Act Three: Three Babies and a Little Man

Somehow I randomly stumbled across this blog and shockingly I haven't finished the story. Hell of a suspenseful novel I created.

So there we were, squeezed in between two baby chairs. Well, my friend was, I sat shot gun. Clearly! I'm sure the conversation was nothing short of stimulating on the way home. I don't recall (it was about 8 months ago), what I do recall is hearing the latest Beyoncé track and blaring his radio so I could jam. This is horrifying for many a reason. One, I just touched the mans radio without even asking, and two, no one in my life would say I'm blessed in the dancing or singing departments. I would like to say that I would beg to differ. We agree to disagree on that one.

You can now add one more thing to my growing resume...master of first impressions with men.

Somehow it didn't scare him away, so all three of us went into my apartment to watch some basketball.

While I was getting us drinks in the kitchen I did the girly thing and started badgering my friend abort
about if she liked him. Only problem with these questioning tactics was that my kitchen is only separated from my family room by a thin wall. So he heard everything.

Yet, Antwoine still stayed. Probably another red flag. I mean I was just one big red flag that evening (reminders Hawks had just gotten defeated, so I wasn't on my A game #amIever), so for him to see past all of that was strange.

Cut to a couple weeks later when he showed up after I called him in less than 20 minutes (I'm pretty sure he lives more than 30 minutes away). What did he fly here?

Come to find out he left all three of his cherubs at home to come kick it with me. I know I'm a special kind of wonderful, but this was a little bit ridiculous. And neglectful.

Cheerio Antwoine. Thanks for the....ride home.

PS-considering I am writing this three fourths of a year later you would expect Mr. Sir Babies for Days would be long gone. However, two weeks ago I received a text from an unknown number. It turned out to be him again. Seriously, why don't men get rid of my number? I know, I know...just to g damn amazing.

We started talking a bit and guess what? He gave me a ride home after a friends birthday party. And then left right away after saying that we were friends.

Friends? Turns out a friend in his world is drive 30 minutes from his home to pick me up every 8 months or so. In my world, I call that a taxi service.

Getting a taxi out of this relationship? Could've done worse.

And another one bites the dust.

Act 2: The Meet-Cute

According to urbandictionary.com a meet- cute is defined as, "Scenario in which two individuals are brought together in some unlikely, zany, destined-to-fall-in-love-and-be-together-forever sort of way (the more unusual, the better)." Wikipedia.com defines it as, "A meet-cute is a term sometimes used to describe a situation in film, television, etc. in which a future romantic couple meets for the first time in a way that is considered adorable, entertaining, or amusing." 

Neither of these descriptions accurately portray my first meeting with Antoine. 

The date was January 13th, 2013. A day that is burnt in Seattleites minds. It's the day the mighty Seahawks were brought down by the Falcons. It wasn't pretty in the streets of Seattle. Not pretty at all. 

My day, as any full fledge fan, started out before dawn...much before dawn, with a thing my friends and I loyally call Shakes and Pancakes. We also had mimosas, but that didn't go with the rhyme, so we left it out for creative purposes. It was playoff day and the game was early. East coast early. So, roll call for the game was earlier. 6:45 am to be exact. Don't judge. We had to pre-funk before the bar opened at 8. It was a special day.  You would have done the same. 

Let me paint you a picture of the beginning of our day. I believe I was the only one to partake in a protein shake, a few pancakes were consumed, and two bottles of the finest champagne bottles were popped...and devoured. All by 7:30. We also were learning a dance that R. Sherm had so magnificently pulled off during a news segment. I couldn't do it, but the mimosas told me differently. #thankyousweetbubbly.

It was going to be a good day; as long as the Hawks pulled it out. 

They didn't. It was devastating. 

There we were. Silent and upset. By silent I mean one of my friends slammed her glass against the ground. It was a wee bit of rage. But it only lasted a brief moment. After I scurried her away from glittering glass and beefy bouncers I realized life must go on. 

And continue it did. I then turned my attention to my friends Mother, who's birthday it was that very day. My goal was for her to never forget her big day. Lets just say her birthday turned into an epic time with her getting two numbers. One from the Bartendar and one from a rando Homie from the south. Both smitten for this lady. 

Once I knew she was sufficiently having a grand ol' time, my attention began drifting elsewhere. Unfortunately for a lot of people (mostly me) it drifted (and landed for a long time) on my iPhone. 

That's when the "destined" and "zany" meet-cute started. 

With one phone call Antoine was on his way to my "rescue". I remember thinking...I must sound really upset...er ummmm something. #emphasisonthesomething

Going back to our table, I told my friend that our Knight in Shining Soberness was on his way to swoop us up.  She wasn't as thrilled as I was. 

When I got the call that he had arrived we ran outside, dodging meandering wanderers and miserable weather. 

So, there it was. Our meet-cute. It consisted of my friend and I jumping into his car at an intersection. #moderndaySleeplessinSeattle.  

Not awkward at all right? Minus the fact that I had never met him, didn't really know him... And oh yeah, my friend had to squeeze in the back between two car seats. 

Doesn't everyone start a healthy, lasting relationship this way?

Meet-cute... Done and Done. 

Part 1: The Meeting (or lack thereof)

I would like to go on record to say that I blame the NFL for most of these blog mishaps.  Why, you might ask?  What is wrong with the NFL besides the obvious (the Steelers and Raiders).  I would like to say that the NFL is at fault because the games are early to quite early.  1:00 is ridiculously premature to start celebrations, especially when roll call is at 10 at the local drinking establishment.  Or is it?  That means around 5:00 I am back at my abode, by my lonesome, without anything to do.  Nothing to do but get on POF.  That's right.  POF is generally my amusement after a day o' celebration aka Seahawk Nation.  12th Man! #smartchoice #wisewoman

The start of our miniseries is no exception.  There I was innocently minding my own business (read: not so innocently) when I stumbled across this gentleman...slash I saw his picture, thought he was cute, and started conversing with him.  Now, I have many strong suits, but reading profiles completely during Sunday Fundays is not one of them.  I may or may not have skipped a few "red flags" that were clearly on his profile.  Whoops.  More on that later.

I would say I started chatting it up with this character, which we shall call Antoine (names have been changed to protect the "innocent") around early December.  Back and forth the conversations flew.  Even a few phone calls were thrown in there for good measure.  Side bar:  I hate the phone.  Obviously, I would come up with an excuse of how to get out of a nice convo with him ASAP.  Which was pretty hard, because he was a talkative son of a gun.  (This fact will be amusing to you, dear Reader, after a couple episodes of this here miniseries). 

Point of this blog post:  I started conversing with this human early December and didn't actually meet him until damn near February.  OK, so it was playoffs.  So, January.  But when you are talking to Antoine for that long it seems like it was February.  Just sayin'.

The fateful meeting happened on a precious Sunday Funday.  But this time the Funday was cranked up a few octaves because the Seahawks were making a run for the Super of bowls.  The run didn't last long, but it was run regardless. And Seattle was bursting with pride.  AKA the bars were at capacity.

So, the meeting wasn't what we would call, ideal.  It actually wasn't even close to ideal.  But, my fateful Friend, the meeting happened anyway.  As my friend's foot says, "Que Sera Sera".

 You are going to have to wait for Act 2.  The working title is, "The Meeting".  Clever huh?

Men are Creeps

So there I was...fresh off of eating my first BBQ of the season, waiting for my friend to get to my place, when I thought, "Self, why don't you do a little blogging about your latest "love" story. It's time you told your audience what they want to hear." By "audience" I mean one of my friends who keeps pestering me, and by "wants to hear" I mean she was bored.  Whatever the logistics are, I was excited to start what I have already decided would be a three part mini-series on my latest endeavors. Yes, you heard me correctly.  There is a mini-series coming at ya red hot.  And why not?  They seem to be all the rage nowadays.  The Bible even has one for goodness sake.  #Godnesssake?  However, my series won't be filled with quite so much battle.  #justasmallpercentage

Back to why men are creeps.  I had just typed the title of the Act 1 when I got a text.  Thinking it was my friend who was arriving any minute, I casually looked up from my keyboard.  Instead of my friend's name I was staring straight at the name of the main character from the mini-series.  Mind you, as my loyal readers you might not know how cray cray this actually is because, let's be honest, you haven't read Act Tres yet...but I will save you some suspense and tell you I haven't talked to Mr. Main Character in two months.  And then Bazinga! Bazanga! Boom and pow! He all of a sudden decides to show his dapper face?  Hence my title of Men are Creeps.  How in God's creation did he know that I was writing about him?  

Is there a hidden camera at my place?

Am I getting punked?  

I'm pretty sure the answer is yes to both.  

I couldn't even go on to writing about this episode in my life because I was too busy talking to my friend about the sixth sense men have.  They always pop back into your life right before you shut the door on them completely.  Touche men.  Touche.  

Alas, my story will have to wait for another day.  I am sorry loyal readers (Reader).  

PS No joke after I dropped my friend off tonight, about three hours after I got a text from Mr. Two Month Chump, I got another text from the MOST recent guy I have started talking to.  I also thought he was dead in the water since he hadn't called/text me back.  Of course, I was talking to my friend tonight about how this "courtship" ended before it even began (don't worry, there is a blog in the works about this guy too) when all of a sudden BOOM BAM POW.  The man strolls back into my life like nothing ever happened.  Go figure.  Men....I just can't figure them out.  #orcanI

Stay tuned for the best mini-series since Katie Holmes played Jackie O. on the History Channels version of The Kennedys. #whocastthat? #anyonewouldhavebeenbetter

Until then...

Third Times a Charm?

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. 

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?

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!