Ha ha, look at me with my clever post title! Before I explain it, let's get the business out of the way first.
Netflix is the new myspace. I think I spent 2 hours on there yesterday. I added a bunch of classics (mostly Alfred Hitchcock and Audrey Hepburn stuff), then I went over and added a bunch of dramas, some Saturday Night Live, some 80s movies I've never seen, some Disney movies I haven't seen since I was a kid (Alice in Wonderland, Robin Hood, Lady and the Tramp, Pollyanna, Fox & the Hound)....and then I discovered the documentaries section.
I completely geeked out: British monarchs, orphan trains, China, history of Chicago, Thomas Jefferson, the Shakers, something called The Human Face, babies in utero, a look at higher education in America, Russia, a 3-volume look at the life of birds......I am out of control, people. I had to stop once I got to all the David Attenborough Nature programs. I am crazy about those.
And I wondered why I ate lunch with my teacher when I was in 8th grade. I am Dorkus Maximus.
I have stalled out on my weight loss at 13 pounds. I have been kinda bad the past few days (hell-o, chocolate-covered buttercream easter eggs, brought in by my boss!!!)....BUT the good news is, since MJ is quitting smoking, I will too. Not only am I wanting to support her, but I really need to quit. For real. Forever. Why not now? It's a bad nasty habit that doesn't mesh well with the following:
A) I am trying to lose weight
B) I like going to the gym and giving the impression that I am health-conscious
C) WLF died of COPD
D) 2 of my grandparents died of lung cancer
E) I like having white teeth and smelling yummy
So no cigarettes = more exercise. No cigarettes for a long time = I can pick up jogging again. (I'd like to say "running", but let's not fool ourselves now, ok? A runner I am not. I run like a girl, which makes it hard to take me seriously as a runner. Let's go with "jog".) Whatever you call it, I like it a lot and it really helps me get in shape. Gives you that long, lean look, you know? Ok, so that is my mid-term goal. After the quitting of the smoking.
Enough boring stuff. Let's get to the real reason we are all here: To discuss my Dating Adventures.
Or, in this case, my incredible ability to chicken out on potential Dating Adventures.
You see, readers, I could have gotten laid this weekend. Not once, but twice. True to form, that didn't happen.
Friday night was spent as usual with the Happy Hour Girls. The cute guy I met a couple weeks ago wasn't there. But a different group of guys was there. They are friends with one of the HH Girls. One of these guys was visiting from out of town. "Hey, who's the meathead?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "Oh, that's so-and-so's friend. He's from New Jersey," my girlfriend replied. "Oh jeeeeeeezus. That's great. He looks smart," I said sarcastically. I was glad he was on the outskirts of the group so I didn't have to talk to him-- I know the Ken-doll type. They think money impresses women, and between that and the gym, they rarely talk about much else.
Ten minutes later, my suspicions were confirmed. The meathead had worked his way through my group of friends, catching up and laughing with them. He hadn't met me yet, so he introduced himself. He seemed nice, he wasn't bad-looking. Fantastic body. But that was about it for the positives. I was hoping he'd go away, but as my luck may have it, he decided I was the evening's target female. Grrrrrreat.
True to form, he proceeded to talk about the gym and his car and his hot tub. He was nice enough, but I've met cardboard boxes with more personality. No sense of humor, nothing interesting to say. Doesn't read, doesn't travel, doesn't seem to have much life experience. "Yeah, when I've got some down time, I like to just hit the gym and jack some steel," he told me.
"Did you just say, 'jack some steel'?" I asked, stifling a giggle.
"Yeah. You know, lifting weights?" he answered.
"Yeah, I figured it out. I'm calling you Jack Steel now," I said.
He wasn't doing too badly as the evening progressed (we both love the HBO show Rome, so I dragged that conversation out to a full 15 minutes), until he made a fatal mistake: He pronounced my job title as, "lie-berry-un". I realize this is nit-picky and possibly even snooty, but it is one of my biggest pet peeves. Now I was certain that this guy not only had no personality, but he was also dumb as a box of rocks.
At this stage, I'm thinking, "Ok, it's official. This guy is only good for a hookup. There is no way in h-e-double hockey sticks I could ever date someone so freaking stupid. He's so lame, actually, I don't even know if I could hook up with him. He would not even be allowed to talk in the bedroom. Did he leave his sense of humor in his super-cool car?"
Of course, this is when he started hitting on me, hard core. As we were standing at the bar, he started to try and dance with me and touch me. "Whoa, easy tiger," I said to him, as I pulled away from his smokin' hot body (Ok, so I'll admit, all the steel jacking was paying off...). I told him I'm not big on PDA.
Just then, his drunk friend across town called and needed a ride. He had to go. Since I was still on the fence, I gave him my number. He wanted to know why I couldn't just go with him. "Um, I need to shave my legs. Badly," I said. I was not making it up-- I really did need to take care of my Sasquatch issues. (Isn't this always the way it works, ladies?)
So I told him to call me when he was done hanging out with his friend. Maybe by then I'd shave my legs and be ready. Which was good, because I needed some time to think about whether or not I really wanted to hook up with him or not. As I drove home, I went through a pro/con list: I I am in a dry spell....and I have needs...but, on the other hand, he's such a chore to talk to, and I'd want to kick him out afterwards...he's got a hot body....but he's so stupid....it's getting late...argh.
By the time I was done shaving my legs, I was still on the fence. It was 3am, and I was tired. I went to bed, figuring if he called and was willing to come over, that would be ok. If not, eh. No biggie. He called at 3:30. I was too tired. I said, "Rain check?" and he said that would be fine. There was always Saturday night.