Hi, My Name Is...

"I know someone who has a crush on you, but I can't tell you who."
"What!? Come on. That's like cruel and unusual punishment," I whined.
Grabbing the door handle with one hand and gripping 10 pounds of files with the other, she looked down upon me at my desk, squinted her eyes and said, "All I can tell you is, if someone comes in here and asks you out, just say yes," and with that she was gone.

I was left with the entire weekend to ponder who this mystery man could be; everyone was a suspect. Of course there were the obvious candidates – you know, the ones that would make sense, but not the ones you want. Then there were the few that I wouldn't even allow myself to think about for fear of being let down. "No way," I thought, "can't possibly be him."

Come Monday morning I had one mission and one mission only. I picked up the phone and dialed the extension that I'd dialed so many times before, but this time was different.

"Hi, this is Mary Lee."
"Good morning," I said all bright eyed and bushy tailed.
"Good morning."
"How are you?"
"Good, and you?"
"Great! Hey," I pounced, "got a question for ya. So are you going to give me any hints or are you just going to let this thing eat me alive?" How's that for a question? Yeah, I thought it was pretty good too.

"I promised I wouldn't say."
"Yeah, yeah. How 'bout I just start guessing and you can tell me if I'm getting warm? Eh, eh??" She didn't say no within that half second I gave her to respond, so obviously she had agreed. On to the guessing!

"Does his name start with an 'R'?"
"Nope."

Phew! Dodged that bullet.

"Does it start with an 'S'?"
"Uh uh."

"Is it Mike?"
"Who's Mike?"

Cool, wasn't hoping for that either.

"You've probably seen him walking past the office before...he may have even waved to you," she said.
"Does he work at the bar?"
"Now why would you say that?"

It was at this point that I began to get that same feeling that comes over you when your mom begins to say "Warm, warm, waarrmmer" as you're opening the coat-closet door to undoubtedly find the best present EVER! Of course, most of the time, it turns out to be socks, but those five seconds before knowing are sick.

"Is he really tall?"
"Yep."
"Handsome?"
"Yep."
"My age?"
"Uh huh."
"Serious!?"
"As a heart attack. By the way, his name is Jim and you're welcome."
"Thank you!"

As I hung up the phone I realized I suddenly had a case of the grins. It was one of the worst I've had in years; I just couldn't shake it. Worse yet, as the day drew on additional symptoms appeared – one of which included being giddy as a school girl. This was serious.
My severe case of the happys continued over the next few days; however, come the third, nothing had happened and my symptoms began to fade as I thought about how unlikely a scenario this really was. I mean think about it. Here's a girl, who you've never met, and you're supposed to walk in cold to her office, while she's working, and in front of her coworkers ask her out? Umm...yeah, like that's going to happen.
I decided it was best to leave my school-girl notions at the door and get back to reality. Knowing that a handsome someone had a crush on me would have to be enough.

I had all but gotten on with my life, when suddenly, it happened. Sensing a shadow at the door, I looked up to see a tall, handsome man walking in with what else? Coffee.* It is the price of entry after all.

"Crap, this is really happening," I said to myself as my heart pounded a little faster.

His hand shaking a little, he placed the coffee down on my desk and said, "Hi, my name is Jim."
"Hi, I'm Jenna."
"Hi, Jenna. I've heard we have a lot in common and that I should ask you for your number and not take no for an answer."

Whoa! Right? I mean how often do you hear something like that nowadays? It takes a lot to rattle me, but I'm not going to lie, I was rattled.
In the coolest, most un-nervous voice I could muster, I responded, "Well in that case, I better give you my number."

To be continued... Yes, I know I'm evil :)
*For the coffee reference, see "The Best Part of Waking Up."

Every Breath You Take

What?? I haven't been avoiding you. I don't know what you're talking about. What text? It's probably just my phone...it's been acting up lately. In the parking lot? No I didn't see you flailing your arms like a crazy person trying to get my attention...are you sure it was even me? No, I don't go to that Albertsons...in fact, I don't grocery shop at all...don't really believe in it.Email you say? What is this email of which you speak? Outside of my apartment? Could see my feet under the door?

Huh, that's odd. I don't recall any of this, but ,oh, would you look at the time! I'd love to catch up, but wouldn't you know I've gotta get to the space center. Yeah, I've been chosen along with a few other lucky individuals to break in a new city that was built in outer space. They say I won't be back for a good 10 years, so yeaaahhh...but it was sure nice seeing ya!
OK, enough fooling around. I know you feel like I've been dodging you....not returning your phone calls, not blogging, even taking down previous blog posts for a while, but it's not you, it's me. I've been flying under the radar lately. What? Will I tell you why? No! Not yet anyway, but don't worry, I promise you'll reap the benefits of this mystery one day and besides, I do have some good news to share with you. I want to get back together! And you thought you were free of my neurosis forever.
So gather round children because I have a scary story just for you. It is almost Halloween after all *Cue Creepy Laugh*


.


"I know someone I think you might like,"the text read.
"Oh yeah?" I replied."Yeah, he's a firefighter, goes to my church...really sweet guy."
"Ooh firefighter huh?? How old, how tall, cute??" Yes, I asked how tall he was. Now some of you may be thinking at this moment, "How shallow! For shame!" And to you I say, shutty.

I don't feel bad at all about wanting the guy to be taller than me. It's a matter of safety really. I went out with a short guy once. I remember I had a hard time enjoying the evening because I spent a considerable amount of time sizing up the creepy bystanders who had shown up in Old Town that night. Looking down at my date confirmed if the shat hit the fan, I'd have to be the one to man up. Luckily he was light enough to be used as a weapon.

"He's 27, about your height...a little taller and VERY cute."
"Well, hook it up!"Now normally I'm not a big fan of being set up, but it had been about a month since the breakup from hell, and as any good rebounder will tell you, the rule of thumb which just so happens to be rule number six for those of who have been following along is: After a bad breakup, you must date anything with legs just to prove you're over it. So bring on the carnies!

It was about two or three days later that I received the lazy man's version of "Hi" otherwise known as "the friend request." Why of course I'd love to be your friend person that I don't even know. You'll be added to my list of 375 other friends whom I can barely remember. Welcome.

"Hey, how's it going? Beth said that I should say what up. She thinks we might hit it off." I know this is a normal practice, but I always think it's odd when someone you don't know asks you "How's it going?" One time, just for fun, I want to come back with a "Terrible!" Then I'd continue with some long drawn-out story about someone they've never met and ask them for their advice and whether or not the relationship is worth saving. I think you should try it too.

"It's going good. Yeah, Beth told me the same thing." From there we began the standard back-and-forth, get-to-know-you messages made possible by the Facebook inbox. At first the conversation was normal enough – what he did for a living, what he liked to do for fun, favorite food etc. Then apparently he felt it was time for disclosures.

"I was married briefly until the bitch cheated on me and ruined my life."
Suuuurprisee!!
"I had a lot of anger at the time and it took me a while to get over it."

You know that commercial that uses the terms "upgrade" and "downgrade"? For 50 points, which one is this? Ding ding ding! Just for that you get a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup – pumpkin edition. Be sure to brush your teeth before bed.










So, no, I wasn't thrilled by this revelation, but I figured, hey, he'd been cheated on, not his fault and understandable why he'd be angry. No need to get off the ride yet...let's see where this goes.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I wrote.
"Thanks."
"I'm glad to hear you're doing better though."
"Yeah, well, the girl I started dating after my divorce really solidified that I needed help with my anger."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, after we had been dating for a few months she started telling me that I was too clingy and needed to give her some space. Then I started sending her really awful text messages saying really mean things which caused her to file a restraining order."


"I see..."

At this point survival techniques started flashing in my head:
Don't run or he'll chase you.
Stomp your feet and clap your hands.
Make yourself look as big as you can. Put your arms over your head and stretch pieces of clothing between your hands.
Yell fire. No one ever responds to help.
Follow the stream, always follow the stream.
And for God's sake, no sudden movements!

"Well, I'm not sure if Beth told you this, but I'm not really looking to date anyone right now. I just got out of a relationship and really just want to be friends more than anything else." Not bad right? I thought Bear Grylls would applaud my approach – it's not you, it's me...lowered the boom softly...short and sweet.

"Sure, I understand. No hard feelings."

Phew! That could have been....*text message received* :Hey Jenna, it's Crazy McCrazy. Want to meet up later?:

Eeer...uh...huh? Maybe I wasn't clear.

:Hey, thanks for the offer, but I'm kind of busy all the time lately, so I probably won't be able to hang out: There. That should do ....*text message received* :That's cool. So tomorrow then?:

Apparently plan A wasn't working, so it was on to plan B: Ignore all texts and fall off the face of the planet. *Text message received* La la la, I don't hear you. *Text message received* La la la, I'm not listening.

You would think after say maybe a month of this that he would get the hint, right? Wrongo! This creeptastic practice of sending messages into the atmosphere went on for over four months! He had formed an entire relationship without any cooperation. One day we'd be in a good place and he'd be congratulating me on passing a test or something (he knew about this because I was afraid to delete him from Facebook...didn't want to send Norman Bates over the edge), and the next day he'd be mad at me and tell me he was never going to speak to me again.

At one point he deleted me from Facebook and promised never to bother me again only to send me a friend request a month later. Can you say psycho!?!?

Like most terrible relationships, ours finally came to an end on the happiest day of the year – Valentine's Day. I received a heartwarming text from my special little Valentine that lover's evening letting me know how much he cared. Now luckily, I happened to be visiting my brother (yeah, nothing says "I'm cool" like hanging out with your sibling on a couple's holiday).

"Ugh, this creep won't stop texting me," I complained.
"Oh yeah? Let me see your phone."

:Hi, who's this?: My brother wrote.
:What do you mean who's this? It's Crazy McCrazy:
:I think you've go the wrong number, bro. I just got this phone number, and, I'm a dude.:
:Oh, sorry man. Have a good night:

And that was the end of it. Apparently Crazy McCrazy had about as much investigative prowess as Trusty from "Lady and the Tramp." Don't you just hate/love when someone comes along and solves a problem that's been bothering you for months with the greatest of ease?? Yeah, me too.

P.S. Happy Halloween!!

The Best Part of Waking Up...

I’m sorry. You’re right. Relationships are built on consistency. I realize that I can’t turn you on and off whenever I feel like it. You’re a human being with real feelings and the neglect you feel is also real.

I know it’s been over a month, and I could give a lot of excuses, but I won’t… because doing so would only serve to belittle you that much more. Instead, I’m just going to say…

Welcome to another rousing round of “Adventures in Dating!!!”

I’m going to fast forward a little from our last episode to a more recent escapade. Never fear, I’ll be sure to cover my version of Mr. Big at some point, but now isn't the time. By the way, not to spoil the ending or anything, but unlike Carrie and Big, we don’t end up together in the end with each having learned from our mistakes culminating with an “ah-ha moment” at a local diner surrounded by friends. No, no, our ending did include an ah-ha moment but it was solely on my end when I realized ah-ha! He’s a total tool!

But more on the tool later. Today, we cover a gentleman who affectionately became known around my office as Coffee Guy.

OK, so in order for you to understand how Coffee Guy and I even met, you'll have to have a clear picture of where I work. My office just happens to be the only office in a location normally reserved for shops and restaurants at a popular resort. I sit in the front of the office behind a glass door where I'm on display from 9-5 like a monkey at your local zoo. For this reason, and this reason alone, I recently gave up eating bananas at work; I figure, why perpetuate the stereotype. I have a brain darn it!

There are some interesting perks that come with my office location: 1) I've perfected the pageant wave...as in, I've got that sucker down to a science. Not to brag or anything, but Miss America might think twice about meeting up with me in a dark alley.

2) In order to avoid having my picture taken by Asian men, I've become master of the "duck and cover." Yes, it's a phenomenon I don't quite understand either, but male, Asian tourists seem to feel the need to take a picture of the white girl behind the glass. Part of me thinks that somewhere down the line I'll be recognized for my stellar performance in "Crouching Hooker, Hidden Pimp", but let's hope not.

3) People I don't know seem to know me in the "I've seen you behind the glass" kind of way, and it's this final perk (pun intended) that led me to meet Coffee Guy.

It was a typical work week. There I was sitting behind my desk typing away on my little laptop when all of a sudden, the fourth wall was breached and a tall, dark and kind-of-handsome man entered my office. He didn't say a word, but left a grande java on my desk and like a fart in the wind disappeared just as quickly as he had come.

"Who was that?" asked my coworker. "Ya got me," I said.

And so continued this dance for weeks. Like clockwork, once a week, there he'd be, hot beverage in hand.

After about the third cup, I figured one of us was going to have to say something, so being the confident woman that I am, I went out on a limb and said "Hi." Victory. He responded with an equally clever "Hello." The lines of communication had been opened.

After that we began having actual mini conversations - all of which were preceded by a hot drink. I think he thought it was the price of entry; no one was allowed to talk to the monkey unless they came bearing its favorite beverage.

Little did he know that the monkey was secretly dumping out most of the drinks when he wasn't looking. He obviously didn't know the monkey very well because if he did, he would have known that she likes plain, old coffee and fluffy, chocolaty drinks make the monkey's middle expand. The monkey could never tell him this though, because really, it's the thought that counts.

After about three months (ridiculous, right?), he finally asked me out on a lunch date. At this point, the entire office was in on it and I was heartily encouraged to go. Now, I'm not going to lie; it wasn't the most thrilling date I've been on, but it was pleasant enough and I figured maybe somewhere down the road some sparks would develop if I willed it enough.

Lesson 4: You can wish upon every star, throw a gazillion pennies into a fountain, and blow candles out until you're blue in the face, but if you're not attracted to somebody, it ain't ever gonna happen, so give it up.

Unfortunately, my own lesson was lost on me at that time, and so the pattern continued for months with many a fluffy coffee drink paying the ultimate price. Fortunately, coffee was the only casualty - no ice cream or cake was harmed in the making of this pseudo relationship as there was no opportunity for dessert since we only went on the one date. Yes, that's right, just the one. Strange right? He continued to bring me coffee, would be leaving the office the same time as I was on a Friday night, heck, we even parked next to each other one time, but he never suggested a second date.

Lesson 5: Lunch dates are a sure sign the guy is married.

Having my suspicions that lesson numero cinco was in play, I decided to do what any normal girl would do - a background check. Don't you just love the internet! Without a last name (no we hadn't progressed that far), I used the next best thing - his license plate number. There we were, my boss and I, huddled over the computer like Nancy Drew and Angela Lansbury determined to solve the case. All the information had been entered, and by all I mean his seven digit license number, we pressed "enter" and waited with bated breath...

"For Only $19.95 You Can Run a Background Check" the screen said. "Well, " my boss asked, "Do you want to do it?"

"Eh, I'm not really even attracted to him. I'll save my 20 bucks." And so ended that relationship.

TMI

Hello! It’s me again returning with yet another rousing tale of “Adventures in Dating!” In case you’re wondering why I made the title big like that, it’s because in my brain I picture a vintage radio announcer saying it in a very dramatic, 1940’s fashion. Kind of like this… http://www.oldtimeradiofans.com/old_radio_commercials/Old_Spice.mp3

On a side note, if you ever want to have ridiculous amounts of fun, Google “1940s Radio Commercials.” By the time you’re done, you’re ready to support the war, buy Pepsi and make Aunt Jemima pancakes. All in all a good time.

OK, now where were we? Ah yes…the fine, young gentlemen that have inspired this blog. On the last episode of “Adventures in Dating,” we met Mr. Holier Than Thou, the pseudo-pious, tip-one-upper extraordinaire. It was around the same time that I had my few, head scratching encounters with Mr. Holier that our next subject entered the picture. OK, fine. It was the exact same time. In fact, I actually had two dates in one day – the only time in my life this has ever happened also known as...the… day… I… was… The Man! Figuratively speaking, of course.

Having always loved the world of cinema, I would often try to nurture my passion by frequenting the local Blockbuster. Ah yes, similar to the Louvre, its artistic selection was unsurpassed. Would I indulge in a little comedic entertainment and rent “The Great Outdoors” for the 27th time, or connect to my more dramatic side with “Fried Green Tomatoes”? The possibilities were endless!

He was a Blockbuster clerk and I was a movie buff; it was the perfect storm. He first noticed me at the young age of 16. Over time, his interest became more and more clear to me as he would always make a point to gently hand me my movie and whisper in his most sultry tone, “Be kind….rewind.” At first I thought he just really liked the vhs tapes, but being the savvy young lady that I was, I eventually caught on.

In describing him, I’d be remiss not to mention the twinkle in his eye. He always had it no matter when I saw him, and it’s the first physical trait that pops into my mind looking back. In doing a little research for this posting, I discovered that this twinkle is caused by an involuntary, very wide dilation in the eye when a person experiences an intense physical attraction to someone. So, FYI, if you ever happen to see that little glimmer, be aware, they’re totally mackin’ on ya, or, their eye could just be watering in which case trying to make out with them would probably be a bad idea. Anyways…

Complimenting his big, brown twinkly eyes was his dark wavy hair and always stylish blue, Blockbuster polo shirt and khakis. He was of average height and build, and come to think of it, had he been wearing a red Tommy Bahama button down, he would have looked a lot like this guy. Funny how that happens.

Given I was only 16 and he was 21, he did what all upstanding young men with only the best intentions do – he waited till I was legal. Yep, I’m pretty sure there was a calendar in the back room that had Xs counting down the days until I turned 18 because boy oh boy was he Johnny on the Spot as soon as that birthday came a callin’.

It started off harmless enough. “Elf.” What’s menacing about “Elf”? Nothing! That’s what. I mean look at him.

Any guy that would ask me to a cute, heartwarming holiday film like “Elf” where the most offensive language used is cottonheadedninnymuggins has got to be a boy scout, right? A choir boy even. Wrongo!

Lesson three* provided by Sun Tzu, himself: The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

Johnny on the Spot was more cunning than I could have imagined! Who knew in between cleaning out the popcorn machine and charging exorbitant late fees that he was taking time to study “The Art of War”? A worthy advisory to be certain.

His strategy had worked. I was subdued: completely unaware of the actual person he was.

Following the movie, we went to grab a cup of coffee at the hip Starbucks in town; to this day, still the best Starbucks I’ve ever been to. It’s off of Rancho California Road in Temecula if you’re ever in town.

Sipping our coffee we started off by talking about the movie:
 

“Wasn’t Will Ferrell hilarious?” I asked.

“Yeah, the fight scene with the raccoon was the best!”

Etc., etc. Then it was on to the usual first date conversation: Where we had grown up, our families, what we wanted to do in the future, but somewhere along the line, the conversation took a strange turn.

Somehow the topic of his former partners came up. Now remember, although I’m the same woman who was on my second date for that day, this was also the only second date of my entire life. I was home schooled, people. To say I was sheltered is a bit of an understatement, so to all of a sudden be listening to things I had only heard on “Loveline” with Dr. Drew and Adam Carolla when the family had all gone to sleep, was jarring beyond belief.

Apparently he wasn’t getting the hint because he proceeded to lower the boom on me – the final body count.

“Eight.”

“Eight!? How old are you again?" I asked.

“23.”

Then I remember him giving me this look as if to say I could be lucky number nine. Uh, yeah, nothing I like more than STDs!

When he dropped me off all I could think was, “Please don’t touch me, please don’t touch me.” That was the last time I saw or spoke to him; although he did call and leave a couple of messages on my phone – one asking me to go to Vegas with him. Apparently his friend had a “sweet pad” with plenty of air mattresses. Score!

Alright, kids. It’s participation time! Have you ever dated a lewd Leona or Lecherous Leonard?

*For lessons one and two, see blog numero uno: Come to Jesus.

Come to Jesus

Yikes! The first blog post. This, by far, has got to be the scariest of ALL the blog posts. “Why?” You ask. Because this is our introduction, my first interview, if you will. I’ve gone to JCPenny (they have cute stuff; I’m telling you!), picked out my most professional, yet stylish attire, gotten a haircut, polished my nails, put my resume in a brand new spiffy folder, run through a few practice interviews with friends (which only freaked me out more by the way), and now it’s the moment of truth. Will I choke? Will I have sweaty palms during that all-important handshake? Will I forgot to be myself and turn into Robot Jenna who’s not nearly as entertaining as Robot Chicken and resort to one-word answers? Or will I dazzle you with my brilliance and leave you begging for more? Yeesh! Talk about pressure.

So how do I pop the lid on this Dutch oven? (Somewhere a frat boy just giggled) By doing what “the experts” say and sticking with what I know, and what do I know better than anybody – bad dates and weird dudes. It’s true. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with, well, let’s just call them “interesting characters.” It’s like I have a magnet in me that only attracts guys with issues. Fortunately for you, these years of tragic, therapy inducing interactions have produced loads of material which I hope you’ll find as entertaining as I have, and maybe, just maybe by dumping these horror stories out onto the page we’ll both learn something, and if nothing else, I won’t have to pay some would-be therapist thousands of dollars just to ultimately tell me my childhood is to blame.

Disclaimer Time: Before we can begin, I have to address the fact that some of you, who may be reading this, may, at some point, be the topic of discussion; it’s only natural. Now take a minute and let the color return to your face because here comes the good news – names will be changed. Here’s why:

A: Because I’m not a mean girl who wants to disparage the reputation of others. In fact, I hope you fine gentleman will experience some much-needed growth when all is said and done.

B: Because I’m protecting my lilywhite butt from getting sued, and

C: Because, well, it’s just so darn fun making up fictional names.

The bad news - my Facebook friend number my go down, but let’s face it, we weren’t that close to begin with anyway.

Now that all the legal jargon is out of the way, we can start the fun. So who’s first? Why it’s Mr. Holier Than Thou.

Allow me to setup the scene. I’m 18-years-old, still living at home with mom, dad and my three brothers, completely lost about what I want to do with my life (some things never change), going to school part-time at the local JC and working at the hippest, hottest place at that time –The Macaroni Grill. I was a hostess and he was busboy.

Lesson one: An obvious lesson, but one that can often slip our minds – never judge a book by its cover. Dreadlocks, pants that hung down too low, trendy glasses which he probably didn’t even need and a certain swagger that certainly didn’t say “I’m a holy roller.”He was half white, half black and half Puerto Rican. Yeah, the math didn’t add up to me either; as my friends say, he was “a man and a half,” or at least he thought he was. Mr. Holier Than Thou, himself.

Why he was attracted to me, I’ll never know. I definitely wasn’t his type. He liked girls that had a few strategically placed arm tattoos, wore black tank tops and burgundy beanies and hung out in the “cool” coffee shops pontificating about life – not this girl. And yet, somehow, I found myself on his radar.

Lesson two: If a guy is pursuing you, but then gives you HIS phone number instead of asking for yours, run the other way! This is sure-fire sign that he thinks he’s da sh#% and will spend the remainder of your time together reiterating this “fact” which is lost on all but him. Case in point: After mistakenly accepting his offer to attend his youth group, not only did he make no effort to sit with me, but he didn’t even attempt to maneuver through the crowd to say hello. !?!?! My thoughts exactly. Is that what Jesus would do? I think not.

The next part of this story I attribute to the fact that I was young and dumb – a theme you’ll notice throughout this blog. For some reason, which to this day I still don’t understand, he asked me out again, and here comes that theme I mentioned – I accepted.

The destination – Chili’s. The conversation – his higher calling to be a missionary and his disdain for those who hadn’t bought enough cookies to fund his upcoming trip to the motherland. Wow. All I could think was God must be shaking his head right now over the idea of this guy being his ambassador.

After about an hour and a half, thank the good Lord, the date had come to an end. Trying to be courteous, I offered to pick up the tip. He hemmed and hawed for all of half a second, but then agreed. So I put down 20% and prepared to leave only to have him pick up my money and one-up me by five dollars. !?!? Apparently, holy rollers tip big and enjoy making their dates feel like cheapskates. The date ended with him leaving his testimony on a paper napkin for the waitress and an awkward hug in the parking lot. Never knew what happened to him after that, but I hope he eventually had his “come to Jesus” moment.

Now it’s your turn. Have you ever dated a Pious Peter? Or a Devout Dan? Feedback is appreciated J.