Monday, December 23, 2013

Nicholas Sparks Has Nothing On Me

The past three months of my dating (or lack thereof) life have been nothing but a jumbled ball of confusion.

I'd gone on various outings with a pleasant gentleman caller, and spent hours upon hours texting the man, but because there was never any "determine the relationship" conversation, I was left to believe we were "just friends" with the idea that one day, it could turn into something more, but maybe not.

Last Friday, December 13th (Holy cow; I just realized it was Friday the 13th!) started out as an ordinary day.

Actually, it was a day where I took little notice to my appearance, wore mismatched scrubs, had greasy hair and a general "eh" attitude about life.

My doctor and I were just finishing up an appointment where the client was thrilled to discover her dogs lump was not cancerous, but a mere lipoma. As the appointment wrapped up, I saw two men, and a dog being escorted into the next exam room.

I cringed.

 Why? Because one of the guys was cute, and I can't handle a cute guy. I can handle just about anything else; give me a dead body any day.

I headed into the exam room, determined to be cool. And you know, I was cool, if I do say so myself.

The two guys were co-workers, one had come along with the owner of the dog for a break from work. For simplicities sake, we'll call the owner Johnny and his friend Bob.

As the appointment continued, I became consciously aware of a connection with Johnny, one of those moments where you can sense a mutual attraction, but you're not really sure what to do about it. We made small talk, and when the veterinarian left the room to mix up some ear medication and Bob went out to the car to retrieve the other dog, I realized I had nothing to say.

Johnny's dog, however, really liked the smell of my shoes (coincidentally, his dog bared the name of one of the greatest crushes of my life; we'll call the dog Bocephus). So, we talked about my shoes. They're great shoes, really. Barefoot technology (plug for the makers of barefoot technology shoes).

By the time Bob came back, it was clear that Johnny was single. He kept making mention of how alone he was, and (jokingly) how he had no friends in the area. It was a bizarre appointment, really, and when the time came for him to go, and I passed the dog leash back to Johnny, I knew, I just knew that things were going to be different this time.

That difference came about five seconds later when after Johnny left, the veterinarian I work for squealed that she had always wanted me and this guy to get together since the very beginning of time. I was peppered with questions, and asked if I felt the "spark" between us. I acknowledged the said spark, but I also was cautious.

"Oh my gosh," stated my doctor "You and Johnny would be so perfect together. He loves his dogs!"

*Squeal*

Johnny stayed on my mind for the remainder of that day, so much so that I sent my mother a text stating:
"Had an attractive dude come into the clinic today. He was kinda flirtacious. He's cuuuuute."

Saturday, December 14th, my veterinarian and I were scheduled to work together once more. She asks:
"If Johnny were to come into the clinic and ask you out, would you say yes?"

I assured her this would not happen.

Ten minutes before the clinic closed for the weekend, Johnny walks in the door.

My heart skips a beat, my hands get all fluttery and try as I might to act normal, I can't.

So, I left.

Well, I ran to the back of the clinic to tell my doctor the amazing and incredible news. She squeals, smacks me and jumps for joy.

I saunter back up front, ready to take on his request for a Larimer County license for his dogs.

He says:
"I need to tell you something that might make me blush."

He proceeds to tell me how for the past 24 hours, he has been kicking himself for not getting my name, for not asking for a chance to get to know me.

I, remaining cool, tell him my name.

He says:
"Sarah. That's Biblical. I'm Johnny, also Biblical". (His real name is Biblical, friends).

So I reply, (with my back turned to him, because a) I'm cool and b) I'm trying not to show my flushed face:
"So are you Biblical?" (What? Does that even make sense?) I clarify: "Are you a Christian?"

And for the first time in my 200 years of life, Johnny replies in the affirmative. With that established, we quickly connect. He tells me how he spent the night before praying that I was a Christian. Alternating between hopeful and depressed. But on this day, he had to, just had to see me again.

Then he asks how he can get to know me better, I, being sly, hand off my phone number and together, a Nicholas Sparks story is made.



Except we're talking about me, and this blog wouldn't be called "A Funny Thing" for nothing.

So, later that day, he texts. And we texted for awhile, the majority of it about our shared beliefs, and the second half about how he can't believe what a lucky guy he is, and how you never know unless you take a risk, and that this is from God, and this is the start of all good things to come forever and ever amen.

He calls me a few hours later, and with his Nicholas Sparks mode turned fully on, he tells me:
"You know, instead of hearing your voice, I'd love to be sitting across from you, seeing you, hearing you talk."

We agree to dinner, and he comments that this is the fastest first date ever.

And oh, dinner was grand. He told me how pretty I look with my hair down, with my hair up. How expressive my eyebrows are (awkward, but I guess it's true), how funny I am, and finally, how he's never going to stop pursuing me unless I ask him to, because this is it, this is the real deal, and he's committed to seeing this through.

Okay, guys, I get it. He was a little eager, but having spent the last three months of uncertainty in the dating world, it was really nice to finally have a man who was clear with his intentions. And he was cute.

We went for a walk after dinner, because he felt our two hour dinner wasn't enough; he wanted to know me better.

On our stroll (which, by the way was in negative temperatures), he asked if he could hold my hand.

I'm going to admit something here:
 I am a serial hand holder.

I have held way too many hands in my past, and *sniffle* have made a choice in recent months to only hold hands when it's the real deal. None of this hand holding intimacy allowed anymore.



 So, I told him "no". Pretty freeing for this former hand-holding-aholic.

As we strolled, he told me about our future dates he was going to be planning, telling me once more that he wants to date me, and he will be the most romantic man ever, ever, ever.

We paused at a shop window. I turned to look at him, and he says:
"Don't look at me."

I ask him why. He grabs his chest and says I make his heart go "Pitter-patter".

Pitter.

Patter.

At the end of our date, he asks if he may formally call upon me again. I reply in the affirmative. He hugs me, then tells me that, yep, I'm a good hugger too amidst my many admirable qualities.

For the next few days, a string of calls and texts follow, all telling me how he is pursing me, this is great, this is grand, this is it.

Awkward side note: He did mention how he had to shoot and kill a feral dog once (he wasn't sure what to say about my awkward silence, though he did ask numerous times if I was crying).

But I put aside the killing a dog business, and instead focused on a man who came out of nowhere.

Sad story: He's friends with one of my co-workers. She texted him to see how it was going with me, and I accidentally discovered their conversation when I was looking through her phone at a photo she had taken.

Like a creeper, I read a text message conversation about me. Indeed, he was enamored. I felt secure, for the first time in years upon years.

One night last week, he made mention of a past, a past he needed to tell me about.

His turn came when last Wednesday,  when we met together again. I shared with him a few woes of mine.

He in turn tells me he's still in love with his former fiancée.

Allow me to repeat. Johnny is still in love with his former fiancée.

They broke up a month and a half ago. They spent the week prior to meeting me fighting every night.

He lies awake at night, wondering if she is worth fighting for.

I stare at him.

I offer words of encouragement. I can see him mentally shutting down.

He then asks to go grocery shopping with me.

So, off we went, heavy food shopping. He buys me a beautiful purple water bottle.

At our last stop before dropping me off at my car, I can see this man is fading from me. Any vested interest is leaving. He's conflicted.

Because he's still in love with his former fiancée.

I could say that phrase a million times and never get sick of it.

He sends me a text one night that everything is "tough, confusing, complicated" and the timing is "really, really rough."

And: "I don't know what to do with you, but I'm suddenly afraid to do anything more, even though you're just right."

I suggest he stops talking to me. Because you know, I had no real emotional attachment to this man, and wanted him to be happy, because I'm nice like that.

Plus, I don't want a man who is still in love with his former fiancée.

He tells me he "doesn't want to."

So, while I offer to be his friend, and to encourage him in any way, he does the manly thing and disappears for a few days.

Until tonight, when he tells me he's gone back to the former fiancée that he's in love with, and he hopes to make it work, but oh, he feels horrible for/about me, and he'll never forget about me, and maybe we can be friends, but it's hard being friends with someone you have feelings for, but he wants me to be in touch, but he feels no peace, and he's not very happy, and so on and so forth.

Then he told me he couldn't text anymore tonight because it was making him "feel bad".

If you're going to pursue someone, make sure you're not still in love with your former fiancée.

Just saying.












Thursday, November 14, 2013

Law and Order


I recently found myself needing an attorney.

I've never hired one, so I didn't really know what I was supposed to say when I called numerous law offices.

I also thought that maybe I was crazy and didn't actually need legal guidance.

One attorney that I contacted quelled those fears and told me undoubtedly I needed some protection. We were all set to go into an agreement when he had an unexpected medical emergency and had to back out.

Nice.

...And on the back burner the finding-an-attorney dream went.

That is, until I was asked to sign an affidavit that sounded pretty fishy to me.

Mentioning this to my boss, I was instructed to stop everything, and find an attorney that day.

Making calls, the first office I called told me they couldn't help me because I needed a specific kind of attorney.

The second law office, upon hearing my tale of woe, asked me to come in immediately.

My boss prepped me that I'd only have 15 minutes with the guy, so come prepared and expect to pay $250.

And off this girl went.

I waited in the lobby, hearing a variety of depressing songs, anxiously awaiting my turn, nervous and preparing what I would say. My legal dilemma you see, is a very long tale.

At long last, we met. I'm about an inch taller than my prospective attorney, but at this point, it doesn't matter. He's got the required initials after his name that I needed to utilize, and so I told him my sad story.

Somehow though, my story kept getting turned around into personal matters, (mine and his) how I got involved in medicine, discovering that we had many mutual acquaintances, being married (or not being married) divorce, affairs, the whole shebang.

Admittedly, I was worried that the short amount of time that we  actually spent discussing my legal matter was stretching into hours of personal conversation. I was imagining the bill I would be receiving.

Until my future attorney said:
"Sarah, you need a cheerleader, and I'm going to volunteer".

Now, does "volunteer" mean what I think it means?
vol·un·teer noun \ˌvä-lən-ˈtir\
: a person who does work without getting paid to do it

Our meeting continued, and while he spent a lot of time staring at me and asking me what I'm thinking when there were long stretches of awkward silence, I tried not to look deeply in the matter.

Honestly, I've been kicked pretty hard lately and have no memory of what it's like to be treated decently by the outside world.

Also, I forgot my lip balm, so I spent most of the meeting trying to moisten my lips without appearing seductive (Is this real? Why do I have burned into my mind somewhere that licking your lips appears sexy, even if unintentionally?)

He also kept telling me that the Universe is in charge. The Universe this, the Universe that. Apparently, everything comes down to the stinking Universe and how it decides this, that, and the other thing. Great. I'm really excited to leave the fate of my life in the hands of planets, stars, galaxies, the contents of intergalactic space, and all matter and energy.

At the end of our meeting, still unsure about pricing, I asked "Is this going to cost me a million dollars?"

He patted me on the back and said "Don't worry about it; I've got you covered."

Okay, okay, the meeting was odd, and I certainly didn't anticipate 2.5 hours of fun-in-the-sun talking, but how is an attorney/client meeting supposed to go? All I know about attorneys is from watching Law and Order and that really didn't prepare me for anything in life.

I recall thinking during our meeting "Man, if this were a date, I'd be telling all my friends that it went really well! Two and a half hours of talking! I think we hit it off!"

When I mentioned the details of my meeting to a co-worker, she asked if I clarified to my attorney:
"I'm sorry, I didn't plan on paying you with sex."

Four days passed, and I received an email that was incredible. For the first time since my legal dilemma began, I had someone on my side who had the ability to defend me. Things were well on their way to getting resolved, hallelujah.

Today, I returned to my attorney's office to sign some papers.

The paperwork sitting in front of me, I keep waiting to actually sign the blasted document.

But our conversation went into how I'm doing, to what I do for fun (Decidedly, I hate this question. It always leads into troubling matters. Is this a guy's secret weapon question? When all else fails ask a girl what she does for fun?)

And into "Sarah is really boring" mode I go, where I explain that while I have a select group of peeps, I much prefer being by myself. Alone. In silence. I do this intentionally, like an insect who pretends that it is dead. Defense mechanism. I create an even more boring version of myself than you would think humanly possible.

He responds that he too is just like me. He prefers a low-key life. In fact, he just read an article that spoke to his heart. It was about how he just doesn't find people to be all that interesting.

Great! The matter is settled then.

This is when we begin discussing the great flood of 2013 and the marriages that crumbled apart because of it.

He tells me that it really makes you start wondering about what "Till death do us part" actually means, and why so many people do not take it literally.

He tells me about how secret communication, texting, sexting, and emailing all leads to the destruction of wedded bliss.

He tells me you graduate college, you're young and full of yourself, you're full of hormones, you marry someone, spend 25 years raising kids that you've created and when they're grown and gone, you find yourself eating dinner with a virtual stranger and all you can think is "Ew. You are not my type" and just like that, their interests are no longer yours, their dreams are not your dreams, nothing about the two of you is the same anymore and you have no idea what even brought you together in the first place.

He tells me "I'm sorry, it looks like I burst your bubble."
 
I tell him I'm speechless. Because really, what can I say? I've never been married, and while I'm not  living in denial that marriages fall apart, I'm just here to sign some papers and go on my merry way, not feel depressed.
 
Then he asks: "But the real question is, how do you feel about children?"
 
And so, I give him my thoughts on marriage and children.
 
And then I wonder "Why am I telling my attorney how I feel about marriage and children?"

He gently starts asking questions about my dating life, since I expressed concerns over my life (you know, because of this legal issue). I begin stuttering. I can no longer speak English. I say something about "interpersonal communication with people" Hello, oxymoron.
 
Finally, when he hears his next client comes in, he asks if I'm ready to sign said documents.
 
I sign, and I thank him for the work he's done for me.
 
He says "Let's go out to lunch next week to celebrate."
 
Hey guys? There's nothing to celebrate. No court case, no arrest, no suing, no damage transpired.
 
The blood drains from my face. A first! Usually, it runs straight to my face and I look like a loblolly (a new word I learned; definition here)

My response was somewhere along the lines of:
"MaybebutIdon'tknowifIamavailablepleaseandthankyouforallyourworkIamdyingontheinside"

I'm really, really bad at turning people down.

I don't even know what is going on anymore.





Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The One About Online Dating

I have a confession to make.

I have tried online dating.

Last summer, I suffered through the heartache of 2012. After months of moping around feeling sorry for myself, my dear Mother (hi, Mom!) decided it was time for some action to help heal my aching heart.

I was asked to sign up for a dating website, giving it three months. Surely I would find someone.

And boy did I.

Gentleman Number One

We sent each other a few messages. His photos appeared okay. We agreed upon a meeting.

The meeting was about two hours long, over coffee. It was rather non-eventful, and truthfully a little boring. I can only talk about sci-fi for so long.

Parting ways, I thought to myself surely this was a first and last meeting if I ever saw one.

And then came the constant text messages.

I'd respond out of politeness. But when someone constantly asks me what I am up to, it gets a little annoying. I mean, hello, why would you keep saying "I can't stop thinking about you" if you're not getting a response? Sure, I would respond sometimes out of politeness, but his messages far surpassed mine. I was just trying to be nice (story of my life).

Then came the fateful day that he sent me multiple messages, to which I did not respond to. Hours later came the call, to which I did not answer. Checking my voice-mail, he stated that he had driven the two hour drive in hopes of seeing me, you know, just passing through, late in the evening...

 

And that was (almost) the end of Gentleman Number One. He still continued to ask me for dinner dates for weeks afterwards, even after I sent him a "thanks, but no thanks" e-mail.

Gentleman Number Two

He seemed promising enough. Pursuing a PhD in mathematics, I thought this could be a good thing.

Ever hang out with a boy genius? Someone who is socially awkward, and beyond smart? Like, "what planet are you from" intelligent?

I will not divulge into too many details, but here is one thing you should know about me: I take my faith incredibly seriously.

Long story short, this gentleman pulled out a family photo out of a Ziploc bag and described to me, in detail, who his family is.

I asked one very simple question about where his natural father is (he only mentioned a step-father) which led into an incredibly awkward, unsettling conversation, about his father's lifestyle choices.

So, on a first date, in a coffee shop, we got into a debate. Actually, it was in between a debate and a fight. After that ditty was over, I thought for sure I had adequately ticked him off and he'd never want to see me again.

That is, until the next day that I received a three page email saying:
"You now have my complete and undivided attention-I'm not dating anyone else, nor will I start unless I stop dating you first. (Just so there's no confusion, I do believe I want to continue dating you for the foreseeable future.)"

This was after he e-mailed me his schedule so that I could know all of his comings and goings, down to Every. Little. Detail. 




Gentleman Number Three

After the last two guys, I was pretty discouraged.

To be honest, my heart was not into meeting this guy. Not because anything seemed wrong with him from the few messages we had shared, but because it was going to be yet another guy who was probably crazy, and I just wasn't in the mood.

Additionally, though I had never had acne in my life, my face decided that this was the prime time to have a monumental breakout, and according to my father, I looked like a meth addict (Thanks, Dad!) I was pretty ugly, and no amount of make-up could cover it up.

That, and my contacts had also decided to rebel on me, so I spent most of our evening distracted by the sensation of having sand in my eyes. Like, an entire beach worth of sand in my eyeballs.

Anyway, on a freezing cold evening, I parked on Pearl Street and tried to fumble my way through my wallet, looking for change for the parking meter. A few ladies approached me and offered me their ticket, which had a considerable amount of time remaining. Naturally, I thought to myself that this was a sign of good things to come.

Freezing, (in fact, I'm not even sure if freezing is an accurate word for that evening); I made my way to our designated meeting spot.

He met me at the door, and hugged me, (a first, since the previous two guys made it all awkward-like initially, unsure what they should be doing).

My hands, face, and the rest of my body frozen cold, we made our way to our table.

My Mom and I have a text-message code. I would send her an emoticon based upon initial impressions.

:) = Yay!
:( = No!
:/ = WTF? (WTF meaning anything but the intended meaning, because I don't use the F word).

So, the evening progressed. And for the first time, this guy didn't give me the creeps, and he didn't give me reason to argue with him. We had, what I thought, was a decent conversation. Except, if you know me: (and if you don't, just read this sordid story, particularly the third paragraph.) I am one pathetic human being; me and cute boys don't mesh well.

I ordered ice cream for dinner, which according to another guy, this is a bad move on a first date because the guy will automatically assume that these are my eating habits and in no time, I will become morbidly obese, and that's just a nasty first impression.

Gentleman Number Three made a few telling comments, one being that I'm not asking any questions (boy, if only you knew what was going on in this head of mine! I'm paralyzed!) and two, that I live too far away.

I sent my Momma a total of two texts that evening, the first being:
:)

And the second being:
"I'm actually having a good time!"

But then, at a Starbucks, when we sat down to talk, I brought up Kenny G when he told me about his love of music. Seriously, Sarah? KENNY G?!?



Yeah, because if there is any way to impress a potential guy, it's to simultaneously mock his love of music and talk about Kenny G. Nice.

Another disaster that evening was that I decided to be honest, and tell him that so many guys try to go too fast too quick with me. Whilst trying to drive the point home, all I really did was sound like a girl who was way too full of herself.

So while I thought this date was going okay (minus the fact that I couldn't talk, but when I did, I talked about retarded things), he seemed to like me well enough. He even grabbed my hand a few times. Gee whiz!

Until the end of the date, when he walked me to my car.

He hugged me, very tight, and told me he had a great time.

Then he opened my car door and shoved, literally shoved me into my vehicle, and ran away at impressive speed calling out, "I'll talk to you later". Oh no you won't. 

Trust me, I knew.

A whole week went by before he sent me a message stating that among other things, I just didn't appear interested in him.

I tried to re-assure him that this was not true, but you can only beat a dead horse so many times. He was, as they say, just not that into a pimply-faced, irritated eyed, boring, ice-creaming eating, only able to talk about Kenny G, and how-many-guys-have-liked-me kind of girl.

Can't blame him.

Dead Horse


Gentleman Number Four

As I sit here, I have spent a considerable amount of time with my head in my hands trying to figure how to write this portion out.

Within one week of communication, (meaning having not physically met in person), and with us only Skyping, he had decided that he wanted to marry me. (See that, guy number three?! I wasn't exaggerating!)

This is an odd sort of thing, but come on now; I've had multiple events like this in the course of my life. What made it different was after telling him he doesn't know me, and that I could be a crazy serial killer, he tells me that God "vouched" for me, so it's all good.

Disaster struck though, when he asked me via text message what my BRA SIZE is. Seriously, dude? Am I one of those girls?

It got weirder though, when he said:
"I want you to be my wife. That means not only my best friend, but also the object of my desires."

Well fiddly fee.

He got pretty annoyed that I wouldn't divulge this set of details to him, despite his best pleading. Yeah, red flags all over the place.

"I'll just have to accept the fact that you have your own reasons for doing things that don't involve my happiness at this point."

Apparently, I am "so darn attractive that the mystery was killing" him. For bra size? What?

Men, I have to tell you this: Breasts are not all that attractive. I see hundreds a year (because of my job, not because I'm a creeper), and gravity does a number on them. Unless of course, you're attracted to milk glands, milk ducts, fatty and connective tissue, get over it. Don't be a pig. Women are more than their bra size or a pretty face.




Needless to say, I opted to end this relationship before it even started. I had to. I'm not looking for a cheap hook-up. If a relationship starts this way, imagine how it'll turn out. He made a lot of disturbing comments to me, including (but not limited to!) That I give him "Nothing, not even sex". Well, buckaroo, a) I'm not that kind of girl and b) We never even met, so yeah, no hanky panky.

He also made mention of being disappointed in me. Well sir, I am disappointed in you. For shame.

His final text:
"Sorry for losing my temper last night. What I was trying to say it that I need a wife who can be as open with me as I am with her, no matter how sexual or whatever else the conversation is. Doesn't seem like you're that way. However, you're a great girl, and it won't be long before you find someone. If God tells you to keep trying with me, then I'll be receptive to that. But, the ball's in your court at this point. After the way I acted last night, I'm in no position to be in control of the situation. Whatever happens, know that I truly do care about you and wish good things for you. God bless."






People, if you're one of the lucky ones where things work out like they ought, count your blessings.

If you could potentially be interested in someone, just tell them. Ask them out to coffee. Take that chance.

I've spent half my life hoping that it would work out, and the best I've ever gotten after sharing my truest feelings was being called a "freaking woman" (yup, true story). Sometimes it doesn't work out, but you'll never know unless you try.

So, read my words and take them into consideration.

Otherwise....











Dead horse