Sometimes I have a problem. Ok, that might be the biggest understatement I have ever had in a post.
I have a problem. Slash I have a lot of problems, but for the sake of this blog let us focus on one of them. I tend to give doucharino's more chances than they deserve (read, more than one chance).
So, there I was...driving home from my parents house when I got a random text message. Who could it be but Mr. "I don't pay for Lemonades, Please Don't Spike it because I will go to Jail" Rodger. This was months after the patio drinking, butt scooting car ride date that we "enjoyed" together. I had all but completely forgotten about this fabulous human and then BAM. Faster then Angelina Jolie could pull out her right leg at the Oscar's, he was back in my life.
Thirty second time out...am I the only one that thinks men are magical creatures? Everytime you get over somebody, or learn to move on, or (in this case) completely forget that these awful experiences have occurred, they come pouncing back to you. They have some sort of sixth sense or something. I haven't done any experiments to prove this fact, but I might. I'll keep you posted. Here is my initial conclusion... men come back after just enough time that you completely forget about their ridonkulous behavior and horrendous dating habits. This is what happened to me.
Time in.
Because I am a glutton for punishment I told him that I would see him again. Clearly, we both didn't have much going on in the opposite sex department. We decided to meet at the same bar that we did on our first day. For romantic/nostalgic reasons you ask? False. I just knew the bartendar, so I got cheap drinks. And we ALL know he wasn't going to pay for them (Red Flag #24,349). We also decided to bring our friends again (Red Flag #24,350). So, there we were...same bar, some of the same friends, same story. EXCEPT, wait for it, I FOUND OUT HIS REAL NAME! Oh yes, Sleuth Slurgin at your service.
How did I find out his name? Well it was two-fold. First, my friend was talking to his friend and she said something like, "Oh, how do you know Rodger?" And his friend responded with, "Who?" That was give-away numero uno that we didn't have the right name. Second part of the plan was simple. Obviously I looked at his credit card before the waitress got to it and he was in el bano (that's bathroom for our Spanish friends). I'm not proud of sneaking a peak, but a girl's gotta find out who she is dating sometimes ya know?!
We then decided to take this "laugh a minute" party to another bar. However, this bar was usually frequented by a few guys that my friend and I used to date. What were the chances they were going to be there on that night? If you guessed good to quite good you are correct! Did I mention that I sometimes still saw the guy that I "used" to "date"? Did I also mention that I was silencing his phone calls all night while with Rodger, and that the last few times I silenced his call he watched me do it? To put it mildly he wasn't too pleased.
To make a long story short the night didn't end well and I don't see either of these "gentlemen" anymore.
Hasta luego Rodger...or whatever your name is. I wish I can say that you shall be missed. But you shan't.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
What's your name again?
So, was this man my Prince Charming? Was he the one I have been waiting for? Absolutely not. Was this man a good addition to my blog? Absofreakinlutely!
I wish I could start with a nice paragraph about Prince Charming: including his likes, dislikes, and funny little quirks. But the truth is...I don't know anything about him. Not even his name. Let's be clear, I THOUGHT I knew his name, but I was proved wrong on our third date. That's right, third date. I dated someone three times without knowing his name. No biggie.
Before I go into our dates let's establish a name for Mr. "Wonderful". I shall go with Rodger. I would like to name him Rodger for three reasons. 1. I have never dated a Rodger 2. Rodger is about as far away as I can get to his actual name and 3. Rodger has some fun knicknames that I can use throughout the rest of this post.
Before you judge me for not knowing his name I would like to point out that A. Rodge had a thick accent and B. I THOUGHT I knew his name, but it turned out I didn't (more of that to follow). The first time I met him I had him repeat his name. I even spelled it thinking that would help me make sure I knew it 100%. The conversation probably went something like this. Me: What's your name again? Him: Rkjasdkfj (real name inserted) Me: What? Him: RKASDJKF (REAL NAME SPOKEN LOUDER) Me: Oh, Rodger? Him: Yes (acquiescing to my stupidity) Me: Great. Nice to meet you Rodger! Thus, began our tale.
Date #1: After our meet cute on January 8th I had to wait a couple weeks for good ol' Rodge Podge to ask me out again. Promptness was not a huge strong suit for him. When he finally asked me out it was mid day and I was already at a baseball game with five of my favorite friends. We decided that he could meet us after the baseball game at a local bar that I sometimes frequent (and by sometimes I mean the bouncers know my name...Cheer's style). When he showed up with his friend he approached another brunette girl at the bar thinking it was me, so clearly we had a huge connection from the beginning. When he finally found my friends and I things were going ok. Well, things were going ok for Rodger and I. My friends and his friend were having a bit of a harder time. You see, Rodger's friend didn't really talk much. I am sure he would have, but English was not his first language and he was just learning. My motto is love has no language, but I am afraid that my friends needed a bit more of this precious language to help be my wing man. In fact, all five of my friends tried to communicate with him and all five struck out. While they were striking out, I was rounding the bases with Good ol'Rodge and he asked to see me again. And the crowd went wild! And by went wild, my friends quickly shoved me out the door, so that they couldn't have any more awkward half conversations.
Date #2: We decided to meet at a restaurant right by my house that had an awesome view and patio. We were supposed to go to a movie, but it was nice weather, so I chose this instead. I drank a lemonade and he drank...so I don't really remember what he drank, but the only importance is that it wasn't alcoholic. Anyway, we had a pretty good conversation and things were going well. I had jokes and he thought they were humorous. BIG plus. Then the check came. Rodger grabbed it like a gentleman and I thanked him like a lady would. After I thanked him he stopped and said, "Wait, what? I thought you had already paid for yourself. Oh well, I guess you are welcome." Seriously, Rodger? I had a lemonade!
Side note: I just realized I was spelling Rodger like Jacquizz and James spell their last name and not in the conventional way of Roger. It's too late to change it, so this is a little ode to Oregon State football. Go Quizz.
Back to the date. After Cheapy and I left, he insisted on driving me home. I lived within walking distance, but I agreed. He then told me to wait for him while he got his car. I thought it was odd that I couldn't just go with him, but I soon found out why. Up pulls Rodger with a 90's sports car with the top down. Rodge was sitting smugly in the driver seat looking proud of the red beast that pulled up. I stifled a laugh because the car looked ridiculous and he looked even more ridiculous in it. Somehow I wondered what he was over compensating for with this red concoction. If you know what I mean, and I think you do! I jumped in, and by jumped in I really mean I slide down to sit. That car was so low to the ground it felt like we were butt scooting all the way home. He also revved his engine no less than three times. True winner. Don't worry reader, I made fun of him each time. He deserved it.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot the best part of that date. I found out why he wasn't drinking any alchy beverages. You guessed it. Mr. Rodger had a alchy blower thingy (others would call this a breathalyzer, but I like my name better). That's right. Rodger was a fan of drinking and driving. Twice.
Wow. I had really caught a classy one this time. Unfortunately, I let him have one more chance. Yes, there was another date after this. Fortunately, for you...I am too busy to write about it today. So, reader...wait in anticipation for our third glorious date. I am sure it will be entertaining. Or will it?
I wish I could start with a nice paragraph about Prince Charming: including his likes, dislikes, and funny little quirks. But the truth is...I don't know anything about him. Not even his name. Let's be clear, I THOUGHT I knew his name, but I was proved wrong on our third date. That's right, third date. I dated someone three times without knowing his name. No biggie.
Before I go into our dates let's establish a name for Mr. "Wonderful". I shall go with Rodger. I would like to name him Rodger for three reasons. 1. I have never dated a Rodger 2. Rodger is about as far away as I can get to his actual name and 3. Rodger has some fun knicknames that I can use throughout the rest of this post.
Before you judge me for not knowing his name I would like to point out that A. Rodge had a thick accent and B. I THOUGHT I knew his name, but it turned out I didn't (more of that to follow). The first time I met him I had him repeat his name. I even spelled it thinking that would help me make sure I knew it 100%. The conversation probably went something like this. Me: What's your name again? Him: Rkjasdkfj (real name inserted) Me: What? Him: RKASDJKF (REAL NAME SPOKEN LOUDER) Me: Oh, Rodger? Him: Yes (acquiescing to my stupidity) Me: Great. Nice to meet you Rodger! Thus, began our tale.
Date #1: After our meet cute on January 8th I had to wait a couple weeks for good ol' Rodge Podge to ask me out again. Promptness was not a huge strong suit for him. When he finally asked me out it was mid day and I was already at a baseball game with five of my favorite friends. We decided that he could meet us after the baseball game at a local bar that I sometimes frequent (and by sometimes I mean the bouncers know my name...Cheer's style). When he showed up with his friend he approached another brunette girl at the bar thinking it was me, so clearly we had a huge connection from the beginning. When he finally found my friends and I things were going ok. Well, things were going ok for Rodger and I. My friends and his friend were having a bit of a harder time. You see, Rodger's friend didn't really talk much. I am sure he would have, but English was not his first language and he was just learning. My motto is love has no language, but I am afraid that my friends needed a bit more of this precious language to help be my wing man. In fact, all five of my friends tried to communicate with him and all five struck out. While they were striking out, I was rounding the bases with Good ol'Rodge and he asked to see me again. And the crowd went wild! And by went wild, my friends quickly shoved me out the door, so that they couldn't have any more awkward half conversations.
Date #2: We decided to meet at a restaurant right by my house that had an awesome view and patio. We were supposed to go to a movie, but it was nice weather, so I chose this instead. I drank a lemonade and he drank...so I don't really remember what he drank, but the only importance is that it wasn't alcoholic. Anyway, we had a pretty good conversation and things were going well. I had jokes and he thought they were humorous. BIG plus. Then the check came. Rodger grabbed it like a gentleman and I thanked him like a lady would. After I thanked him he stopped and said, "Wait, what? I thought you had already paid for yourself. Oh well, I guess you are welcome." Seriously, Rodger? I had a lemonade!
Side note: I just realized I was spelling Rodger like Jacquizz and James spell their last name and not in the conventional way of Roger. It's too late to change it, so this is a little ode to Oregon State football. Go Quizz.
Back to the date. After Cheapy and I left, he insisted on driving me home. I lived within walking distance, but I agreed. He then told me to wait for him while he got his car. I thought it was odd that I couldn't just go with him, but I soon found out why. Up pulls Rodger with a 90's sports car with the top down. Rodge was sitting smugly in the driver seat looking proud of the red beast that pulled up. I stifled a laugh because the car looked ridiculous and he looked even more ridiculous in it. Somehow I wondered what he was over compensating for with this red concoction. If you know what I mean, and I think you do! I jumped in, and by jumped in I really mean I slide down to sit. That car was so low to the ground it felt like we were butt scooting all the way home. He also revved his engine no less than three times. True winner. Don't worry reader, I made fun of him each time. He deserved it.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot the best part of that date. I found out why he wasn't drinking any alchy beverages. You guessed it. Mr. Rodger had a alchy blower thingy (others would call this a breathalyzer, but I like my name better). That's right. Rodger was a fan of drinking and driving. Twice.
Wow. I had really caught a classy one this time. Unfortunately, I let him have one more chance. Yes, there was another date after this. Fortunately, for you...I am too busy to write about it today. So, reader...wait in anticipation for our third glorious date. I am sure it will be entertaining. Or will it?
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
January 8th, 2011
You know when you have a day that you will remember for the rest of your life? That is how I feel about January 8th of last year. Yes, four days from now will mark the one year anniversary of this day that will forever live in my mind. Why is this such an interesting day? Welp, keep on reading my friend and you will surely see the gloriousness unfold.
It all started with a fistful of friends and a local bar. That's right my amigos...it was Playoff time and my Seahawks had made it, but barely! As any good and loyal supporter would, I started my morning at a local Seattle bar to get liquored up...I mean pumped up for a great NFL showdown. This time the Seahawks were playing the mighty mighty Saints. Things were not looking good. #understatement So, there I was at the bar...ok, nothing really happened to make January 8th, 2011 an epic adventure at the bar, but I needed to set up the rest of my story and a bar is always a good place to start.
Side note: Have you ever had an entire bar that is packed full of boozy NFL fans boo at you? No? I have. My friend decided to make bff's with a Saints fan while he was on the way to the loo (that is British speak for potty). While they were getting all chummy the rest of the bar was getting angry. And then they booed. It wasn't great.
Ok back to my original story. We finished at our favorite Seahawks bar, gave a fond farewell to our glorious waitress and headed to the game. Yada yada yada Lynch made the best play in life and the Seahawks pulled off the big W! You can't yada yada the best part. No, I mentioned Lynch's run. (That was a HORRIBLE attempt to recreate a classic Seinfield moment, I apologize). This game is ranked in the top 10 moments of my life. It was ridiculous. I may or may not have cried two to four times during it. When Lynch made that run I literally thought our section was going to collapse, but all I kept on thinking is, "What a way to go." #12thman
That game made January 8th, 2011 a forever memory, but what happened afterwards made it a ridiculous story. After the game my friends and I kept on celebrating at a couple more adult establishments until I realized an important detail I had forgotten. I had a bachelorette party to go to that night. Looking at my watch I realized I had about 45 minutes to get to this party for dinner and dancing. 45 minutes seemed like ample amount of time. Until I realized what I was wearing. I had no less than 32 layers on (it's cold in January), a jersey, and my Day Pack. Another side bar: my Day Pack is my most prized possession. This is a small backpack that I got from REI. It resembles a CamelBak(or so people keep on telling me). My friends make fun of me endlessly about my Day Pack but to them I say, "How does it feel to have to be carrying a bulky purse?" I win. My friends have also started knicknaming my backpack. My favorite is suitor satchel.
No problem. I could close my tab, change my clothes, and get to the party on time. Anything was possible. Reminder: Seahawks had JUST taken down the Saints. #invincible #imnotaseahawk So, I said hasta luego to my friends and grabbed a cab. I had Mr. 'No I will Not Make Out With You (ok Maybe Later)' drop me off at the local Ross Dress for Less. That's right folks. I was that girl. I walked into that establishement as a Seahawks fan and walked out dressed to the nines. #lies. But, I did manage to buy two dresses (just in case I didn't like one...obvious), a belt, and some shoes. The ladies at the store were nice enough to let me change in the dressing room and they even gave me an extra bag to put all of my stuff in #32layers. I thought I was doing well until I realized the shoes I had bought did not fit when I didn't have 12 layers of socks on. So, I had to walk barefoot to the counter, return my big shoes, and then get another pair. Needless to say I was a sight for sore eyes. The cashier was sad to see me go, I'm sure.
Off I went. With my three bags and my new dress. Mind you, the dress I picked out was straight out of an Ann Taylor magazine. It was not suitable for a downtown nightclub, but at this point I could have cared less. After following my GPS on my phone I finally found the party. I dropped the three bags in the corner of our private room in the club and proceeded to celebrate my wonderful friends marriage.
Was that the end of January 8th, 2011? Oh no sir. Fast forward to about 11 pm. The dancing was just picking up, and I was fading...fast. Remember, I had started this day at a bar. Lots of bar time equals one tired NFL/Bachelorette going girl. I am old. Anyway, my friend who was rested and ready to party showed up at the bar. Her idea of fun was dancing the night away. That idea sounded as fun as getting booed by a whole bar full of Seahawks fans...again. So, I concocted a plan. I would go dance with her for half a song, find the nearest man that looked like her type, hook them up, and leave as quick as possible. The strategy worked and I was left alone for a fabulous ten minutes. That's when I met him.
Who is he you wonder? Is he your Prince Charming? Did you finally find the man you've been looking for?
You will have to wait for my next post to find out. But, let me give you a little preview. This man did offer to carry my three bags full of Seahawks gear out of the club. This was great for two reasons: 1. I didn't have to look like a fool with three Ross bags at a nightclub and B. I was exhausted. Until next time let's all remember to celebrate the anniversary of the greatest day of all time. January 8th, 2011.
PS- It also happens to be my dearest friends birthday. Happy Birthday friend!
It all started with a fistful of friends and a local bar. That's right my amigos...it was Playoff time and my Seahawks had made it, but barely! As any good and loyal supporter would, I started my morning at a local Seattle bar to get liquored up...I mean pumped up for a great NFL showdown. This time the Seahawks were playing the mighty mighty Saints. Things were not looking good. #understatement So, there I was at the bar...ok, nothing really happened to make January 8th, 2011 an epic adventure at the bar, but I needed to set up the rest of my story and a bar is always a good place to start.
Side note: Have you ever had an entire bar that is packed full of boozy NFL fans boo at you? No? I have. My friend decided to make bff's with a Saints fan while he was on the way to the loo (that is British speak for potty). While they were getting all chummy the rest of the bar was getting angry. And then they booed. It wasn't great.
Ok back to my original story. We finished at our favorite Seahawks bar, gave a fond farewell to our glorious waitress and headed to the game. Yada yada yada Lynch made the best play in life and the Seahawks pulled off the big W! You can't yada yada the best part. No, I mentioned Lynch's run. (That was a HORRIBLE attempt to recreate a classic Seinfield moment, I apologize). This game is ranked in the top 10 moments of my life. It was ridiculous. I may or may not have cried two to four times during it. When Lynch made that run I literally thought our section was going to collapse, but all I kept on thinking is, "What a way to go." #12thman
That game made January 8th, 2011 a forever memory, but what happened afterwards made it a ridiculous story. After the game my friends and I kept on celebrating at a couple more adult establishments until I realized an important detail I had forgotten. I had a bachelorette party to go to that night. Looking at my watch I realized I had about 45 minutes to get to this party for dinner and dancing. 45 minutes seemed like ample amount of time. Until I realized what I was wearing. I had no less than 32 layers on (it's cold in January), a jersey, and my Day Pack. Another side bar: my Day Pack is my most prized possession. This is a small backpack that I got from REI. It resembles a CamelBak(or so people keep on telling me). My friends make fun of me endlessly about my Day Pack but to them I say, "How does it feel to have to be carrying a bulky purse?" I win. My friends have also started knicknaming my backpack. My favorite is suitor satchel.
No problem. I could close my tab, change my clothes, and get to the party on time. Anything was possible. Reminder: Seahawks had JUST taken down the Saints. #invincible #imnotaseahawk So, I said hasta luego to my friends and grabbed a cab. I had Mr. 'No I will Not Make Out With You (ok Maybe Later)' drop me off at the local Ross Dress for Less. That's right folks. I was that girl. I walked into that establishement as a Seahawks fan and walked out dressed to the nines. #lies. But, I did manage to buy two dresses (just in case I didn't like one...obvious), a belt, and some shoes. The ladies at the store were nice enough to let me change in the dressing room and they even gave me an extra bag to put all of my stuff in #32layers. I thought I was doing well until I realized the shoes I had bought did not fit when I didn't have 12 layers of socks on. So, I had to walk barefoot to the counter, return my big shoes, and then get another pair. Needless to say I was a sight for sore eyes. The cashier was sad to see me go, I'm sure.
Off I went. With my three bags and my new dress. Mind you, the dress I picked out was straight out of an Ann Taylor magazine. It was not suitable for a downtown nightclub, but at this point I could have cared less. After following my GPS on my phone I finally found the party. I dropped the three bags in the corner of our private room in the club and proceeded to celebrate my wonderful friends marriage.
Was that the end of January 8th, 2011? Oh no sir. Fast forward to about 11 pm. The dancing was just picking up, and I was fading...fast. Remember, I had started this day at a bar. Lots of bar time equals one tired NFL/Bachelorette going girl. I am old. Anyway, my friend who was rested and ready to party showed up at the bar. Her idea of fun was dancing the night away. That idea sounded as fun as getting booed by a whole bar full of Seahawks fans...again. So, I concocted a plan. I would go dance with her for half a song, find the nearest man that looked like her type, hook them up, and leave as quick as possible. The strategy worked and I was left alone for a fabulous ten minutes. That's when I met him.
Who is he you wonder? Is he your Prince Charming? Did you finally find the man you've been looking for?
You will have to wait for my next post to find out. But, let me give you a little preview. This man did offer to carry my three bags full of Seahawks gear out of the club. This was great for two reasons: 1. I didn't have to look like a fool with three Ross bags at a nightclub and B. I was exhausted. Until next time let's all remember to celebrate the anniversary of the greatest day of all time. January 8th, 2011.
PS- It also happens to be my dearest friends birthday. Happy Birthday friend!
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