It's not you, it's confusing

What the hell happened between Date A and Date B with Thomas?!?

Our first date was fun, and even had its share of cute moments. It seemed like we connected a lot. Date B, I hoped, would be even better. WRONG. Somewhere between these two dates, either Thomas or I had changed - or lost our X factor. Maybe he was tired. Maybe I was tired. Maybe we drank more in the last date. Maybe there was less adrenaline pumping. Whatever it was, it felt like we were trying harder to get the conversation rolling, struggling in vain to find that connection. He even seemed less attractive (!) By the end of the date we were both yawning (ladies and gentlemen, this is not a good sign) and checking our phones. I left the date feeling mostly confused. You know that feeling - that moment of disappointment after you've spent 3+ hours with someone and frittered hard-earned dollars on an oyster dinner [Hank's Oyster Bar - I do not recommend the oyster fried platter, you're better off with the raw plates. I also do not recommend the ceviche. And for a refreshing drink, try the Hanky Panky - sparkling wine, citrus vodka, and a splash of limoncella]. I thought back fondly on the William situation (which, admittedly, didn't work out in the long run). We would shut down restaurants, bars, anywhere in the world with our endless, effortless conversation. It's true what they say. Once you've sampled the three course prix fixe dinner at a five star restaurant, you just can't feel the same way about the greasy deli down the street. 

Two Hot, Two Trot, One Wins

Ladies, you will empathize.

Sometimes, you get lucky. You show up to a date. Expectation: Poor woman's Hugh Jackman. Reality:  Frankenstein's better looking cousin. Last week, I had two back to back dates scheduled (overcompensating in light of the Mr. V situation) with two educated and interesting men. Now, hold the phone. I look upon the two Gods and something that hasn't happened in a very, very long time occurred.

I, Ms. Thousand Dates, got nervous. And what's more - I liked it. I cannot tell a lie, audience. Let's be frank. It was because Doug and Thomas are HOT. TO. TROT. Perfect heights. Fit. Beautiful faces. I had extreme moments of shallow gawking during the date. In my head I think - stop staring at his perfect eyes. lips. chest. shoulders. arms. Man behavior alert.

But in the end, Thomas won. Optimistic, sweet, straightforward; a reader, lover of DC Happy Hours, and an avid traveler, he reminded me faintly of Mr. V; giving me hope that in that vast world out there, the shadow of what we dream for can be reflected in that initial mirror of another human being. And the reflection ain't too shabby, girls!

ee cummings - somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

What to do when your date has a nervous condition

Example: Eye tic. Blinking a lot. Biting nails. Licks lips (not sensually). Bloodshot eyes (warning: potential drug use OR workaholic). Any other signs that said person is living in a cave and/or has incurable nervous condition that induces real sympathy.

Suggestion: mention from the beginning of the date that you have to meet friends for a late dinner, down two glasses of wine so you can at least justify the commute there, check purse or phone semi-frequently so you come off as an unworthy date, make two trips to the bathroom in order to break up the conversation flow, and then try to go dutch. I promise: it will help ease some of the guilt.

Mr. Valentin

World,

I've been on a hiatus. Let me be completely and utterly frank about it. I've been on a man-induced-dopamine-epinephrine-norepinephrine-prophycranozanocra-no-drug-can-be-as-good-as-this two month hiatus. It's been nothing less than a harlequin romance roller coaster, and damn if I didn't enjoy the hell out of it. Now let's get down to the nitty about the man of mystery - Mr. Valentin - as we shall call him. 

1. I fell hook-line-sinker. 
2. Mr. V was just a little bit less attainable than, let's say, President Barack Obama. 
3. V has a secret little place in this heart for years to come. 

Ms. Thang! you say. What's with the secrecy? The surreptitious and clandestine nature of this blog entry? Why not serve up a dose of your own ENFP wisdom about people, possibilities, and pinot? 

Alas, my heart is in a state of recovery. More to come on the mysterious V, although the normal order will be restored as I hit the icy cold dating waters in weeks to come. 

You Can't Make This S*** Up

Friend of a friend text message:


"Sooooooo wanna hear a good story? The guy I was seeing dumped me through a Words with Friends message yesterday....only in our generation! I'm actually okay with it because really we aren't compatible and I should have done it sooner, but I didn't...the rejection part sucks, but it's def for the best! Just thought you'd enjoy the story! Worst part now is that it's my turn on the game....."

"I'll Find You on Facebook"

WORLD - I've got something stuck in my craw and it's not what you're thinking.


At James Hoban last night, I met a 6'4'' Australian armed with an PH.D. He and I were flirting and talking about, of all the exciting things, excellent PBS programming. He bought me a glass of wine, chatted up my friends, and made it quite clear (you may infer) that he liked me. When the group hit the dance floor, we were dancing. Ten minutes later, he said he had to "duck out" and then asked for my last name. I told him and then he briefly nodded. 


"I'll find you on Facebook." 


ARE YOU F****** KIDDING ME? Are we seriously in the day and age where you no longer even need to ask a woman for her g****** number?!!? If he had stayed one minute longer I would've served up a "Real classy - go to ****". (Hoping my anger is being adequately conveyed from this screen to your eyeballs.) This isn't just about some guy and a random Friday night. I invested all my prime time that night talking to you, figuring out that you were worth my time; if you could be a potential date;  and lastly, I ignored every other fellow in the room, giving you an advantage. Even a guy who just wants to bang you takes the trouble to put your number in his phone so he can booty text you. This experience deeply troubles me, fellow datees. 2012 is becoming a lazier and more treacherous place for the single girl when men don't even bother to call- wait - text- wait - email - wait - gchat- wait no - FACEBOOK me. 


And you wonder why I prefer online dating.