I have this guy-frend. For all intents and puposes, let's call him Richard. Ol' Dick and I tend to spend a great deal of time with one another (few druken marriage proposals from him aside) and I truly tend to enjoy his company. To be honest, I allowed a dangerous flirtation with pseudo-dating, but considering neither of us is seriously interested in the dating business, we continue to pass the time by spontaneous friend dates. This is the kind of friend that I once asked "What would you change about me if you could?" And he answered. And I regretted asking. Figures.
There has been, however, one established date. And this is that story.
Before the Twilight series came to film, I jumped on the book bandwagon at the behest of my friends. I then journeyed on and eventually forced Dick to watch the movie with me (which he fondly entitled "Twister" or "Twizzler"). I then told him a brief synopsis of the rest of the story and he said that when the next movie (which he entitled "Boo Moon") came out, he would take me on a "real date" to see it. Free movie and dinner? Sure. My response: "As long as you pay and bring flowers."
I should mention that we referred back to the coming promise of this date for at least 3 months.
The day comes and we plan to attend with a couple of friends of ours (one a contributor to this blog who can attest to the validity of this story) and he arrives. Let me paint a picture:
1. He is wearing a tuxedo t-shrt, jeans,and sports coat (Really? are you MOCKING me?)
2. His first words are "I was going to stop by and get flowers ay CVS, but I didn't."
3. He has no money to pay for the movie ticket.
There is a phrase, a sort of MO if you will, that I have come to live by.
"I am sorry, but I do not have time to teach you how to be a man."
I do adore Dick; however, I am prepared for next time: I have a bikini t-shirt in my drawer ready and "allowed" him to buy my dinner/drinks at the next druken proposal opportunity. Fair is fair, ya know?
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Did You Get My Message?
There are a lot of awful things a man could say to a woman. Some of the delightful gems I've been told in the past:
Today, I got another delightful little nugget:
"You look nice today. Kinda like the wicked witch."
"She just has the things that you don't... I'm attracted to her."
"You have a terrific personality; you are a great girl... you just aren't pretty enough to actually date."
"Just because he's seeing someone else doesn't mean that you are not a great girl..."
Funny, right?
Right.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Joke's On Me
I signed in to my "LinkedIn" profile today (something I do about once a month, maybe), and I began browsing the suggested connections they had supplied for me. I noticed a vaguely familiar name, and as I stared at it, the story began rushing back.
I was a 23 year old full-time graduate student and part-time case manager for a local non-profit agency when one of my coworkers began talking to me about her nephew, Bobby. Bobby was a sweet guy, she said. Bobby has a good job, but he stays too busy to date much. Bobby goes to church. Bobby said he'd like to meet you...
Woah! What? Yes, not only had she been talking to me about Bobby, she had been talking to Bobby about me.
Reluctantly, I gave her permission to share my phone number with Bobby, and sure enough, he called. He sounded very normal and polite on the phone and suggested a lunch date the following week. That sounded easy enough.
Clue number one that it wasn't going to work out came about 10 minutes into lunch when Bobby proudly told me that he'd argued with his mother and taken an opposing view in the recent hubbub over a new Hooter's restaurant coming to town. He was all for it! Honestly, it wasn't his stance on Hooter's that bothered me as much as his complete lack of sense that perhaps that wasn't the best conversation for a first date with a woman enrolled in seminary.
At the end of our time together, we walked out to his car, so that he could give me a cd of sermons and music recorded at his church to listen to before our next date. (Yes, I agreed to a second outing. Dinner the following week.)
When I got in my car, I called a friend who was waiting anxiously for a report. She answered the phone sounding out of breath and said, "I'm in a hurry. I want to hear all about it later, but for now, give me two words to describe the date." The first two words that came to mind were: Black Cadillac. The man drove a black Cadillac sedan, and his business card from a local bank said "Vice President of Lending."
I know those should be very attractive things, but I was basically a very young, practically poor, grad student pursuing a career in full time ministry. He was a 32 year old bank executive that drove a black Caddy. I felt no connection to his world.
We went out the following week. I met him (because in my previous job, I'd taught sexual assault prevention classes and knew better than to give a man my home address too quickly) at a very nice restaurant. This was back when wearing clothing and carrying accessories with your first initial bedazzled onto it was popular. I'll never forget how hard I fought the urge to laugh when I took my coat off, and the "K" on my lapel was revealed. Bobby said, "Oooo, that's pretty," just like a little boy.
That night when I called my friend, and she asked for two words, I had them ready: Presidential Memorabilia. And, two more: Homeowner's Association. Bobby had spent nearly three hours over dinner describing for me (the 23 year old girl with the bedazzled 'K' on her lapel) his collection of presidential memorabilia and his epic struggles as president of his homeowner's association. I was bored to tears.
I was very busy the next two times Bobby called, and then he didn't call again. I saw him two years later at a charity event. There were two women standing very close to him, and he smiled and nodded politely across the room.
Today, I curiously clicked on his LinkedIn professional profile. He's with a different bank now, with a different title: President. Perhaps I should have tried a little harder to grow up a little quicker for good ol' Bobby.
I was a 23 year old full-time graduate student and part-time case manager for a local non-profit agency when one of my coworkers began talking to me about her nephew, Bobby. Bobby was a sweet guy, she said. Bobby has a good job, but he stays too busy to date much. Bobby goes to church. Bobby said he'd like to meet you...
Woah! What? Yes, not only had she been talking to me about Bobby, she had been talking to Bobby about me.
Reluctantly, I gave her permission to share my phone number with Bobby, and sure enough, he called. He sounded very normal and polite on the phone and suggested a lunch date the following week. That sounded easy enough.
Clue number one that it wasn't going to work out came about 10 minutes into lunch when Bobby proudly told me that he'd argued with his mother and taken an opposing view in the recent hubbub over a new Hooter's restaurant coming to town. He was all for it! Honestly, it wasn't his stance on Hooter's that bothered me as much as his complete lack of sense that perhaps that wasn't the best conversation for a first date with a woman enrolled in seminary.
At the end of our time together, we walked out to his car, so that he could give me a cd of sermons and music recorded at his church to listen to before our next date. (Yes, I agreed to a second outing. Dinner the following week.)
When I got in my car, I called a friend who was waiting anxiously for a report. She answered the phone sounding out of breath and said, "I'm in a hurry. I want to hear all about it later, but for now, give me two words to describe the date." The first two words that came to mind were: Black Cadillac. The man drove a black Cadillac sedan, and his business card from a local bank said "Vice President of Lending."
I know those should be very attractive things, but I was basically a very young, practically poor, grad student pursuing a career in full time ministry. He was a 32 year old bank executive that drove a black Caddy. I felt no connection to his world.
We went out the following week. I met him (because in my previous job, I'd taught sexual assault prevention classes and knew better than to give a man my home address too quickly) at a very nice restaurant. This was back when wearing clothing and carrying accessories with your first initial bedazzled onto it was popular. I'll never forget how hard I fought the urge to laugh when I took my coat off, and the "K" on my lapel was revealed. Bobby said, "Oooo, that's pretty," just like a little boy.
That night when I called my friend, and she asked for two words, I had them ready: Presidential Memorabilia. And, two more: Homeowner's Association. Bobby had spent nearly three hours over dinner describing for me (the 23 year old girl with the bedazzled 'K' on her lapel) his collection of presidential memorabilia and his epic struggles as president of his homeowner's association. I was bored to tears.
I was very busy the next two times Bobby called, and then he didn't call again. I saw him two years later at a charity event. There were two women standing very close to him, and he smiled and nodded politely across the room.
Today, I curiously clicked on his LinkedIn professional profile. He's with a different bank now, with a different title: President. Perhaps I should have tried a little harder to grow up a little quicker for good ol' Bobby.
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