bartend a few nights a week at a restaurant that is uber close to three universities. Due to this fact, on any given Friday night I marvel and enjoy the spectacle of college kids in the "we are allowed to drink finally" ritual. This event of binge drinking followed by hysterical shenanigans give the staff a great laugh and bring me back to my college days when throwing up in the bathroom and then continuing on with your night of boozing was par for the course.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the other things that I marvel at concerning these kids is how young they look. When I was in high school the Senior boys had five o'clock shadows before lunch and both the men and women looked like they were thirty when they graduated. I find that the college students that come in to my restaurant now are <a href="http://j-bieber.org/" target="_blank">Beiberesque</a> in their youthful charm. Even the 21 year olds look like they are twelve and generally once a night I am stunned by what a 23 year old man or woman looks like. I must be getting old.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Friday night I am about to relay started out as most do. You have your happy hour crowd, followed by the dinner crowd, followed by the band crowd, followed by those who are making one last rally on the way back to their dorm. This particular evening we are somewhere between the band crowd and the last hurrah group.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I realize this bar is different from the bar I speak of but the crowd pretty much looks just as energized. </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By this point in the night, this place is a mad house. The bar is full, the tables are packed and it's standing room only. As I navigate through the crowd I am frequently reminded of re living my birth, and the phrase "excuse me" goes from a request, to a demand. If I am serving the bar tables I am generally just dropping drinks and running around in my "orbit", (as I like to refer to it) as I circumvent the bar. I don't generally see people. What I see are near empty drinks, empty drinks, or people flagging me down for drinks. I am in work mode: I am a machine. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three glasses of Pinot Grigio, two shots of Jack, four Blue Moons and a partridge in a pear tree. I got it all in my noggin till I report back to the computer to ring it in, pick it up and drop it off. Repeat. That's my night. It's invigorating, frustrating, fast-paced and fun.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Periodically I have a quick chat with the other server to make sure that we are all OK and if I am lucky, I get to say a few words to the servers on the dining side of the restaurant while standing at the service station. This particular time we were standing there one of the servers had asked me if I had carded one of the guys at the table behind us. I card everyone. I do with style and grace by telling people I have to "card everyone who doesn't look old enough to be my Mother/Father." I find this curries favor with those who are otherwise offended by my ask. . .and you do get more with sugar than vinegar. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tell my fellow server that, I had, in fact, carded the table and knew that they were not only 21 but all 22 and older. We remarked at how young looking they were for their age, and then I dashed off to drop off my laundry list of drinks. Turns out I was headed to this very table. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cruised over, smiled, and dropped off their drinks. One of the five graciously took the glasses that were empty and passed them along the end of the table and smiled at me as he did so. He had a boyish charm when he smiled at me. I smiled back. I recalled carding him. He was 23. I gathered the empty glasses, thanked him, and scurried off to the next table. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A short while later I was back at the table and they were asking for shots. I brought a round of shots to them and then as per my orbit, picked them back up upon my return. Again, this kid put all the glasses together and passed them back to me, making sure to make eye contact with me. Again, I smiled, thanked him and took the glasses. As I took them off the table he quietly whispered to me "you know you're a beautiful girl." I smiled at him, turned fifty shades of red, thanked him for his kind words, and scurried away again. Clearly this man has been drinking. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A while later I was coming past again I noticed some empty glasses and stopped to pick them up. This time, the gentleman that had been passing the glasses was sitting at the table alone among a number of empty glasses and chairs. I turned and remarked to him, "What happened to your friends?" He looked at me and he said "I waited behind after they left because I wanted to get your number." I was stunned. <a href="http://www.askmen.com/dating/curtsmith_600/663_how-to-date-the-waitress.html" target="_blank">This never happens</a>. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked at him and recalling his age I leveled with him. "Look. I think that that's super sweet but if you knew how old I was, I am sure you wouldn't be interested." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked at me quizzically. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I am going to be thirty five next year," I responded feeling my wrinkles multiply as I said it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking unfazed, he asked again "so now can I get your number?" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I think you have had a bit too much to drink. . . Thank you for flattering me but I don't think I should be giving customers my number."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I liked this persistence, and he was super cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and a bigger build. He looked like he could be a some sort of athlete, and I wondered what? But wait. No. Too young Chris. Keep moving. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I was having some internal debate between whether I was a cougar, puma or just fatigued from a long night at work, he was scribbling something on a piece of paper.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Here you go," as he handed me his number. "This is my number so you can call me and have me take you out." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here was this 23 year old kid channeling the phrase I would have killed to hear from a man my age. As to not be the talk of the staff that night, I took the number from him and squirreled it away in my pocket vowing that despite my taking it I was not going to use it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He wished me good night and then departed out the back door. What was I going to do with this number? He was a customer, too young, and a laundry list of other reasons why this was a bad idea. I continued on with my night of bussing, dropping, filling and re filling and then ultimately cleaning and heading home. When I got home and was emptying my pockets I found his number. Not sure what to do with the number, I put it on my foyer table and starred at it. Like the frigging number was going to give me an answer. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The number sat on my foyer table for two weeks. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now a fortnight later I am working at my job, per my usual schedule. I've been buzzing around the busy bar all night taking my inventory of empty and full glasses. I happen to see a table get seated off on the other side of the bar so I begin to head over to get a drink order. As I get closer I can now see it is the gentleman from earlier in the month who had left his phone number. Crap. Now what. I never called. Akward! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFukpXhFbb-_Ev435R3VUUkEukpHC-dKDHqamrZrj_w6BTegpTBoZFX2KvlaY3I6bjLw81h1-tXy4hmYLBV8xwZo_fQmA8Ue4G9GEb5O7uhfLeNKYvVy_bpNn8-k9WXE1KB2VwEx3R9P18/s1600/A9e5xg4CQAEyJlV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFukpXhFbb-_Ev435R3VUUkEukpHC-dKDHqamrZrj_w6BTegpTBoZFX2KvlaY3I6bjLw81h1-tXy4hmYLBV8xwZo_fQmA8Ue4G9GEb5O7uhfLeNKYvVy_bpNn8-k9WXE1KB2VwEx3R9P18/s1600/A9e5xg4CQAEyJlV.jpg" height="285" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am just going to glaze over this.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I can do my job, make like I am busy and just pretend like I don't even notice he's there. I am sure he won't say anything," I nervously think to myself. I begin to breeze by the table and I feel someone touch my arm. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh NO!" I know it's him.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You never called me," I hear him say.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turn to look at him. He looks at me inquisitively. He IS a good looking guy. . . </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh, yeah. I just figured you had a bit to drink and your friends put you up to it. Ha ha," I laugh nervously. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I wasn't drunk. I remember everything. My friends didn't put me up to it. I stayed behind to give it to you. I came back to see what happened that you didn't call."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take a dagger and put it right through my heart. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We continued on with this awkward dance back and forth of why I didn't call and since I am a crap liar, the conversation is tanking. He gives me a playful hard time about my not calling and I tell him I have to scurry back to work. This guy is persistent, and cute. . .even if I could have babysat for him. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sidebar with my colleagues. Thank God I work with some of my closest girlfriends! I express to them that I am not sure what to do, but I am now leaning towards acquiescing to his request. They agree he's too young, but why not. He did have the balls to give me his number and then RETURN to my place of work to give me a hard time about not calling him in a sweet and tactful way. I don't run into men my own age that do this. Shit. What the hell. I have a blog and I need to think about single dating women everywhere. I am their representative!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later that night as he is getting ready to leave I decide to throw caution to the wind and scribble my number on my guest check pad. I casually place it in a check presenter with his check and a note that says "If you are serious about wanting to hang out, you can call me." I drop the check presenter on his table and run away, nearly afraid to see what happens. I guess he paid his check and left because less than a half hour later I get a text message that he got my number and wants to know when is good to get together. Wow. I'm impressed.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We text back and forth and decide to meet after both of our respective jobs one night at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Poor-Herbies/276062754116" target="_blank">Poor Herbies</a> for drinks. I arrive first and end up sitting at the bar with one of my regular patrons sharing the story of who I am meeting and how we met. He's having a heck of a time giggling at me as to how this event has occurred and is more excited than I am to see this guy show up! When my Knight arrives, I excuse myself from my bar seat and move to a table in the dining room where he and I can talk privately. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sit down across from him. He stands a bit taller than me, and is reminiscent of a swimmer I dated when I was a Junior in college. He has bright blue eyes and if he doesn't have a Norse background, I'll kick myself. He is clearly WAY younger than I am. I feel very <a href="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0006358/" target="_blank">Mrs. Robinsonesque</a> and am not sure that this is exciting good, or exciting like when you have the police pulling you over. Dang. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He parks his <a href="http://www.guinness.com/en-us/" target="_blank">Guinness</a> across from my <a href="http://www.barefootwine.com/our-wines/white-wines/pinot-grigio" target="_blank">Pinot Grigio</a> and we talk about work, the phone number passing debacle and what he's been up to. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am immediately at ease with him. Maybe it's that we have the hospitality job in common. Maybe it's because he's been so warm to me to this point; who knows. All I know is that we sit down and started talking and didn't stop for hours. We spoke of his major, what he was looking to do with his degree and what made him choose the studies he did. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was returning to college for the second time and felt he now had the determination to do the best he could to be successful. He shared that he had made some big life decisions in the past year that led him to be living back home. He was working towards his future and felt he was on a good path to accomplish his goals. I was continually impressed with his work ethic, determination and overall take on life. He was happy, friendly, polite, genuine and held a great conversation. He asked me about my work, travels, hobbies and my days with roller derby. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6_buMJlXz-jrnUDIAuXDU-b6BzaHdGFE2WVdp1ZJ_wSYtqNzjoTD6kMLZzQM47I3xxUVatkCTcKNr7YsVnJQXkSa-nvUrdnORaYXHCDdAlaZBmT5TwKvUiF58xrWy0T8xXwSeyIA1bcW/s1600/large_mgcove06bbb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6_buMJlXz-jrnUDIAuXDU-b6BzaHdGFE2WVdp1ZJ_wSYtqNzjoTD6kMLZzQM47I3xxUVatkCTcKNr7YsVnJQXkSa-nvUrdnORaYXHCDdAlaZBmT5TwKvUiF58xrWy0T8xXwSeyIA1bcW/s1600/large_mgcove06bbb.jpg" height="320" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of this filled me with panic. I was connecting more with this guy than I had with men my own age. We had the most in common of ANY of the dates I had been on. How was this possible? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were both in love with travel, humanitarian causes and boxing. We shared a love of wine, music and inappropriate jokes. Everything seemed great, but I was stuck on the age difference. He didn't care. Why did I so much? Should I? <a href="https://twitter.com/hughhefner" target="_blank">Hugh Hefner</a> has probably never had this inner monologue. Why am I? This has been the best date I have been on so far. What do I make of this?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I chalk it up to a kid who just wanted to go out with Mrs. Robinson. I don't think he'll ask me out again. This was just a check box on the bucket list for him and well, it's been a lovely night for me, so whatevs. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We continue to talk right up until the bar gives last call. He realizes that the bar is packing it in and abruptly stops talking. I stop putting on my coat and ask if everything is ok. He smiles at me and tells me that he wanted to make sure that we were going to get together again. For the first time in all this madness, I say "Yes" and actually mean it!</span></div>
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