Tiny Bit of Crazy

A chronical of the laughter, revelations and transformations that are possible when you embrace the crazy

Timing is Everything September 7, 2011

I have two things I wanted to blog about, but neither one is really long enough or interesting enough to be their own blog. I feel like if you are going to take the time to click the link, or type the address into your browser, or open your google reader, it should be for something that in quantity at least, if not quality, makes the effort worth it. Because I’m always thinking about you. I’m a giver like that. And then I realized they are both about timing (in a way), so I’m doing two blogs in one ūüôā You’re welcome.

—-

1. Chris’s neighbor hasn’t been seen or heard from in a while and I’d almost forgotten about our rivalry. Then last weekend, on Saturday morning as Chris and I headed out to get our Hurricane Irene storm supplies: Kettle Corn, hard lemonade, and pastries for breakfast, we came around the corner from his front door to find his neighbor and her rarely seen husband¬† standing on the sidewalk in front of their town house.

She had her hair in a messy ponytail and was wearing only a bathrobe and an “Oh shit” look on her face as she saw us come around the corner.

I felt a flash of pity for her. I’ve been in her position: You finally run into the guy you’ve been crushing on and fantasizing about in your darkest loneliest moments and you look like crap and/or you’re doing something stupid.

.

That may, or may not, be the summation of my romantic life from ages 18-24.

Moving on.

My flash of pity is quickly erased by the realization that¬† I’ve totally won this round! I’m dressed, and while my hair is wet, that’s actually when it looks the best right now and Chris is… well Chris is his normal delicious self.¬† As we get closer, she clutches her bathrobe at the neck and starts to stammer about the squirrel that has fallen out of the tree and is presumably dead on the other side of the sidewalk, while pointing to her husband who is so absorbed in studying this baby squirrel he barely acknowledges us as we walk by. She’s talking too fast and we don’t understand everything she’s saying, so we smile and nod and make “too bad” noises about the squirrel as we move toward the parking lot.

Once inside the car we talk about how awkward that must have been for her. “Poor girl, that probably ruined her morning,” I say, possibly with a huge grin on my face.

The next day, Sunday afternoon, Chris and I are returning home and she’s standing in front of her house with another neighbor talking about how they weathered the storm. She is dressed in a tight t-shirt and shorts with her hair and makeup done. As Chris and I walk past, she breaks from her conversation to excitedly and somewhat awkwardly call out to us to let us know that the squirrel has been removed and put into a box, or something…again, she was talking a little too fast for me to fully process what she was saying. Plus I was still thinking about how I was winning. When Chris and I nod and smile without actually saying anything she playfully (desperately?) calls out “Hey, you can have the box if YOU want to take care of it!” just as we are rounding the corner toward his front door. Chris rewards her with a polite laugh and says “No thanks!” I smile at her in a mostly friendly, only slightly superior way, before taking Chris’s outstretched hand as we walk up the steps to his door.

————

2. Speaking of Chris, as I’ve mentioned a few times, I’m in uncharted territory with this long-term, functional relationship thing I’m doing. And I really want to make sure I’m doing it right.

I’ve heard women in long-term relationships sit around talking about their boyfriends/husbands, and they all seem to speak in a type of shorthand with the same complaints, the same stresses, the same rules and expectations for their men, which their men consistently violate.¬† And this feeds my theory that there is a formula, some set of Standard Operating Procedures for people in relationships.¬† Have I missed a memo, possibly titled “Things to Get Upset About”? How do I even get on the mailing list? Is it automatic after a certain point? And if so, when is that point???

I have So. Many. Questions. But no answers because every time I ask one of these people they deny any such memo or manual exists. So I’ve been reduced to obsessively studying the behaviors of people who have been in relationships longer than I have in an attempt to learn their secrets and understand the SOP, but it usually only confuses me more.

Like the other day, we had a minor earthquake in the afternoon, and the boss decided the best thing to do was to close the office early and retreat to the bar across the street.¬† So I’m sitting at the bar with my co-workers, 2 hours before we would have left the office on a normal day, and my one male co-worker says to the other male co-worker, “If my wife knew where I was I’d be in so much trouble!” and the other says “oh I know! My wife can never find out about this,” and then they both laughed clearly sharing in a male bonding ritual of some kind.

I spent most of the rest of that afternoon¬† trying to figure out what problem their wives could have with this situation, but couldn’t come up with a single reasonable scenario. Which then triggers my anxiety that I lack the natural knowledge or ability to do the girlfriend thing. AND what if I’m also depriving Chris of being able to have this type of bonding moment with his male counterparts?

Then, a few days later Chris and I were watching Pawn Stars, a reality show about a pawn shop, and I commented on how often men go in to sell something that they loved/collected/just liked having, because their girlfriends/fiances/wives told them they had to get rid of it.

After Chris agreed it was a solid pattern of this show, I started to panic and asked “How am I going to know when its time for me to start doing that? How will I know when I’m supposed to start making you get rid of stuff you like and making you feel bad for having fun?”

And Chris, proving yet again that he’s always got my back said, “I’ll let you know.”

Phew. Finally, a plan.

Advertisements
 

Another Day in Paradise July 20, 2011

When it comes to my current living situation, I am aware that I continue to choose a path of crazy.

I say this because I want to be clear that I am aware that I make choices – choices to get upset, choices to make a stand about stupid shit, choices to let my weird-ass roommate bother me – and that these are choices which lead me down the crazy path.

Which isn’t to say he isn’t hell-a weird.

.

The other day the caulking in my shower started to fall off.¬† Actually, it wasn’t caulk so much as grout. As in, the same grout he used between the tiles on the shower wall were also used to secure the tiles to the plastic part I stand in with the drain.

Sections of the grout suddenly started to break off and litter the floor of the shower and each day it was as if those pieces mated and reproduced while I was at work. After about a week of this I finally had an opportunity to tell Bob.

Minutes before I knew Chris would be picking me up¬†I walked upstairs, and as I appeared at the top of the stairs he turned his head from his perch on the couch and said “HEY! HI!” with so much excitement I felt a pang of guilt that I wasn’t there to socialize.

And then I felt pity for him for getting that excited.

“The caulking in my shower is coming off,” I said (after returning his greeting politely, though less enthusiastically).

“Huh?” He said as if I’d spoken in a weird language.

“The caulking at the bottom where the tiles meet the shower pan (technical term Chris taught me for the plastic part you stand in),” I said, miming the shape of the pan with my hands for additional clarity.

He looked at me as if the words “Caulking” and “Shower” were not words he’d ever heard in the same sentence.

So I tried again. “Yeah, its breaking off in like, chunks? And I’m worried about water getting in there and… doing some kind of damage…so…yeah…”

Then he says in his mock serious voice, which is like nails on a chalkboard to me, “Did you break it?”

I refrained from saying “No, you dick head, you used grout instead of caulk. YOU broke it.” Instead I said “Don’t see how I could have,” annoyed smile, “Anyway, just wanted to let you know….”

He says “Ok, I’ll take a look at it.”

So I said “Ok, bye,” and started down the stairs toward the front door, and he made this sound, sort of like a laugh and said “Ok, bye” in a sarcastic way, like he was holding back on saying “go ahead and leave, it’s all you ever do anyway.” I went outside to sit on the front step to wait for Chris instead of going back up and punching him in the face.

When I got home a few hours later, it was clear he hadn’t fixed it yet. I closed the door and started to pee, at which point I heard him come down and start moving around in the hallway outside my bathroom.

I hate thinking people can hear me pee. I’ve developed chronic UTI’s because of my aversion to public peeing, and its only worse when it’s supposed to be a private bathroom. I finished peeing as quickly and quietly as I could and then started brushing my teeth and doing my other bedtime tasks, all while listening to him just beyond the door making noises like he was playing with tools.

I braced myself to come out and have him make an inappropriate comment about what I was doing in the bathroom.

He was standing in the laundry/utility room messing with a caulking gun with his back to me. I stood in my bedroom doorway for a minute before saying “Hey…”

Looking over his shoulder, but not turning around he said “Hey,” and then went back to his gun. “I’m trying to see if this stuff is still good, so I can fix your shower tonight.”

“Will I be able to use it in the morning?”

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles while shoving a pin into the nose of the gun.

Unconvinced, I say “I can shower at work, I was debating going to the gym anyway, so it’s no big deal…”

“eh, I think it’ll be dry, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

I’m no caulk expert, but I’m pretty sure it takes more than 6 hours for caulk to properly dry. On the one hand I’m like “fine, its your shower, what do I care?” But on the other hand, I’m not about to take any chances with him withholding my deposit because of water damage in the shower.

When I get up in the morning I see that he has not caulked the shower overnight, so I skip the gym, sleep in and shower as normal.

The next afternoon I get a text from him saying he’s fixed the shower, and it will be ready to use that night. Again, I don’t believe him, which is backed up by Chris who maintains most caulk requires 24 hours to dry properly.

I get home that night around 7:30, and he’s standing in the kitchen when I come through the door, the one place where I can’t avoid him. He asks if I got the text, I say I just got it. “What?!” he says in his mocking, condescending tone. “I sent it hours ago! What’s wrong with your phone?!”

“I don’t get service at work,” I say irritably.

“OH, ok, because I was gonna say…” but I turn and go down the stairs to my room before hearing the end of his sentence.

A few minutes later I’m forced to go up into the kitchen to get a spoon so I can eat the yogurt I’ve brought home with me, kicking myself for picking such a high maintenance snack. What was I thinking? I have to get a spoon, and then wash it, but the bigger issue is where am I going to throw away the yogurt cup? This is not the kind of thing I can throw in my bedroom garbage and wait until garbage day on Sunday. I’m immediately annoyed with my whole situation, which is only exaggerated when I realize that he’s actually cooking a full-blown meal for himself, on the one night this month I was planning to use the kitchen¬† (to heat up frozen quinoa and veggies).

But I’m able to get the spoon and get back downstairs without conversation to contemplate my dinner options. I decide to go out rather than wait him out or risk a conversation about what an event it is that I’m using the kitchen. (Oh, and I put the yogurt in a plastic bag and take it with me and throw it out in a 7-11 garbage can. This is what I mean by the choices I make.)

I return home a few hours later and go into my bathroom for the first time, and notice dirty foot prints on the white floor outside the shower and on the floor of the shower.

I sit down to pee and as I finish I notice that my toilet bowl is sparkling clean.

Which I have to admit,¬† was not that way when I left it. That morning it had a ring at the water line because the little blue thing I bought to hang over the edge and keep the bowl clean didn’t work even a little (in fact I suspect it made it worse), a fact I’d only the day before come to accept.¬† I was planning to clean it that evening in fact.

But apparently he’d felt the need to do it for me.

.

Umm….WTF?

.

This leaves me with some questions:

WHY would someone voluntarily clean another person’s toilet, ESPECIALLY when they don’t use it?

Does he expect me to say thank you? Because I’m not going to. As with the time he vacuumed my room when I wasn’t home, I’m not going to thank him for a gratuitous invasion of my personal space.

Does this mean he used my toilet?

If he looked under the toilet lid, did he also look in my cupboards?

If he’s such a neat freak that he had to clean the toilet, why was he able to leave the dirty boot prints on the floor and shower?

Why does he talk to the girl he seems to be dating on speakerphone all the time? OK, so this doesn’t have anything to do with the toilet, but is a question that plagues me nonetheless. Chris says it’s because he wants to be sure everyone knows he’s talking to a girl. I resent having to hear his conversations because it makes me wonder what is wrong with that girl that she’s involved with him…

.

But there is good news: It’s almost the weekend, which means I’ll be spending most of time with Chris, and then I’m going to Denmark for 9 days, so Bob is not going to be my concern for a while. He can clean toilets, talk on speakerphone, and do whatever else he does in my space when I’m not around, and I’ll never know. I hope.

 

The End of an Era June 28, 2011

I started this blog a little over a year ago, because a super weird UPS delivery guy came into my office, instead of the normal hot delivery guy, and made me realize that maybe a desk job didn’t mean nothing interesting would ever happen to me again.

After that revelation I started posting follow ups on my interactions with the hot UPS delivery guy on my Facebook page, and quickly found myself building a story arc in which I played the character of a slightly delusional woman who believed she was in a relationship with the UPS guy.

It was creative entertainment¬†for me and made UPS deliveries a highlight of my day (and when¬†¬†¬† there are no windows and limited human interaction in your day, this is legitimate.¬†¬†¬† Don’t judge me. )

I never made anything up, instead I chose to interpret elements of our interactions in a way that advanced the story.

Like:
UPS boyfriend was just here. He asked about my vacation, which I’m assuming means he came in while I was gone and asked where I was. Then he told me he still has 2 weeks of vacation to use before the end of the year. Am I the only one who hears that as an invitation?

.

My UPS boyfriend just commented on my red turtleneck. He asked if it was my Christmas turtleneck. I heard “I wish I could spend Christmas with you”…

.

Just learned my UPS boyfriend plays the drums. It’s nice how we keep learning more about each other…

.

My UPS boyfriend was just here. He said “You stay in here today. You really don’t want to go out there- way too cold.” I love how he’s always got my best interests at heart ūüôā

.

My UPS boyfriend was just here and told me he’s going to enter the building’s raffle for a black Mercedes. I think it’s because he knows how good I’ll look in the passenger seat.

.

My UPS boyfriend was just here. I haven’t seen him for at least a week. While I was signing the pad thingy, he was looking out the door and seemed to be a million miles away. I wanted to tell him that I know reunions can be awkward after an unplanned separation. But then our eyes met as I returned the pad, and I think he got it…
The story took a little twist when I realized he had a wife. But I ran with it:

UPS boyfriend’s eyes were particularly blue today. They were very distracting, but no so distracting that I didn’t hear him mention his wife.¬† BUT, he was complaining about how she planned a weekend at VA Beach, & he spends his whole day driving, so on a long wknd just wants to stay in & watch DVDs. Clearly his wife doesn’t understand him…. I think I’ve still got a chance…

.

My UPS boyfriend delivered (more) boxes of Godiva chocolate which led to a conversation about our favorite candy. Right after I told him I wouldn’t say no to Godiva, he started blathering on about the kind of candy his wife likes. I know he has a wife, just not why he needs to spend our special time talking about her. I thought we had an agreement….good thing he brought a fresh box of chocolates…

But the best part was how much reaction these updates would spark among my Facebook friends.

Like: 

Just walked out into the hall and saw my UPS guy talking and laughing with a girl from another office!
Seaton
that slut!
Jeffrey
WHAT?!? How DARE he?
Mattie
Maybe that’s his cousin. Yeah, his cousin. That’s it! …..

Amy NO!
Tiffany
Girlfriend, he doesn’t deserve you!

Meredith Well i can’t compete with her anyway. Literally – all she’d need to do is sit on me, and I’d be dust ūüėČ
Katie That bastard!

.

UPS boyfriend just came in for the first time this year. He said “thought y’all had moved you were gone for so long!” By which I’m pretty sure he meant “I really missed seeing your bright smile during the long dark holidays.”
Joanne, Susan and 2 others like this.
Howard Of course that’s what he meant!
 Susan (co-worker) he missed me too, you know.

¬†MeredithI forgot to mention that I asked him about that and he said “there are other women in this office? I never noticed.” Sorry.

I’d often run into Facebook friends in real life (it does happen. Seriously.) who had never commented on my “UPS Boyfriend” statuses, but would tell me how much they looked forward to and enjoyed my updates. One friend referred to it as a “living soap opera”. I was thrilled to know that in providing myself entertainment at work, I was simultaneously providing it to other people as well.

.

Then I started dating Chris. I posted my first “UPS Boyfriend” update about a month into our relationship, and I immediately had people asking me what I was thinking, if Chris would get mad or feel disrespected, and if I was trying to sabotage what was already looking like the most functional relationship I was ever going to get.

My initial instinct was that he would “get it”, and be fine with it. But my friend’s concerns did give me a moment’s pause. But before I could really think it through he posted an adorably cute and appropriately jealous-but-in-not-in-a-creepy-way comment.

Essentially he jumped into my story and made himself a character.

I know. I’m totally keeping him.

My UPS boyfriend was just here with a package for Susan. But for the first time ever volunteered to bring it back to her office instead of leaving it with me… i might have accidentally told him the wrong office…

SusanAgain, thank you. Thank you, thank you. From the heart of my bottom.
MeredithI’m a giver. It’s just how I am
Dan
LOL!
Chris
I am pretty sure I saw that guy outside kissing 10 other women. My instincts tell me he is no good and you should dump him. ūüôā

.

My UPS boyfriend was just here with 2 good-sized, but light looking boxes. He asked if he should bring them back into the office for me. I said “are they heavy?” he said “I don’t how strong you are”. I said “I’m pretty strong.” He looked at me for a second then said “Why don’t I just take them where they go?” Um, whatever!

Michael You should have told him you’d challenge him to a boxing match!

 Katie is real boyfriend jealous of UPS boyfriend yet?
MeredithWe have an understanding ūüôā
¬†Tara It sounds like he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you. But, you know, since he’s a boy, he couldn’t just say that.

¬†Chris I’m pretty sure I didn’t get the memo about our understanding of the UPS guy. Besides, I’m sure I could wear those brown shorts better than him any day. ūüôā

¬†Meredith ‚Äé@Chris – i could have sworn I sent that memo…did you check spam?but I agree you’d wear the shorts better ūüôā And probably let me carry the boxes ūüôā

But then something strange started to happen. The UPS guy would come and I’d sign for a package and forget to initiate a conversation so I’d have something to put on Facebook. Or we’d have a classic interaction, full of opportunity for me to read into it and advance the story line, and I’d forget to put it on Facebook.

What was happening?

I tried to rally, to keep the story alive, but aside from my wandering attention, many of my friends – ardent “UPS Boyfriend Fans” –¬† stopped commenting on the posts I did manage to get up. It seemed they were losing interest in the story as well.

Then a friend told me that even though I said Chris was fine with the whole thing, and even though Chris said he was fine with the whole thing, she was still uncomfortable encouraging me to refer to another “boyfriend” publicly.

It turned out that lots of my Facebook friends were worried I was undermining my relationship by persisting with the UPS Boyfriend gag, and they didn’t want to be a part of that.

Wimps.

But it was clear it was time for this story to wrap up. I started winding it down, while trying to keep some element of tension.

Today, my UPS boyfriend was in the hallway and my boss walked by. He called my boss over and had him sign for the packages in the hallway so he didn’t have to come in. Yesterday, I was away from my desk and he went straight back to Susan‘s desk and dropped the box off, almost like he wanted to see her… I’m not sure I like this trend…
Patrick
Maybe he knows you’ve moved on:)

Chris
Did I forget to mention that I had a little talk with him? Lets just say that we came to an understanding

My UPS boyfriend just brought me flowers! By which I mean, he came in with a box from 1800 Flowers, and handed it to me. It was for someone else in my office, but I can read between the lines. He was saying “I wish these flowers were from me to you, to say I’m sorry for my behavior last week.” Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what he was thinking.
Chris
I think I’m going to deliver a special box of whoop ass to this UPS guy for the constant flirting with you! I’ve had just enough of his shenanigans. ūüôā
Beth
@ Chris, it’s best not to encourage these delusions of Meredith’s ūüôā
Allison
I’d kinda like to see the dazed look on the poor guys face when Chris shows up-but he needs to wear a Federal express uniform to really freak the guy out (while Mer sneaks out the back door LOL)

What I really wanted was some sort of great and final dramatic climax, which in truth it needed anyway – pining for an object of ones affection is only compelling for a limited amount of time, and then something has to HAPPEN. So I started looking for opportunities to misread something he did or be overly dramatic about some element of an interaction. But then suddenly he wasn’t our delivery guy for several weeks, and then he was back, he’d just run in, shove the pad at me, refuse to make eye contact, and leave as fast as possible – giving me nothing to work with.

I started to nurture a very real fear that he had somehow found out about my Facebook posts and was now scared of me, referring to me as “that stalker chic at that company with the weird name” to his UPS buddies at their UPS hangout place.

And then, a few days after my birthday, my UPS Boyfriend brought a delivery AND my ending:

UPS guy was just here. Was staring at the flowers and birthday balloon on my desk while I signed the pad, to the point where he didn’t notice I was done and handing it back for a second. But he didn’t comment. I think he realizes its over…

I’m a little sad that I didn’t get to have some great dramatic scene to end the story with, but I’m not sure I, nor any of my Facebook friends, had the energy for it at this point anyway.

So the UPS Boyfriend story has officially come to an end. But it was a great experiment in creativity, storytelling and social media, which was super fun, and I’ve got my eye out for a new subject for my next “Facebook Soap”.

Except I don’t think I’ll do another romance.¬† From now on I’ll look to my real object of affection for that storyline.

A murder mystery might be fun…

 

Just Crazy Enough to Work March 8, 2011

Filed under: Dating — Meredith @ 5:32 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I’m dating a new guy.

And by “new” I don’t mean “new to my life”.¬† Wait, actually I do mean that. But that’s not the interesting part.

I mean “new” as in “a¬†new type”.

He’s…different than any other guy I’ve dated (or whatever you call what I¬†was doing in my 20’s).¬†And¬†NOT different as in¬† “thinks dreads on a white guy are cool” , or “thinks beer is a food group” or¬†“owns several costumes for Live Action Role Play” kind of way.

I mean his approach to dating, and his approach to me,  is completely new.

He’s direct about his interest in me. (Without being creepy).

He’s charming and funny and interested in my life. (Without being stalker-y)…(ok, he’s a little stalker-y, but only in the way that’s come to be expected as an appropriate¬†sign of interest in this brave new world of social media and google).

He’s sweet and complimentary and mannered. He holds car doors and building doors and helps me on with my coat. (Without being caveman-y).

He’s funny, holds his own in conversations, (which is no small thing around¬†me) and even tells his own stories. (Without being overbearing-y).

He initiates emails,¬†instead of just replying to ones I send.¬† He suggests and plans actual dates – even after four weeks of dating. Like real dates, you know, where you go out to¬†a restaurant with table service and no drive thru,¬†and then go somewhere else for coffee or ice cream, all the while talking and laughing and showing each other new sides of yourselves¬†and then making out in the car for half an hour because it’s a weeknight.

He says he wants to meet my friends and go to my weird artsy events, and then actually goes. More than once, which means even though he knows what it’s going¬†to be like. AND not only does¬†he not complain about bad parking, sold out shows, overpriced restaurants,¬†being singled out from the stage, having my friends pet¬†his face, or the fact¬†that I turn away (or occasionally totally walk away) from him 25 times in an hour¬†to hug and say hello to and chat with a million different people during the night, but he even manages to look convincingly like he’s having a good time.¬†

.

What. The. Hell. Right?

I mean, who does he think he is? Where are the mixed signals? Where are the¬†games meant to keep me¬†disoriented and insecure as to his actual level of interest so that the balance of power always rests firmly with him? Where is the trademark approach/avoidance attitude toward monogamy seemingly endemic to men in their 30’s and 40’s?

Did he not get the same speech that I’m convinced all the other boys on earth got during their special sixth grade “assembly”? You know the one – while all of us girls were off learning about ¬†our periods and the great burden of being life bearers that we’ll carry for next 40-50 years, the boys are in the gym learning how to hide their emotions, be inconsistent,¬†and act like they don’t have the¬†ability for¬†complex thoughts, let alone¬†the ability to convert them into coherent sentences on any topic related to relationships or emotion.

And even though every man I’ve ever asked¬†denies that this assembly takes place, or that they are ever specifically taught these things at all, I¬†know that’s just¬†because they all swear an oath on their testicles to keep the secret.

This guy has clearly gone rogue from the program. You know, the program I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to understand, deconstruct and develop strategies for? Yeah, that program.

I mean…what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

.

Other than, you know, enjoy it ūüôā

 

My Special Talent January 25, 2011

Filed under: Dating — Meredith @ 2:08 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

It’s nice to have something you know you’re good at.

Most people have at least one thing in their life, (outside of their job) that they excel at; like playing a sport, or a musical instrument, or being able to remember the name of every Miss America and the year she was crowned since the pageant started. Whatever. The point is, everyone has a special talent.

I used to think my special talent was storytelling.

But I was wrong.

I have discovered my true talent…

And it is speed dating.

.

You heard me.

SPEED. DATING.

Speed dating is my jam people.

I’m an introvert by nature. But under the right circumstances, I can flip a switch and channel an extrovert like I was born one.

The “right circumstances” generally referring to getting positive and/or fawning attention. Which is why I’m able to get on stage and tell stories – I blossom under the attention of a captive audience.

Here’s how speed dating works. Women sit in seats in one long row with tables in front of them. Men sit down in one long row across from the women. Everyone has a number on their name tag, and everyone has a sheet of paper on which to write down the number of the person they are across from, and then a Yes or a No after the “date”. You get five minutes to talk and then a bell sounds and the women stay put and the men move one seat down. Repeat. At the end of the night, everyone turns their papers into the organizers, and the next day you get an email telling you who you matched with and providing contact information. Contact information is only exchanged between mutual Yes’s. Which I like because it avoids the awkward “no, I’m sorry Shrek, ¬†you can’t have my phone number,” conversation that happens so often in bars.

So you end up with 10 or 12 or 20  five minutes dates over the course of the evening (depending on the size of the event).

FIVE MINUTES.

Who can’t be charming and interesting for five minutes? Well, turns out, lots of men¬†can’t actually.

But you know who CAN be charming and interesting for five minutes? ME. That’s who.

You know who can bust out the charm, the sparkle, the giggle, being both coy and open at the same time, projecting both sex appeal and an endearing innocence simultaneously? I CAN.

I don’t¬† even really know how I do it exactly. When its time, and that switch flips, its like my spidey senses kick in, and within seconds of a new guy sitting down, I know if I should make a joke, ask a question, give him a hard time, give him an opening to give me a hard time, plant the suggestion that we’ll see each other again, or make it clear we won’t… but in a way that he still feels better for the experience.

As each new guy comes through, I get better and better. My laugh gets more tinkling, my hair flip more natural, my ability to project fascination and excitement when he tells me he’s a plumber gets sharper.

.

It might have helped a little that I was grouped into¬†the over 30 category, which¬†aside from me was more like the over 40 category.¬† And I look closer to 20 than 30. So when these 40+ men sat down¬†across from me,¬†they often got¬†a look in their eye like¬†a homeless man who’d just won the lottery.¬†

Which in many ways they had. Because I’m just that unbelievably awesome.

.

In 5 minute bursts.

.

During the break I was at the bar getting another drink (only because there was a minimum to use a credit card, and I drink¬†cheap shit, so I had to buy two drinks. But I didn’t actually drink the second one – alcohol doesn’t tend to enhance my skills), and¬†#72¬†came up to me and picked up our conversation where we’d left¬†off when our five minutes had run out. I managed to keep up the persona¬†for almost a full minute, before my normal persona¬†started popping through, like static during a radio broadcast. I kept fighting¬†to maintain my speed date aura and mercifully the break ended a minute later.¬†I’d originally marked¬†#72 as a No, but he’d won me over with that break conversation and I changed him to a Yes.

He was not on my match list the next day.

He liked me enough to come up and talk to me at the break, but not enough to make me a yes.

Obviously because I’d exceeded my 5 minute window of awesome. He probably got back to his seat and changed me from a Yes to a No, just as I was doing the reverse.

.

Yeah…

So to summarize, I’m like the perfect female specimen for 5 minute intervals.¬†

After which things tend to unravel pretty quickly…

.

.

I’m pretty sure this is the real reason I’m still single.

 

 
%d bloggers like this: