Finally!

So I wrote these posts when they happened but I finally loaded them up. I'll try to keep up to date although I'm afraid that the fact that I was lied to like that made me not so excited about match for the moment.

I did go out with Nick on Friday and it was fantastic. He's such a great person and I definitely want to get to know him better. I love what he has to say about things when we talk. He's interesting and a true gentleman. We got waste faced when we went out so that made things a little wonky and I'll explain about that later. Right now I just wanted to get those ones up so that I could be up to date.

Susan and Paula came down this weekend and we're just hanging out with all of the chitlins. I'll tell you about my date with Nick when I feel like it and I have a minute and hopefully I'll have something more to tell you about something else fun too. :)

love!!

Hello Friends!!

So let me tell you a story. Another fun and fabulous date courtesy of Match.com.

Jonathan was one of the first guys to get in touch with me on Match when I joined about a month ago. I set my date range at 26-35 and Jon is 40, so although I didn’t think I was interested, he had sent me a nice email and had a great profile, and according to Cosmopolitan Magazine’s formula (your age, minus seven multiplied by two) I could go as high as 40 and it would be decent and socially acceptable. I have consulted this formula for years, whether or not I have abided by it, because the older you get, the wider the gap becomes, and it makes sense to me.

I emailed Jon and told him that I liked his profile too, blah blah blah and he emailed me back that he was surprised to hear from me and thanks for “hopping to it” or something like that. I thought he was accusing me of being desperate so I never wrote back. Eff off, old guy! You should BE so lucky!! A week or so later he emailed me again; afraid he had scared me off. I went ahead and entered into an email relationship with him over the next few weeks where he danced around the idea of asking me out. I eventually asked him why he hadn’t, and from there we made a phone date for Friday, the day before we met up for a winery visit. On the phone, he offered that I wouldn’t hurt his feelings either way, but we could either meet at the vineyard, or meet at his country club and drive to the vineyard in his convertible. I laughed. I would much prefer his convertible.

It ended up raining but we decided still to go. He sent me directions to his country club and I pulled up to a gate. Yikes. I pulled up to the visitor’s side and told the man that I was meeting someone here, a member. Feeling like a total moron, I admitted that I didn’t know Jon’s last name, only that I had listened to it on his voicemail once and it started with an H. The address that Jon had given me was to the Country Club, somewhere deep in the gated community. Thankfully, I was on the list and allowed to pass after he checked my license. I drove for what seemed like 10 minutes through a gorgeous community on a street lined with a golf course and water fountains. I parked at the country club and saw the tennis court where Jon plays. He came and picked me up in an SUV and I was pleasantly surprised that he seemed relatively young and he was handsome. The first thing he said to me was “God you’re so beautiful! Look at this hair!” and he casually touched it while my back was to him closing my door. Something like that either feels nice or completely grosses you out. It was actually nice. We drove to three wineries and at the last one I was officially drunk as drunk. We talked about things I don’t talk about on first dates and despite that, we carried on quite well. I adored him.

We left the third vineyard and we went back to the country club where we grabbed my car and drove it a half-block away to his townhouse. I thought he just a member, I didn’t know he lived here! His home was beautiful and clean and we played board games and I swilled water. Then he showed me a pack of cigarettes and it was all downhill.

My friends know how I am about smoking. I can’t date a smoker. It is beyond disgusting to me. One of the good things about online dating is you can specify things like how much is acceptable smoking to you. His profile, and mine, both say “no way.” Now, Jon tells me he only smokes when he drinks. Smokers think that this isn’t considered smoking. Non-smokers consider this smoking. And, if that’s when he smokes, so we can’t drink together? It was an enormous buzz-kill. I was totally blind-sided that this guy who I thought that smoking was a complete non-issue with suddenly after a month of emailing and a day of charming me to death was suddenly blowing at me pretty much the one and only deal breaker I have.

We finished playing Rummy and he invited me to come sit on his lap. I did, and we kissed and talked a little bit and it was a lot of fun, but the persistent smell of the smoke that was still slowly seeping out of his lungs, the smell you can’t cover up with mints and other smelly things, the smell that in the end of my relationship with Ryan when he had given up trying to quit made it nauseating to sleep next to him, was still there, and it was revolting. I told him that it was a turn-off and a game changer. He practically threw me off his lap. I grabbed my coat and bolted. I then got lost in the gated community whose only exit I could find was chained and locked for about 15 minutes and had to call him, which was humiliating.

I got home and texted him that I had made it safely. He texted me that he was sorry about the way that things had ended. I emailed him the next day and told him that I was sorry too, that I adored him and wished that he had been up front about the smoking. He emailed me back that he was going to quit, not for me but for him, and that he’s sure that I’ve heard that before but he is a goal-getter and he will get there. He also said, which we have talked about before, that our relationship would ultimately come to a halt if it did get off the ground because he wants to marry an Episcopalian and doesn’t imagine that I’ll convert. I’ve never been stonewalled because of religion before. I can’t relate, but of course I respect that. I have never been religious and it’s a total non-issue for me. But, it made me think. My mom converted to marry my dad, and both of my sisters married non-Jews. Different stokes for different folks I guess. That’s not a promise that I can make so someone on a first date, that if it gets serious, I’ll consider converting. It’s more of a bridge that you need to cross when you get there.

I told Jon that I would miss him if we stopped talking and I’d like him to keep in touch. I will probably never talk to him again.

It had me all bent out of shape today, that he was the one who had lied about smoking but he can fix that and I have to full on convert to please him. But then someone else texted me and completely lifted my spirits! Nick, who I had gone on the credit card fiasco date with earlier in the week, chatted with me for a few before asking me to hang out again. Now, Nick is 25, Jewish and wants to marry a Jew, (take that, Jon!) successful and ADORABLE!! He’s actually Israeli, moved here when he was 13, has super-creamy tan skin and half a body-fat percentage and likes to tell stories about the history of this or that. He’s so stinking cute!!He suggested that we go to the D.C. improve whatever house for a comedy show. Doesn’t that sound like fun?! I’m so excited. I just want to make out with him all over the place.

The Embarrassment, the Danger, and the Stress

The Set Up:

My credit card was apparently compromised and I was sent a new one. Being the freak that I am, I didn’t cut up the old one once I activated the new one because I was afraid I’d cut up the wrong one.

.........................................................

Wile Steve was in town last week I became very accustomed to taking the T from West Falls Church Metro Station into D.C. I don’t care if nobody in D.C. knows what I’m talking about when I say “take the T,” it is what comes naturally to me. People in Boston understand when you say metro or subway! Train, Transit, meTro, mbTa. It’s the T. Deal with it. But I digress.

So I went on a date last night with a guy I met on Match. He invited me to meet him for a drink in DuPont Circle. That, so far with my limited knowledge of D.C., is my absolute favorite place to party. So I pack a wallet sized clutch with my (new VA) drivers license, my (ahem) credit card, and my phone. And lip gloss. I dress in my best “I’m not trying too hard” date outfit and drive to West Falls, which is about a 10-15 minute drive. I get there, I park, and I leave my car and realize that I forgot my stupid stinking Metro card. That’s ok, I think, because I can just buy another one, even though I have TWO partially used ones from when Steve was in town and in my frazzled dumbness I temporarily lost the first one and then found it again. But oh wait! I think, when I drove Steve to the airport, he gave me his, and I stuck it in my dashboard! He told me that he had put $6 on it and didn’t know how much was left since the machine didn’t print clearly how much was left after he used it once. “Great,” I think,” I’ll use this to get down there. I can always buy a new one to get back if it’s not enough.”

So I’m on my date, and it’s going well enough so far. Hello Handsome! He was adorable and I was having a great time talking to him. When he excused himself for the bathroom, I offered to grab us another drink. Oh, and wasn’t my card declined. In disbelief that I had grabbed the wrong card, I had the bartender try it an additional two times. Well, that’s embarrassing. My date came back and I vaguely explained to him about my card, feeling like a dumbass making a lame first impression. I shrugged it off though. It was fun and going better than I’ve learned to expect from my online first dates.

We carried on and drank that one and another before he suggested we call it a night. The metro closes at midnight and I looked at my phone and saw that it was 11:40. Oops! Thankfully he was minding the time because I certainly was not. We walked out, hugged, said we’d do it again and went our separate ways. Now, DuPont is on the Red Line. I am on the Orange. Since I was cutting it so close, I walked down to Farragut North, which is one stop from the Orange line. He walked north to DuPont Circle stop, in the other direction. As I hustled down the street one large city block, I (thankfully) had the mind to pull out my metro card. It clearly printed this time that I had $.60. Efffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. I texted my dearly departed date and told him that I need help. He met me back toward where he was and gave me his card with about $7 on it. Feeling more and more like an asshole now, I am getting closer and closer to missing the last train out of D.C. So I hustled back down now a city block and a half, passing the same bums and drunkards I had now passed 3 times, whistling, asking where the party was, offering me a ride and general bothersomeness. So I make it down to the Farragut train station at 11:50 now, and the effing gates are closed. TEN MINUTES EARLY!!!!! Are you serious!! This can’t be happening. I am now texting my date, updating him, texting Lisa that I need help, and going over my options in my head. I can take a cab to my apartment in McLean which is a half hour at least from town and then get my card, take the cab to an ATM so that I may pay him, and take said cab to my car in West Falls. It will probably cost me about $100. Taking it to my car would only be about $20 but that’s not an option unfortunately. No money. My plan with Lisa is to have her ready for me with cash, embarrass myself in front of Matt, sleep on their couch and get myself to a T tomorrow to get to my car. My date, bless his heart, is offering to go home and get his car and come get me. He would have, too. He was such a gentleman. My embarrassment with him had been bad enough though and I would only have considered that if Lisa didn’t answer her phone.

Side note, I am petrified to be downtown by myself at night because a month or two ago I was in the same area wandering around looking for where I had parked my car, not finding it because I had no idea where I was and had no sense of direction, I was accosted by an aggressive guy propositioning me like I was a prostitute and it was one of times I have ever been the most scared for my safety.

Any who, I RAN, past all of the people who had now seen me leave the bar, passes them again to get a train ticket, walk back again to get the train at Farragut, and now RUN to DuPont Circle. The escalator was off (this one is about the size of the one in Porter Square, like 9 stories high) and I RAN down it. I thought I was going to fall forward but I kept going. I got to the platform and made the first train but now I had to go TWO stops to the orange line, and you know how it is at train stations figuring out what stairs to go up and down and over and under platforms trying to get on the right side of the right one. Wouldn’t you know that I caught the last red line and then the last orange one?

The guys getting on the train behind me were celebrating at the announcement that this was the last train and I looked up and recognized them as the men who had asked me where the Metro was while I was making the final leg of my journey through the square the 4^th and final time. I arrogantly had assumed that they were just asking me a stupid question so that I would talk to them like everyone else I had encountered in those 20 minutes and pointed behind me and said it was closed as I didn’t look up from my texting and headed up to DuPont. They really were looking for the train. Like me. A big group of us got into talking and someone asked me what I would have done if I didn’t make that train. Well, funny you should ask. I told them about my compromised credit card and how making the train had been my only option and thank the lord I was on it. One guy, separated from me by only a few rows of seats, got up and stood in front of me to talk about identity theft. He was a massive young man and I took him to be a nice guy who likes to talk to everyone. He asked if he could sit down next to me. Of course. He had a sore or zit on the corner of his mouth that I tried not to notice while he droned on for about 20 minutes about how unprotected everything you do and talk about online and in emails is. I was interested for probably the first 5 and then became worn out trying to fake interest. Then he said, “Give me your email. I’ll send you some stuff.” What?? I said. “Give me your email. I’ll send you some stuff.” “Oh that’s ok,” I said, “If that’s something I’m actually going to do I can figure it out on my own.” His Then he started explaining to me the program that he would have sent me in the email.

Meanwhile, this woman who was dressed like the elderly Betsey Johnson of Marshalls was talking to her now second victim about scholarships for multilingual students! There's no age limit either! I would have felt bad for these guys but the second one, whose conversation I was now observing since my bench-mate had woken up the guy sleeping to his left and was talking his ear off, seemed to be enjoying it and touching her unnecessarily. “You call me and I’ll take your daughter on a tour of the campus!!” She was saying. It was all very bizzar.

I made it back in one piece, all ending well. Sheesh. Happy New Year!