A couple weeks ago, I experienced what can only be described as one of the worst dates I have ever been on. Now, to be fair, I'm sure there have been worse dates than this one... This just happend to be my own personal seventh circle of dating hell. So I now present for your reading pleasure, an account of my date with the guy I now affectionately refer to as Ironed Pants Guy (IPG).
I met IPG on match.com. I rarely meet guys whom I feel a real connection with from this site, but they're usually nice enough, and I continue to use the site because I feel like I need to keep making an effort to date, however much I may hate it. Anyway... IPG guy and I started emailing and he seemed nice enough. Well travelled, well spoken, and he had a good job as an engineer- which honestly, that should have been my first clue. He asked me out for dinner and I accepted, and we exchanged numbers for setting plans. When the day of the date rolled around, I had something come up at work and I had to text IPG and let him know that I wasn't sure I could make our date, and if I could it would need to be closer to my work rather than the hour long drive we had planned on. Now, allow me to preface: I understand that this may have come across as rude, insensitive or even flaky. But the bottom line is, I notified him as soon as I could and offered to reschedule if the uncertainty in plans didn't gel with his day. After that text, I recieved a voicemail. Following are actual quotes from that voicemail. I will paraphrase for your benifit reader, because the actual voicemail was a minute and a half long. A MINUTE AND A HALF.
- "I got your text... I did kind of get...get...get a bunch of stuff, bought a nice outfit, ironed it"
- "sounds like it's a pretty serious matter, so I guess I understand "
- "sure I guess we could end up rescheduling... I don't have a lot of time, I travel a lot so I try to make the best of my time so I guess I was a little bit frustrated"
- "I don't know what you want me to say... I guess we could look into rescheduling"
Needless to say, it was obvious that IPG (the origins of the moniker should now be obvious to you) was not happy with my text message. I was incredibly put off by the tones of the voicemail, to the point where I almost cancelled the date all together. But, my co-worker admonished me that perhaps IPG was just sensitive and he thought I was flaking on him, so I decided to go on the date anyway. Never again will I ingore the inner voice that tells me "don't do it, this is gonna be bad!!" Never. Again.
Because the date was, of course, real bad. It started off ok, IPG actually apologized for the voicemail and seemed nice enough. Then the menu arrived. It took him 5 whole minutes just to order a drink because he grilled the waitor on the type of whiskey used in each of the whiskey drinks on the menu... Which was like seven btw. When we did converse, it was stilted and awkward. The best way to describe his intonation and mannerisms of speech would be for me speculate that he might fall somewhere on the spectrum. I apologize if this causes offense, it's just the most accurate description I can provide.
Then came the jokes. Or should I say "jokes." Just a quick sample- when I told him that I didn't eat seafood because I was around it too much at work, he joked that it made sense because he didn't eat robots. Nope, that was actually the joke. Even better, he cracked himself up so hard with that one that he couldn't remember what he had been saying before he made it. Ugh.
The pièce de rèsistance however was the actuall dinner. He took an impossibly long time to decide on the burger.... Then proceeded to get everything that actually came with it taken off, and added a bunch of other stuff. When the burger arrived, it had red onions on the side, which caused great offense because IPG hates onions. Like a lot. Then the bun had aioli on it. Big mistake. IPG decided that not only was that unacceptable, he needed to cut the bun in half to stop the offending aioli from having the opportunity to ruin his burger. I watched all this in a sort of fascinated horror... I mean, he cut the burger bun IN HALF. And then he ordered dessert... Insert head smack here.
In the end, the date ended with an awkward t-Rex arms style hug and me beating tail to my car. But, do not dispair dear reader, for the really bad date only makes me appreciate even more the unicorn that is The Really Good Date. More on that next week😊
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
The Voicemail: A PSA
By Kaela
Let's take a quick sec to talk about Match.com. I mean Match.vom.
Match was always this last-resort idea in my head. It was the place I would go when all else had failed and I was ready to settle. Turns out, I couldn't even settle for anyone on Match. It was the most depressing, I-can't-believe-I'm-paying-for-this, is-there-anyone-single-under-40?, hopeless experience of my dating life. The worst.
I did find one guy on Match who seemed nice though. We'll call him Buddy. Buddy and I emailed back and forth a few times, realized we had some mutual friends and things in common, and eventually decided to meet for an ice cream date at Sweet Cow (which is the best best best) at 3:00 on a Thursday in July.
He arrived 15 minutes late, which is fine - whatever - but not a great start. We then got ice cream and chatted for about an hour. It was fine. I didn't want to be there because of other stupid choices I was making at the time (long terrible story), so I honestly didn't try all that hard. I also didn't find him funny or feel the spark. He was a really nice guy, but *it* just wasn't there.
After an hour, he had to go and I wasn't sad about it. So we said our See You Laters and that was that.
I never texted.
Neither did he.
TWO FULL WEEKS later, I saw that he was calling me. My stomach dropped. "He's calling to ask for another date," I thought to myself. I hate this part - turning anyone down. In a way, I'd always rather have the guy end it. My people-pleaser ways make it absolute hell for me to feel like I've disappointed another person. But no, Kaela, get over yourself. Here's what he was actually calling to say:
"Hey Kaela, this is Buddy. Uh, we went out for yogurt, or ice cream actually, about a week and a half ago. I apologize for taking so long to call you back. I don't know if I told you at the time, but [[personal details that feel more respectful to leave out]]. So I've been dealing with that, and now the school year craziness is happening. Anyway. I wanted to say, hey thanks for going out with me. It was good to meet you. I think though, that... uh... sorry to do this over the phone... I don't know how to do this otherwise. But, um, I think it's best --- there's someone else I'm going to be trying to pursue through Match.com. So, um, thank you, it was fun, but I think we're best just as friends. So, I appreciate it. Give me a call if you want. If not, best of luck, it was fun meeting you and finding out all of the connections we had. Enjoy your school year. Bye."
I'm not being a bitch, okay? I realize that this was really respectful and he was well-intentioned. But also this was completely unnecessary!! And, in the end, it felt like a rejection when I wasn't even interested!
Public Service Announcement: This, fellas, is completely uncalled for. If I didn't hear from you for two weeks after a one-hour date, I think I've taken the hint. Thank you and let's move on.
Let's take a quick sec to talk about Match.com. I mean Match.vom.
Match was always this last-resort idea in my head. It was the place I would go when all else had failed and I was ready to settle. Turns out, I couldn't even settle for anyone on Match. It was the most depressing, I-can't-believe-I'm-paying-for-this, is-there-anyone-single-under-40?, hopeless experience of my dating life. The worst.
I did find one guy on Match who seemed nice though. We'll call him Buddy. Buddy and I emailed back and forth a few times, realized we had some mutual friends and things in common, and eventually decided to meet for an ice cream date at Sweet Cow (which is the best best best) at 3:00 on a Thursday in July.
He arrived 15 minutes late, which is fine - whatever - but not a great start. We then got ice cream and chatted for about an hour. It was fine. I didn't want to be there because of other stupid choices I was making at the time (long terrible story), so I honestly didn't try all that hard. I also didn't find him funny or feel the spark. He was a really nice guy, but *it* just wasn't there.
After an hour, he had to go and I wasn't sad about it. So we said our See You Laters and that was that.
I never texted.
Neither did he.
TWO FULL WEEKS later, I saw that he was calling me. My stomach dropped. "He's calling to ask for another date," I thought to myself. I hate this part - turning anyone down. In a way, I'd always rather have the guy end it. My people-pleaser ways make it absolute hell for me to feel like I've disappointed another person. But no, Kaela, get over yourself. Here's what he was actually calling to say:
"Hey Kaela, this is Buddy. Uh, we went out for yogurt, or ice cream actually, about a week and a half ago. I apologize for taking so long to call you back. I don't know if I told you at the time, but [[personal details that feel more respectful to leave out]]. So I've been dealing with that, and now the school year craziness is happening. Anyway. I wanted to say, hey thanks for going out with me. It was good to meet you. I think though, that... uh... sorry to do this over the phone... I don't know how to do this otherwise. But, um, I think it's best --- there's someone else I'm going to be trying to pursue through Match.com. So, um, thank you, it was fun, but I think we're best just as friends. So, I appreciate it. Give me a call if you want. If not, best of luck, it was fun meeting you and finding out all of the connections we had. Enjoy your school year. Bye."
I'm not being a bitch, okay? I realize that this was really respectful and he was well-intentioned. But also this was completely unnecessary!! And, in the end, it felt like a rejection when I wasn't even interested!
Public Service Announcement: This, fellas, is completely uncalled for. If I didn't hear from you for two weeks after a one-hour date, I think I've taken the hint. Thank you and let's move on.
The. Last. Straw.
By Kelly
Tonight I got stood up. Like officially, for real, sitting at the bar by myself for 40 minutes stood up. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my last straw. So I call up one of my favorite people in this world, Kaela, and we spend 30 minutes bemoaning the hell that is dating when you're thirty. And then we decide to write a blog, because there is no way (No. Freaking. Way) that we are the only women going through this.
The thing that kills me about this standing up business is that I was actually excited about meeting this guy. That's pretty rare for me these days. Why, you ask? Because I have been worn down by months of bad dates. Some worse than others, none worse than the guy who cut his burger patty in half to avoid any of the aioli on in it touching his burger (more on that gem later), but all bad none the less. I have liked maybe 3% of the men I have been out on a first date with. I have gone on a second date with maybe half of those. And due to this, my expectations have grown comically low. I don't even get excited for dates anymore! I gear up for them like I gear up for the gym- knowing I should do it, need to do it, but dreading it all the same.
Which brings me to tonight. Normally I don't tell people when I'm going on a date because it's probably not gonna work out, and after so many of those you get tired of explaining it. But tonight, I sent friends photos of outfits for advice and approval, I bought new black pants, I curled my freaking hair!! I went into it with real hope that, even if it wasn't amazing, it could at least be a night well spent. Ha.
So I end this, my very first blog post ever, with this question: why is this so hard? I am, by all accounts, a successful person. I own a home, I have a job most people would kill for, I am well travelled and well read. I am ready, after years of focusing on other things, to focus on a relationship. But I gotta tell you... I'm getting real tired of all this dating nonsense. So I think I'll go focus on my glass of wine and the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules instead.
Tonight I got stood up. Like officially, for real, sitting at the bar by myself for 40 minutes stood up. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my last straw. So I call up one of my favorite people in this world, Kaela, and we spend 30 minutes bemoaning the hell that is dating when you're thirty. And then we decide to write a blog, because there is no way (No. Freaking. Way) that we are the only women going through this.
The thing that kills me about this standing up business is that I was actually excited about meeting this guy. That's pretty rare for me these days. Why, you ask? Because I have been worn down by months of bad dates. Some worse than others, none worse than the guy who cut his burger patty in half to avoid any of the aioli on in it touching his burger (more on that gem later), but all bad none the less. I have liked maybe 3% of the men I have been out on a first date with. I have gone on a second date with maybe half of those. And due to this, my expectations have grown comically low. I don't even get excited for dates anymore! I gear up for them like I gear up for the gym- knowing I should do it, need to do it, but dreading it all the same.
Which brings me to tonight. Normally I don't tell people when I'm going on a date because it's probably not gonna work out, and after so many of those you get tired of explaining it. But tonight, I sent friends photos of outfits for advice and approval, I bought new black pants, I curled my freaking hair!! I went into it with real hope that, even if it wasn't amazing, it could at least be a night well spent. Ha.
So I end this, my very first blog post ever, with this question: why is this so hard? I am, by all accounts, a successful person. I own a home, I have a job most people would kill for, I am well travelled and well read. I am ready, after years of focusing on other things, to focus on a relationship. But I gotta tell you... I'm getting real tired of all this dating nonsense. So I think I'll go focus on my glass of wine and the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules instead.
Thirty and Flirty and Failing
By Kaela
Wouldn't it be nice... to not care. I would love to be one of those people who felt completely fulfilled by her awesome career, wonderful friends and family, and blessed life. And I am super duper blessed, believe me, I know I am. But the thing is, I'm also single and 30 - a place I always feared but never truly imagined I'd be. And to be honest: it sucks. I know, I know, I'm the worst feminist in the whole world because I'm not totally content with how great my life is without a man. But the truth is, I'm not. And guess what? THAT'S OKAY!! I feel like we (single ladies) are told this lie that we need to be one hundred percent completely fulfilled with ourselves and our own dreams outside of a man before we can ever find that dream guy to be a side dish to our main course of self-contentment. (And feel free to add to that the ubiquitous Christian lies about how we need to be completely content with the Lord before He'll give us the desires of our hearts.... I call bullshit on that one.) It's okay for me to feel sad about being single. It's okay for me to feel scared that I will never find my person. This doesn't make me pathetic or needy or an anti-feminist. I'm allowed to be disappointed in unmet expectations and fearful of not receiving my deepest wishes and desires.
So. What do I do about it? Well, in the last year I've been on dates (anywhere from one to several) with 11 different men. Boys. Dumb baby boys. I've tried Tinder, I've tried Match, and I've tried Hinge. I've tried bars and set-ups from friends. I've tried sitting at a coffee shop and looking cute, but apparently only Taylor Swift can pull that one off. And all of them have been... unsuccessful. Sometimes respectfully, sometimes heartbreakingly, and sometimes absurdly and comically.
This blog is a place to take some of these most absurd date stories and share them with the world. These stories will be not just from me, but also from Kelly and any other single ladies in their thirties who'd like to share their tales. Maybe if we can find the humor in all of this, the reality of it will feel a little less awful...
Wouldn't it be nice... to not care. I would love to be one of those people who felt completely fulfilled by her awesome career, wonderful friends and family, and blessed life. And I am super duper blessed, believe me, I know I am. But the thing is, I'm also single and 30 - a place I always feared but never truly imagined I'd be. And to be honest: it sucks. I know, I know, I'm the worst feminist in the whole world because I'm not totally content with how great my life is without a man. But the truth is, I'm not. And guess what? THAT'S OKAY!! I feel like we (single ladies) are told this lie that we need to be one hundred percent completely fulfilled with ourselves and our own dreams outside of a man before we can ever find that dream guy to be a side dish to our main course of self-contentment. (And feel free to add to that the ubiquitous Christian lies about how we need to be completely content with the Lord before He'll give us the desires of our hearts.... I call bullshit on that one.) It's okay for me to feel sad about being single. It's okay for me to feel scared that I will never find my person. This doesn't make me pathetic or needy or an anti-feminist. I'm allowed to be disappointed in unmet expectations and fearful of not receiving my deepest wishes and desires.
So. What do I do about it? Well, in the last year I've been on dates (anywhere from one to several) with 11 different men. Boys. Dumb baby boys. I've tried Tinder, I've tried Match, and I've tried Hinge. I've tried bars and set-ups from friends. I've tried sitting at a coffee shop and looking cute, but apparently only Taylor Swift can pull that one off. And all of them have been... unsuccessful. Sometimes respectfully, sometimes heartbreakingly, and sometimes absurdly and comically.
This blog is a place to take some of these most absurd date stories and share them with the world. These stories will be not just from me, but also from Kelly and any other single ladies in their thirties who'd like to share their tales. Maybe if we can find the humor in all of this, the reality of it will feel a little less awful...
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