And I Dated Him WHY?!

No Name is back (ish).  He reappears every now and then and tries to make plans and sometimes I blow him off and sometimes I meet up with him.  Last week I met up with him, and here’s why – and by here’s why, I mean, he asked why I hang out with him and I told him:
  1. Because I want to find out why he keeps coming back randomly and wanting to hang out with me.
  2. Because it gets me out of the house.
  3. Because it will give me a good story for my blog.
  4. Because maybe when he goes to the bathroom, a cute guy will come hit on me.
  5. Because now I have something to tell my dad when he asks me who I dated this week.
  6. Because when I have an answer to that question, my parents get a glimmer of hope that their younger daughter isn’t going to die alone, and by alone, I mean surrounded by cats.
  7. Because I like sushi.
  8. Because it gives me legit plans so I don’t feel bad turning other men I don’t want to hang out with down.
 And the unspoken:
  1. Because he pays for the sushi.
  2. Because I can be abrasive and say what I think (mostly) and talk about my love life, but still flirt with him and he sticks around for all of that.
  3. Because I wanted to see if he’s grown a pair and/or if he’s learned how to kiss in a way other than that which can only be described as “my aunt smells like mothballs but I have to kiss her anyway.”

He never told me why he randomly wants to hang out.  The obvious answer would be because he gets a little something-something, but as per unspoken #3, he doesn’t.  It got me out of the house, but didn’t keep me away too long.  I’m obviously currently writing about it.  I didn’t get hit on while he wasn’t at the table.  No name was in real estate as was my dad, so it’s love already.  My parents did glimmer a bit.  The sushi was delish.  And I probably would have preferred the other guy who asked, but you never know which rando is going to ask you out for which day.

No Name did pay for the sushi, he did stick around during the MJ show and no he didn’t grow a pair and I’m assuming he hasn’t improved his technique.
Now, three has always been my favorite number, so let’s focus on that one – the first #3 that is.  He didn’t question it, so I’m not sure if he thinks I was joking, but I’ve noticed a trend in single lady bloggers lately – we are awesome and are not afraid to embrace a bad date for the sake of sharing it all over the internet. 
It wasn’t bad, wasn’t good, probably won’t do it again anytime soon.  And while nothing really blog worthy happened on that sushi date, stay tuned for other blog worthy tales.   
As a mini-update, this weekend, I went out with Bachelors #6, 7 and 8.  So, yeah, thanks to Match I’m back at it.

Aaaand I’m over it. Mostly.

Semantics are the basis of a lot of my pet peeves. 

Don’t call yourself a vegetarian and follow it up with, “but I eat chicken.”  That’s called being a picky eater; I know, I did it myself for a few years before deciding on actual vegetarianism, which I have since abandoned for eating fish and poultry again, but I don’t use the v word, it’s just silly.  Well, and a lie.

Don’t assume when I say I’m in marketing that means I’m in sales.  Don’t tell me you’re in marketing if you’re actually in sales.  They’re very different.

Don’t. Call. Me. A. Girl.

Brit knows what I'm talking about.

Now, I’m not perfect.  I actually told No-Name how I disliked being called a girl and about 30 minutes later he pointed out that I had indeed asked if his brother would be interested in “a girl like me.” Yes, I’m now hitting up past potentials for set ups.  Dontjudgeme.

There are times it just fits in conversation.  “I’m an Arizona girl.”  “Damn straight I run like a girl.”

But there are many more times when I want to be appreciated as a woman. I’ve been struggling for the distinction probably since graduating college, more so recently. I wasn’t completely unfortunate as a teen, but I’ve definitely grown into myself – personality and looks – as an adult.

I got my own house, my own car, two jobs, work hard, I’m a bad broad.  Okay, I rent an apartment and just have the one job, but I’m I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means?*

I’m not married, no kids.  Not too haggard looking.  Are those the things I have to wait for to be called a woman?  I get called ma’am in stores sometimes.  Does that count?

My boss recently made the discovery that when he was a junior in high school, I was gracing the world with my arrival.  To this, he said, “you’re, like, 12!”  Which is funny because that’s the age I give all men.  I said, “no, I’m like 26!” Anyway, that doesn’t change a conversation we had a while ago in which – intense debate on the logistics of voting on DWTS story later – he said, “but you’re not a girl, you’re a woman.”  FINALLY!

I read an online dating profile in which the guy said no fewer than five times what he was looking for in a girl, what his perfect girl looked like and what kind of activities he would like to enjoy with a girl.  Um, go try a playground?

Note that I said guy.  This is where it’s unfair because males have “guy” and we have no in between.  I make an effort to call men, well men, as well.  I made an effort to call TGISWOTSD a man and he immediately corrected me that he was a boy because he was still quite immature.  How did I miss THAT red flag?

And now getting to the original point of this post…I sent a text to Non-Mush.  Did I mention he’s going halfway around the world for a business trip of still-undetermined length?  I wished him well and told him I wouldn’t be upset if it turned out to be a better time, better place when he eventually makes it back – for his sake because I’m awesome and he’s missing out.  No, really.  I have no shame (and sometimes border on conceit).  

Anyway, he responded with a thanks and a vague agreement that we don’t know where we might find ourselves by mid-summer and that I’m a “great girl.” 

Perhaps this is one of those occasions where girl fits, but “great woman,” “amazing woman,” even “great catch,” “wonderful person,” “something to lose.”  ANYTHING besides a pat on the head and a [insert talking-to-a-puppy voice] “who’s a good girl?”

Over it (as I said, mostly).  Time and space and an active social calendar helps too. 

*If you are confused by this gansta paragraph tossed in here, summertime brings about my love for rap songs from my younger days.  Please enjoy:


So, What Are You Doing on This Christmas Eve Eve?

I’m working.  7.88 hours left after the first three days of the week + my holiday on Friday.  I wouldn’t be mad if boss man said we were closing the office early and he would just tack on the extra hours to my time card.

I’m going on date #4 with Mr. “Nickname is in the Works”.  Date #3 sucked and he will not be getting a nickname, but shh, don’t tell him that, I don’t want to ruin the surprise.  So how does this fit in with the whole, if he’s not the one, move on and don’t waste more than one date on a bad prospect?  Uh, obviously it’s not 2011 yet.  

We get along, but for me, it’s not in a romantic way, he has way too many little red flags.  We both admitted date #3 sucked, but he’s so enchanted with date #2 that he’s convinced he can recreate it.  He’s going after date #4 like he’s got something to prove and I will let him try, but I’m assuming it will mostly just be a lot of awkwardness and end with me telling him, again, that maybe we can be friends.

But, no worries, fun will be had because I’m stacking my night.  No, not with another date, but with a friends Christmas tradition!  Post-college, my high school friends and I started to get together once everyone comes home for the holidays.  My favorite part is that it’s about the people and everyone is always down for whatever and always has a great time.  I threw this year’s together and we are heading to a total dive! 

Then I’m heading home and climbing in my glorious bed and turning off my alarm clock.  I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and I’m used to waking up super early so it won’t really matter, but isn’t it funny how NOT waking up to an alarm clock, no matter what time you actually wake up, still feels like sleeping in?