The Bartender

I went out with friends for brunch this past weekend. We went to a great place that has an 'all you can eat' menu. Danger #1: I have no will power when it comes to food that is delicious and unlimited. Danger #2: Cocktails were included, no additional note needed, you know how dangerous that is.

We got to the restaurant at 11:00am, right when they opened because we were a large party and didn't want to wait. When we got to the hostess stand, she told us we could either wait two hours or sit at the bar. The bar it was!

We sat. We drank. We ate. We chatted. We drank some more. Eight women with mimosas. And bloody marys. And summer shandies. And some tapas mixed in for good measure.

Our bartender was awesome. His name was Carlos. I asked his name during the first drink because I anticipated we'd be at his bar for a while and wanted to make friends. The more I drank, the chattier I got, and the cuter Carlos became.

Uh-oh. Bartenders are my kryptonite.

After about four hours (yes, you read that right - a four hour brunch), the overconsumption special ended, and as we were preparing to leave, I told my friend Dolly that I had a crush on the bartender. She fancies herself a master matchmaker, which I think is stupendous, and bellied up to the bar to talk to Carlos and find out if he was single, straight, a serial killer, etc.

Turns out he was looking for "a nice, young lady" so Dolly called me over and pulled a Barney Stinson, "Haaave you met my friend Betti?"

I gave him my number and told him where I would be hanging out that night should he want to stop by. Then Dolly, who is tall, but not exactly physically imposing, pulled down her cardigan to show off her guns. She then threatened Carlos, the slightly beefy bartender and said, "If you say you're going to call my friend, and you don't, I'm gonna beat you up". It was awesome.

Dolly's threats worked because I had a text from him 30 minutes later while we were enjoying another libation at a nearby establishment. After an hour we decided to make our way to a party at a friend's house-BBQ, with a quick pitstop at the wine bar where Carlos was drinking after his shift.

We arrived at the wine bar and there he was, talking to a couple in their 50s, who appeared to be from Utah. I got nervous. Really nervous. Thanks to encouragement (read: peer pressure) from Dolly and Veronica, I walked over and said hi rather than standing awkwardly.

He bought me a drink. My friends stayed at a safe distance. Then he bought me another drink, and my friends decided to head over to the party while I hung out with Carlos.

I learned some things about him, we talked about family and work, things we did for fun, what we did for work, cycling, running, etc. After a while he told me he was going to ask me out on a proper dinner date. (Hooray!) A nice, cute guy with killer calves wanted to ask me out on a proper date.

After I finished my seconds drink I told him I had to leave to walk my dog. He asked me not to go. I told him I had to leave, and I left. He texted me three times on my way home. Funny texts, charming texts, silly texts. I replied.

Later that night, after yet another drink with different friends, when I was on my way home, Carlos texted again and asked me to meet him out. I wanted to say, "Dude, you're cute, but come on! It's late, I've been out forever and I'm tired. Unless you're the hot guy from Criminal Minds I'm going home." Instead I texted back that I was on my way home, but was looking forward to seeing him "later".

That was Saturday, it's now Wednesday and I haven't heard from him.

All in all, I feel good about it. I met a nice guy for an afternoon. He added a bit of excitement to an already fun day - like the cherry on top of a sundae. When I was 25, I probably would have met up with him on my way home, become more invested, then felt stupid and sad when he didn't call. Now I just feel generally silly and kind of great. Saturday was a super day.

If he calls and asks me out, will I go? Yes, I probably would. Do I fancy him enough to pursue him? I do not. Not even with those calves. 

A Very Pleasant Date

I was nervous for the date with Smushed Andy, so nervous in fact I had a cocktail - whiskey on the rocks - while getting ready. I then changed my outfit six times in the last four minutes, destroying my room and ultimately panicking and wearing what I wore to work the day before. Note to self: stop wearing turtlenecks on first dates because I get sweaty and probably look like a puritanical prude.

So there I am, running down the street in skinny jeans, a turtleneck and a leather jacket, sweating. To add insult to injury I dyed my hair that afternoon and had inadvertently dyed a jet black widows peak into the skin on my forehead. I realized after I left my apartment that I had combined black hair dye, a white turtleneck and heat/sweat. Ultimately, I was a walking shitshow.

While trying to get out of my neurotic head I see an attractive person passing me. You've got to be kidding me! Hot neighbor! For the first time since I told him he was perfect, and he asked me out, I saw Hot Neighbor. Seriously? Come on universe, give a girl a break. I was late so I smiled silently and kept walking.

I got to the restaurant before Smushed Andy and waited inside trying to cool down and calm down. He got there shortly after. He was cute, totally a smushed down version of Andy Samberg, only a couple of inches taller than me with a nice smile.

We sat and talked and ordered and talked some more. There were no awkward silences or weird spans of time. We shared an appetizer and a dessert. It was a lovely dinner, very pleasant in fact. But it was work. You know when you're supposed to be charming so you actively engage in conversation? The date felt like a great job interview for job I'm not sure I'd want. I was "on" the whole time, focusing on body language, eye contact, etc but it didn't feel natural. I was trying too hard. After two days of reflection, I realized, quite simply, it was a very nice date but I didn't have any fun.

I talked to my mom about the sate on my way home - I should never call my mother when I have a buzz - and told her I was coming from a first (and probably last) date. Surprisingly she told me, almost pressured me to go out with him again. She mentioned it again last night. And after a moment of annoyance I said something that I believe says it all, "I'm working so many hours, I only go out one night a week. I want that night to be fun."

Was it a good date? Yes. Is Smushed Andy nice and smart and engaging? Yes. Do I feel more and more like there is something wrong with me? Yes. I mean, seriously, why is it so much harder for me than everyone else? Or is it equally difficult for everyone who is actively, and unsuccessfully, looking for a partner - and we all feel like we're broken at one time or another?

Grown Up Date

Date is official. I'm meeting Smushed Andy at 7:00 p.m. on Saturday night for dinner. We're meeting at a restaurant without a counter or need for me to pick up my own food. I have a dinner date, like a grown-up dinner date with post-date drinks scheduled. Doesn't he know that could be like three, four, five hours...? That is quite a time commitment. I like my first dates to be over coffee or a cocktail, something with an easy exit, not something that has involves multiple venues and additional chances for me to be awkward and trip over something in transit.

But maybe being outside of my dating comfort zone isn't a bad thing. Smushed Andy seems like a nice guy. He planned the date and provided thoughtful options based on location and convenience, mine not his. I didn't have to do anything but agree.

Now that I think about it, it may not be a bad thing. If I'm going on a grown-up date - maybe that means I'm going on a date with a grown-up. A gentleman, grown-up. Crap, I may be kind of excited. I'll let you know how it goes.

A Note From Peggy Sue

I once had a friend who evaluated guys by their gentleman factor. "All guys are gross," she would reason, "but a gentleman doesn't flaunt that grossness in front of you." Smushed down Andy Samberg is a gentleman. He comes across as smart and kind and genuine and measured--someone who would plan and take the time to find out more about you. See: after our initial emails about whether or not he'd be interested in meeting Betti, he followed up and asked me for some a few facts about her so that they would have some introductory topics to talk about. He's a client at my business, so I've had the pleasure of seeing him and making small talk over the past year or so and recently ran into him outside of work and had such a good time with him that I thought, "Man, this guy is so nice and smart and an actual, functioning adult. He should be dating someone I know." He would seemingly be a good date for one of my friends AND I could keep him in my social circle! Everybody wins! I thought of Betti as a potential match for him because they're both very knowledgeable about current events in a non-DC-snobby kind of a way, they're both thoughtful, they're both more athletic than I am, and neither of them owns a teevee, which I find equally admirable and mind-boggling. So here's to hoping that these two really down-to-earth, thoughtful, smart, lovely people hit it off. Fingers crossed!

A date is set, I think

I replied to Smushed Andy's email last night with a mini novel. I answered all of his questions and tried to ask good follow-up questions. I was kind of nervous to click send. Could excitement be brewing?

I found myself checking my personal email more than usual. I usually only check it on the train to and from work, but I was checking it during the day. Could excitement be brewing?

He wrote back this afternoon with an email twice the length of my novel. It turns out he's a writer. (Side note: I am now self conscious of my grammar in our communications. Damn.) At the end of his email, he asked me out. And I wasn't disappointed. Could excitement be brewing?

We set a date for this weekend. I'll let you know what happens, and if the excitement actually brews.

A Nice Email

Smushed Andy wrote to me last night. He sent a very thoughtful email, he had clearly asked Peggy Sue about me and crafted a tailored message geared to my interests. It was a great email, really. He seems like a smart guy. It reminded me of the first message you would send to someone you were trying to court in a long distance relationship.

I'm skeptical of small talk over email before meeting someone in person. I'm not sure if it's from my attempts at online dating from years back or something else, but I like just going out with someone
and getting to know them in person. I'm not sure if that makes me old school, jaded or simply impatient.  Probably all of the three. It sounds horrible, but I don't want to waste time emailing someone who isn't interested when he meets me in person and one of two things happen: 1) we have exhausted all small talk online and have nothing to say; or 2) I spend the time trying to remember what he wrote in his emails so I don't ask something that has already been covered.

Holy garbage, I am such a negative Nancy. A nice guy sent me a nice email. I'm just going to write back.

A Smushed Andy Samberg

Andy Samberg, not smushed, on a tricycle.

I was out with some friends this weekend, including those who waited for me the night I met Hot Neighbor, and one asked if he had called.

I told them that he had texted the next day, and then again shortly after, but so far: a big, fat nothing. He seems to be a non-follow-thru-er. Probably not going to happen.

I told them I needed to find a new guy to date and told them about the hope of having finding pairs of people to set me up with a dude, blog about it, etc.

Peggy Sue and Veronica looked at each other and said, "Smushed Andy Samberg". The story goes: Peggy Sue went on one date with Smushed Andy, but she had already gone out on a few dates with her current beau, so it didn't go any further.

Peggy Sue had seen Smushed Andy out recently and was thinking that she should set him up with someone ("because he's so nice") and had actually thought of me.

Why did she think of me? I don't know. She described him as a 32 year old grad student, who just recently got a tv and looks like, you know it already, a smushed Andy Samberg. We're the same age, so that could be something. Or it could be that we're both single and awesome. That's probably not it, but I'm going with it for the sake of my fragile ego after the radio silence from Hot Neighbor.

Peggy Sue asked if I would like her to reach out to him to see if he'd be down for a blind date with her friend. I said absolutely.

If he writes back and accepts the date, you'll know about it.

Motivation

I think I'm struggling with my dating motivation this time around. I don't have that spark when I talk to dudes. It's more like I feel that I've hit an age where I'm supposed to be on track to be married asap. I'm not sure if that obligation is adding stress, which makes me inadvertently shy away - kind of like how I stopped enjoying reading for fun when I went to grad school, because I HAD to read.

Most of my friends are paired up - married, engaged, co-habitating. The prevalence of coupledom seems to be more and more commonplace, especially among my friends who are in their 30s, and I have to wonder: Am I at a place where I want to meet someone with whom I can share my life? Or do I just feel the need to be with someone because I'm one of the few people who is alone?

To add to my internal crazy-making: I want to get married. I said this to a couple of friends and one seemed honestly shocked, and said he'd never heard me say that before. And I realized he was right, I had never said that out loud before. (Sidenote: my mother drank too much a few Christmases ago and said she was afraid she raised me to be too independent. Crap, maybe she did. Maybe I come across as someone destined and preferred to fly solo.) But I do want to get married and maybe even have kids, maybe. I'm not sure about the kids, but I'd like to have the option. And I only have three years until that gets much more difficult, biologically. Eek, no wonder I don't have a spark when I talk to dudes, I'm a total buzz-kill, must work on that.

Regardless, I'm not excited about dating. But like a friend told me over brunch, "Betti, you're not getting any younger." Ouch. So I guess, in my head, I'm trying to keep the dating pathways open so they don't close up forever, or at least, so they're open when the spark returns.

I talked to Hot Neighbor!!!

Imagine me singing that. Not well, more like a fog horn than a melody, but singing nonetheless.

I went out for St Patty's Day and had a beer, then another. I also had a whiskey and water, and then a few more beers. I definitely drank more than I typically do, and likely more than I should.

I was out with some friends, having a good time and, of course, 10:30p rolls around and we all start moving to the door. Because we're old. Further evidence of my Q-tipness (old people --> white hair --> Q-tip) was the fact that I chose to hit the head before heading home. Two very kind friends waited for me while I went to the bathroom.

Then, there I am, in the bathroom line at a hipster dive bar (that I kind of love). This sloppy, drunk, but clean and attractive girl stumbles by and plops down on a bench next to the bathroom line, that appears to be more decoration than furniture. I stood there wondering whether I should judge her when a TDH (tall, dark, handsome) strolls by. She grabs his hand and pulls him onto the bench. (Okay, it's furniture, or else that shit would have collapsed.) Then, realization enters my noggin - it's Hot Neighbor!

Or at least I think it is. I go into the bathroom, come out, and he's still there. I try not to stare, I think it's him.

I go back to my friends, relay the news, and receive encouragement to talk to him. Fueled by the booze, I turn around and head again for the bathroom, wondering how I'm going to talk to him while he's sharing a questionable bench with that chick... I see him at the bar on my way and stop. This is how my slightly fuzzy, boozy brain remembers the conversation:

Me: Hi. I think you're my neighbor.
Him: 3rd floor?
Me: No.
Him: 1212 Main Street?
Me: No, 1211 Main Street.
Him: Oh! You have a dog!
Me: Yes, I do.

Sidenote: He's hot, likely with girls all over the hood wondering if they should talk to him. He is probably a player, but whatever, he's a crush. Back to the conversation:

Him: I've been wanting to talk to you, but you never stop.
Me: I know, me too, but I stopped now. I'm Betti.
Him: I'm Andrew.
Me: Nice to meet you, Andrew. I always see you at random times, do you work a lot of hours, like me?
Him: Well, I work 80 hours a week.
Me: Me too, sometimes... what do you do that creates hours like that?
Him: I'm an attorney and I founded a non-profit, that advocates on behalf of children with disabilities.
Me: (awkwardly staring) If I'm looking at you skeptically, it's because you're perfect.

Yes, kids, I said that. Don't give Betti a beer.

Him: Well, the next time you see me while you're walking your dog you should stop and talk to me.
Me: I should, but I don't want to wait that long, who knows the next time we may see each other.
Him: Haha, maybe we should go out.
Me: Maybe we should.
Him: Would you go out with me?
Me: I would.
Him: Will you go on a date with me?
Me: Yes.

He reaches into his pocket and I say...

Me: Oh, ugh, are you giving me your card?
Him: No, I don't have a card.
Me: Me neither.
Him: Why don't you give me your number.
Me: I can put it in your phone or go old school with a napkin.
Him: Old school.

I gave him my number on a napkin, chatted with his friends about some of the people in the neighborhood and left. That was Thursday. He texted me on Friday (quick, right?) and asked me if I'd like to go out. I wrote back that day and haven't heard anything. Will anything come of it? Who knows, probably not. Don't get me wrong, I really hope it does, but this man is hot (like HOT, hot) and probably has a girl for every night of the week. I am not interested in anything like that.

Do I want to go out with him? Yes. Do I want him to surprise me and sweep me off my feet? Heck yes. But this isn't the movies, it's real life, and the good guys - the ones who follow through - are hard to find.

Bobby Wrote Back

It's pretty clear from Bobby's email - I talked too much about work and made myself unavailable.

His email:
I enjoyed dinner the other night-- it was nice to meet someone new and interesting.  I know your schedule is super busy, but if you'd like to catch a baseball game or go for a bike ride or run now that the weather is getting nicer, I'd be game.  Hope your work continues to go well.

Okay, so what did I learn here?
1. I need to stop talking about work
2. There are nice guys out there
3. I should keep trying to meet guys and date dudes in order to avoid dying alone and having my dog eat my face

I'm going to reply to Bobby's email and say something (hopefully) charming. If he's interested, he'll let me know. Then it's on to the next guy. Churn, baby, churn!

I sent Bobby an Email

I hadn't heard from Bobby and, though it had only been a day, I was mildly surprised. I really thought we hit it off. And, shamefully, my mind went straight to the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I forget her name - the British woman who likes pink - had told the blond woman, who was a child actor once upon a time - the one who always has runny eye makeup - that she was rude for not calling Pink Lady's friend, the man with whom she had set runny eye makeup lady with. Did you follow any of that stupidity? If you did, awesome. If you didn't, you're probably better off.

I sent the email last Thursday. I haven't heard from him. And so it goes.  Was there a spark? Probably not, if I'm being honest. Am I surprised? Not really. Would it have been nice to hear back? Well, yeah. Did I want to marry him and have a million if his babies? I don't know, he was really nice. Did I want to be his friend? Absolutely. Do I need a cup coffee to stop the rambling that is currently occurring. Abso-fucking-lutely. Happy Monday, I'm off in search of caffeine.

Hot Neighbor

Let me tell you the story of my hot neighbor. He's an attractive dude who lives across the street. When I say attractive, I mean it. He's super tall and sort of strikingly handsome. I (not so creatively)
refer to him as "hot neighbor".

I first saw hot neighbor when a woman dropped him off on a not-so-chilly November night. I was walking my dog, it was 10:30 p.m. on a Thursday night, and I should have been in bed.

I saw him the next morning at 6:30 a.m. I was running with my dog and he was waiting for a cab. My first thought was, "Bummer. I must have a hot lady neighbor with whom this hot dude spent the night." (I know, super heteronormative of me, huh? Assuming hot neighbor was straight.)

Then I saw him again a week later. He was smoking a cigarette and I was walking my dog. Hot neighbor? Or the hot booty call of a presumably hot neighbor? Unclear.

I saw him three more times over the next two months and decided to call him hot neighbor regardless of his residency.

Then I saw him about a month ago. He was cranking a butt and I was walking my mangey mutt. I convinced myself to talk to him. Say hi, at least. I spent the next five seconds psyching myself up, like the flirty engine that could... I will say hi to hot neighbor. I will say hi to hot neighbor. I will say hi to hot neighbor!

Then, my stupid dog took an about face and made a beeline for my apartment. Dammit. I figured it wasn't meant to be. When I got to my door, I turned around, and looked at him to see if he noticed my mere existence in this universe. And he did! He was looking in my direction and waved when I turned my head. Aaaahhhhhh!

He is my crush. He is mysterious. He is tall and dreamy. He smokes, which is normally a total turnoff, and still is, kind of... Though if he was a non-smoker, I may have only seen him once or twice.

Hi hot neighbor.

Suerte!

Guadalupe and I are besties. She is the woman who works for the company that manages the building where I work. She's awesome. We chat every night and although she doesn't speak English, and I speak a very disjointed Spanish, we seem to enjoy conversing with one another.

Tonight I was applying some makeup to the front of my melon under the harsh, florescent light in the office bathroom. Guadalupe came in and asked something about my "Novio?", which I think means boyfriend. I replied, "No, no tengo un novio." (I never have any idea what I'm talking about.) She asked, "Amiga?" and I replied, "No, un amigo de mi amiga", to which she said, "Ooh". I then said, "un doctor". (I just couldn't help myself.) Guadalupe responded,"Ooooh!"

Apparently, doctor/doctah, both the term and its bravado, transcend languages and cultures. As I was leaving the bathroom I called out, "Hasta mañana Guadalupe!" to which she replied, "Hasta mañana. Suerte!" Suerte, indeed.

I was late leaving the office, there was a problem in Texas I had to handle, but the metro was only a two minute wait. Suerte! Then I got to the restaurant only one minute late. Suerte! Bobby was waiting for me right by the door and said he had just arrived. No need to awkwardly search the bar. Suerte!

We sat, talked, ate, talked and talked. We covered everything from work to sports to pets to literature to politics and back again. We talked for over two hours without so much as a single awkward silence. Not one. I have to admit, I had a hard time making eye contact at times. I feel like eye contact and gazing, etc can sometimes be a bit too intimate for a first date. But I'm a jaded singleton...

After two plus hours, and a great chicken sandwich, I told Bobby I had to go home, it was after 10:00 p.m. And past my bedtime.  He offered to drive me home, I accepted. We chatted all the way to my apartment.

We have a lot in common. And I really enjoyed talking with him, I can only hope he enjoyed talking to me. I'd love to go out with him again. I'm not sure if there was a spark that was more than friendly, but dammit, I'd like to find out.

For the record: He paid.

A Doctah!

I've got a date tonight with Bobby, the dude Jack and Diane know from the gym. Turns out he's a doctor. If my mother cared about such things, I'd be so tempted to call her and say, "... a doctah! ... a doctah! I've got a date with a doctah!" But in reality, my mom just wants me to be happy and doesn't give a shit if the person I date is butcher, baker or candlestick maker.

But I have a date at eight. (I love rhymes.) I took a gamble making plans on a weeknight as it's hard to get out of work by that time. I had a meeting scheduled yesterday for 6:00 p.m. tonight, fingers crossed I can leave in time. I wonder if I should announce in my meeting, "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date, with a doctah!"

Nah, I won't say that, at least not out loud. In all honesty, I just hope I have enough time to apply the yellow based under eye concealer I have stowed in my bag. And I hope I'm not so nervous or tired I lose my personality. Lastly, I hope my too-tight pants don't bust open mid-convo. -- I paired an oversized shirt with skinny jeans that are about 1/2 size too small after the gallon of ice cream I consumed this weekend while watching turn of the century teen angst dramedies. (Feel free to judge.) My life already resembles that of Bridget Jones too closely, I don't need to split my pants while on a date.

But ultimately, I hope I have fun. I'm not into dating right now, probably because I'm scared. Scared of rejection, scared of growing old alone, scared of being vulnerable and opening up to someone, scared of tea party Republicans and ladybugs, though I'm not sure those last two apply here.

[Giant sigh] I'm nervous and babbling and have to start my day. Wish me luck with the doctah.

First Date with the New Plan

My friends, Jack and Diane, asked a dude from their gym if he'd like to go on a date with their friend Betti. (Moi.)

How Was the Setup Orchestrated?
Diane told Bobby, the dude, I was hoping to meet someone and had asked her if she knew anyone she could set me up with. She also said something about me working a lot. My guess was, that addition was to make me look less pathetic, like my friend works a ton and hasn't had a chance to meet anyone due to her crazy hours. Or, it could have been to level-set expectations for dating a workaholic. This is all speculation, I will ask her to address this in her pre-date blog entry. (I love this new format already!)

Bobby agreed to go on a date with me. Hooray! She gave me his email address and I wrote to him. We have a tentative date for next week. Im waiting to hear back from him to confirm.

Diane told me what she knew about Bobby and, on "paper", he sounds stellar. I have to admit I'm a bit nervous to go out with him, but also excited.

New Year, New Plan

I googled "new beginning" and found this.
I think it's purty.

Okay, here we go again. Another attempt at churning. I'm going to switch it up this time because, quite honestly, last time sucked. Scouring the interwebs for dates is time consuming, soul crushing and leads to obsession. It's a new year and I have a new plan.

The Plan (da da da)
I will pair my willing (and hopefully) able friends up and ask them to find me a date. One dude. I will go out with him one week. If we hit it off, the four of us (the dude and my two willing and obviously
capable friends) will all go out together. If the dude and I don't hit it off, the three of us (my awesome friends) will go out for a night on the town.

This plan involves two dates a month, two fun nights out and will hopefully result in a nice balance of new adventures and good times, with limited stress.

The Standards
The dude has to be over 21 years old. And when I'm out with him, my friends shouldn't be concerned for my safety. That's it.

I'm going to invite my friends to be guest bloggers in this new round of churning and see if they'll write a post before and after the date. I'm particularly interested in the post date write up. I mean, I'm 32 and single. I have to be doing something wrong. Perhaps I will learn what that is by hearing the dude's opinion of the date. I want to know if I'm neurotic or boring, crazy or simply disengaged. His opinion, couched in my friends' kind words, will be informative and, hopefully, entertaining.

Will I finally meet someone? Who knows... but I hope so.