How NOT to Pick Up a Woman at the Gym

I love the gym and spend a lot of time there running, lifting and trying to keep my booty in good shape and my arms strong enough for decking someone if the need arises.  I joined the local YMCA because it's convenient, clean and relatively free from guidos.  Most of the men at the gym are married, super old or really young so I tend to keep to myself, get my workout in, stretch like I'm in Cirque de Soleil, and get out.  I usually work out in shorts and a tank top, without makeup and my hair in a ponytail.  This weekend I made the mistake of wearing a tank that I haven't worn in a while.  It was one of those built in bra racerback tanks which, when combined with a sports bra and boobs that are apparently too large for the top, make for ample cleavage.

I went to the gym this weekend and picked a treadmill next to an old man, hoping that his potential to let out uncontrollable methane bombs would deter creepsters from my bouncing boobs that were pushed up to rest just inches below my chin.  I set my treadmill to "pathetic" (4.3 mph, thanks stress fracture!), cranked up the country tunes on my iPod, and set off on my power walking return-to-run physical therapy program.

As I was swinging my monkey arms to the beat of Toby Keith, a staff member sidled up to me.  He was sporting a spotty beard and wearing tube socks, the latest trend in the 25 and under crowd in suburban New Jersey.  Concerned my breasts were violating a morality clause of the gym that's "rooted in Christian values and dedicated to helping all people grow in spirit, mind and body," I removed one of my disco ball earbuds and turned toward him.

Awesome disco ball earrings

Gym Dude: "I've only seen you here 3 times. You need to come more often."
Me: "Umm, I'm here everyday when I'm not doing physical therapy or resting. I'm getting over a stress fracture."
Gym Dude: "Really? How'd that happen?"
Me: "Running. I have a stress fracture in my femur from running." At this point I realize he's not going to tell me to put on more clothing and is just trying to talk to me.
Gym Dude: "Seriously? How far did you run? How'd that happen?"
Me: "Far and long and fast" ::getting annoyed and wanting to return to my workout::  It's an overuse injury.
Gym Dude: "But like how far? I mean, I look like I probably run more than you and I'm fine."
Me: "That was rude. This is me ignoring you now."  :replaces disco ball ear bud: Note: Dude did not look like he ran more than a half mile ever in his life.  
Gym Dude: Garbled apology and further attempts to talk to me
Me:  "I'm still ignoring you. I'd rather listening to Taylor swift than talk to you...and I hate Taylor Swift."
Gym Dude: "Blah blah" Presumably trying to justify stupid comments
Me:  "Still ignoring you..."

I left the gym a little bit later and he caught up with me.

Gym Dude: "So you're leaving already, huh?"
Me: "Yup.  Well, congrats on figuring out how not to pick up a girl at the gym"
Gym Dude: "Sorry, it's not like at a bar where I can just go up to girl and hit on them."
Me: "Right, it's not, because it's a gym, where people workout"
Gym Dude: "I just meant that it was awesome that you um, run so far and stuff.
Me: "Yeah dude, I leak awesomeness..."

My Date With a Gay Man

Last Wednesday I went out with a man who had great potential.  He was divorced with one kid, according to his Match profile, and working for a great company, as he had explained in our emails.  He grew up in the country, works in the city and loves to hunt.  His family ancestry isn't Italian (hard to come by in New Jersey) so I knew I didn't have a fist pumping guido on my hands.  He was tall and cute with nerdy hipster glasses and I was psyched!

We were meeting for dinner so I had on one of my fabulously casual yet sexy blouses that looks like it's from anywhere other than Old Navy.  I got there on time and received a text that he was running a few minutes late but would be the man in the green jacket.  Considering I had "met" him on Match and already knew what he looked like, I found this fashion information to be a bit gratuitous but patiently waited for my green-swathed date to arrive.

I saw him walking up to the place.  He was as tall and cute as his pictures suggested and wearing hunter-hued outerwear.  I was so excited until he threw his arms out, squealed "Hey--eyy!" and wrapped me in a bear hug.  It was at that point that my brain switched into overdrive.  I must have blacked out under a frenzied inner monologue to the tune of, "OMG-WTF-are-you-doing-you're-on-a-date-with-a-flaming-homosexual (not that there's anything wrong with that) but-OMG-how-does-this-man-not-know-he's-GAY?!" because the next thing I know, we were sitting at a table with menus in front of us and I had an awkward smile plastered over my face like an idiot.

Doing my best not to overreact, we ordered drinks and exchanged the usual first date pleasantries.  I got to hear about his job, his previous job working with recording artists (including some country A-listers) and about his time in the Army (don't ask, don't tell, anyone?).  I started to think that maybe I had overreacted.  Perhaps this is what New Jersey country boys sound like...and then he complimented me on my Cartier watch.  He spent a good chunk of time talking about fashion and clothes and how much he loved to shop. I became increasingly aware of the fact that I was wearing a top from Old Navy and quickly changed the subject.

I moved onto talking about divorce and since he had not broached the subject, I brought up his child.  His Match profile stated that he had one child who lived away from home so I wanted to get the scoop. As it turned out, he not only fathered one child, but THREE children with his ex-wife!  So much for honesty.  To add insult to injury, he was also married when he was 19 and fathered a child with that woman as well.  Technically, that child lives away from home (because he's in COLLEGE!) so I guess his profile wasn't completely misleading.

Throughout the dinner I found myself so flabbergasted that I was on a date with a man, twice divorced, with 4 children and a voice that could only be described as FAB-u-lous! Aside from the lying bit, I had a great time with him once I got over the fact that he was discussing guns and hunting in an effeminate lilt.  It was sad to me though that after two marriages and four children, he still wasn't true to himself.  Perhaps I'm wrong and he just happens to sound like the Honey Badger narrator while really loving vagina, but this Badger don't care.  Gay or not, I don't date liars.

Warning: Explicit language!

Best. Date. Ever. (Kidding) aka The Night I Ditched My Date for Another Dude at the Bar

Several months ago I went on a date with a man who was separated at the time and going through the divorce process.  Although I was breaking my "No dating men who aren't yet divorced" rule, he said they had been separated for a while and were just working out the legal kinks of their custody order.  Having experienced the hassle of legal kinkery (no, not that kind), I threw caution to the wind and agreed to meet him.

He told me he would be coming from court, as he and his soon-to-be-ex-wife would be duking it out over their kids that day.  Awesome.  Putting my better judgment aside, I showed up and hoped that he would be in a good mood, as meeting someone after an appearance in Family Court is like playing a game of Russian Roulette.  When I showed up, he was sitting at the bar, halfway through his vodka rocks.  This is the point when I should have realized that I was dealing with a nightmare and bolted.

Instead, I politely asked how his day was, expecting him to give a reciprocal polite but vague answer then move on to more appropriate first date topics like politics, religion, abortion, or anything other than your divorce proceedings.  Instead he took it as carte blanche to air his dirty divorce laundry through another couple of drinks. After his third drink, he started referring to his soon-to-be-ex-wife as "that effing c-u-n-t" (because spelling it out is not only offensive but leads porn spammers to my blog).

To add insult to injury, my date then proceeded to tell me how much money he made, how he was the most interesting man on Earth, and other things arrogant people like to say that I try to tune out.  The fact that he was a Jets fan and drove a Japanese truck put me over the edge. I needed a reprieve.  What I really needed was to leave, but sometimes I'm to polite for my own good (yes, really).

I excused myself and headed to the bathroom.  On my way there, I was approached by a cute man I had seen sitting near us.  Having heard my boisterous date brag about himself all the way across the bar, he laughed and asked me how my date was going.  I told him it could only be better if he had a gun with which I could shoot myself in the foot as an excuse to leave.  As it turns out, he was a cop and did have a gun, but more on that later.  He told me to ditch my date and join his group for a beer.  I wish...

When I returned from the bathroom my date decided that it was his turn and I realized that I had been sitting next to a member from my parent's golf club the entire time.  He turned to me, laughed and asked me how my date was going.  Thanks for the encouragement, buddy!

After what seemed like eons but was really just another half hour, I threw out the old, "Should we get out of here?" cue to leave.  My date quickly took out his bill fold, stuffed to the brim with discount club cards and hundred dollar bills, paid and we left.  With an awkward hug goodbye, he got into his car, dropped the convertible top down (in 50 degree weather because he's THAT awesome) and let me walk to my car alone.  Best. Date. Ever.  (Kidding)

Determined not to let the night suck completely, I hauled my ass back to the bar and sat down in front of the bartender.  He took one look at me and burst out laughing (no surprise).  You know you're on a bad date when the bartender comes up to you after, laughs in your face and buys you a beer.  Sidebar: I love bartenders.  They're freaking awesome.  Some of my favorite people are bartenders. Ok, so that's not 100% true, but I do really like bartenders.  I just have to say they're my favorite people because some of them know more secrets about me than most of my friends. 

While I was making fast friends with the bartender, the cute guy from the bathroom came over, bought me another beer and laughed at me (again, no surprise).  He and his friends had taken bets on how long my Best. Date. Ever. would last.  Apparently, my date was the only who in the bar who didn't realize how bad the date had been.  This was evidenced by the call I received from him 10 minutes after he left asking me out again for the next night.  I respectfully declined.  

I ended up joining the cute cop's table.  He was with a group of friends, all in their 40's, having a "Guy's Night Out" who were happy to have a borderline-inappropriate hot young thang (my words, not theirs) entertain them with my dating horror stories and thoughts on happy ending massages (just say no, because that's gross and you're married, so it's also pathetic).  I spent a couple hours with them and had a blast.  The cute cop from the bathroom was recently divorced and we had a nice time flirting and laughing.

I tend never to be surprised by things that happen in my life.  My family and friends have often said to me, "Something like this would only happen to you"...and it's usually true.  Going on a date with one man and ending up giving my number to someone else, is not what I would call a normal dating story.  Strangely enough, this wasn't the first time it's happened to me, and it probably won't be the last!

Nashville Part 2: Play Something Country

I've been a bad blogger and I'm almost a month behind in posts.  In an effort to keep you entertained and to get back to blogging about my dating life, I will wrap up the remaining 3 days in Nashville with a few pictures and funny stories.  As I might have mentioned, I went to Nashville for a professional conference where I knew no one.  That's right, I decided to go to a conference alone, in a city I'd never been to, assuming that I'd meet some cool people and make some great networking connections...and that's just what I did!

The first thing I learned at my first ABA event was that lawyers love to party!  Seriously.  I had anticipated a few networking events, but nothing to the extent of what the ABA's Young Lawyers Division pulled off.  The first night there was a welcome reception at the Wild Horse Saloon, which was conveniently located next to the store where I bought my 4 pairs of boots earlier in the day.  This of course prompted me to tell everyone I met that night about the amazing sale and I was then branded the crazy girl from New Jersey who bought 4 pairs of boots in Nashville.  Which, I rationalized, is better than being known as just a crazy girl.

The Wild Horse Saloon was a blast and although I wasn't yet comfortable enough with a roomful of strangers to learn how to line dance, I did get dressed to the nines.  I knew going to the conference that the social events were "Country Snappy" attire so I packed to the best of my ability.  Knowing that I would be purchasing cowboy boots, I packed several short dresses that would be no less than freaking adorable paired with my new footwear and prayed that I wouldn't be the only one who took the dress code so seriously.  Thankfully I wasn't the only one dressed up and I found myself sucking back Jack and Cokes with lawyers from all over the country dressed in cowboy boots, cowboy hats, thick belts and plaid shirts.

I sat through some super-exciting Continuing Legal Education seminars on Friday and got done early enough to explore a bit more of Nashville.  I took a walk in my stilettos to check out the pedestrian bridge with a new friend I had made.

After a few pictures of Nashville and the beginning of a blister from my heels, I hightailed it back to the hotel to change into some more appropriate clothes for listening to live music (and cowboy chasing).  My new friend had opted to attend a diversity luncheon, which, regardless of the fact that diversity encompasses all races, I always feel strange going to, so I braved lower Broadway on my own.  I headed over to the legendary Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, where just about every country singer who is anybody has performed.

Inside Tootsie's between sets

I sidled up to the bar, ordered a beer and a pulled pork sandwich and listened to some young girl sing songs I'd never heard of.  Somewhat disappointed that this self-proclaimed country fanatic couldn't sing along, I sat back and soaked up the scene...and my Miller Lite.

It's Miller time

I was enjoying the music and had even made a new friend who was in town from Las Vegas when a fine piece of ass nice looking cowboy walked with his guitar.  I watched, and photographed, as he was setting up to sing because you never know how much US Weekly is going to pay for those "Before They Were Stars: Butt Picture Edition"...and because he had too nice of a tush not to capture.

I'm shameless, I know

The singer's name was Jake something or other.  He had a great voice, a good sense of humor, a nice ass and most importantly, he called me pretty.  This may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was bearing crazy cleavage and had given him a big tip, but I sat there pretending that he was cursing himself for being married when he could have me on his arm.  Seriously, why are all country singers married?!

You can't see, but he's looking deep into my eyes

Jake the cutie cowboy finished his set and walked around for tips so I did what any sane woman would do.  I tipped him again (with a wink!), we took a picture together and I immediately uploaded to Facebook so my friends and family could appreciate the professional networking I was doing in Nashville.

Friday night was another night of "Country Snappy" attire but this time we had dinner and dancing at the Country Music Hall of Fame.  Naturally I would take a terrible selfie of my outfit in the mirror before dinner and then neglect to take a picture of Elvis' gold Cadillac in the Hall of Fame.  I know, I know.

The Hall of Fame was great!  Before dinner we were able to take a tour of the museum where I saw some amazing collections of costumes, cars and gold and platinum albums from the greatest country legends.  While enjoying our night of dancing, I found out that I passed the New Jersey Bar Exam which made the night even better!

Wall of Records

Saturday marked the end of the conference but not the end of my time in Nashville.  After saying goodbye to new friends and professional acquaintances that I had met, I headed out to brunch for some biscuits and gravy.  I had heard that biscuits and gravy were a southern delicacy and from the moment I had arrived I was salivating over the thought of tasting these treats.  I headed over to Puckett's and took a seat at the bar before helping myself to their buffet brunch.  I gorged myself on biscuits and gravy (to die for!), bacon, sausage and a bunch of other stuff that my mouth literally just watered thinking about (gross)...and a Bloody Mary to cure my hangover.

Hair of the dog...

By the time I finished brunch and got back to the hotel, it was time for the most exciting thing to happen--Greta (from Dating Without a Net) came to party with me!  The two of us had been sending each other excited text messages all week leading up to our meeting (because we're weirdos who met on the internet) so it was super awesome (and a relief) when we discovered that we were both normal (and totally awesome) people!  Then our other internet friend, Jessica, came to party with us and again she was normal and awesome--yay!  Greta's friend came up from Atlanta and the 4 of us hit up the town!

Just a sign, there was no soliciting, discreetly or not, done that night

So as not to incriminate anyone, the main highlights from our crazy night out include Greta kicking her shoe over a balcony at my hotel (causing me to pee in my pants--no joke, I was on the floor laughing and wetting myself), all 4 of us riding a mechanical bull (Greta and I were in skirts because we're classy like that) and a 2am trip to Waffle House where I wanted to smack everyone for being so damn friendly! We were definitely "those girls" at every bar but it was an awesome night in Nashville with great new friends and I can't wait to go back to Music City!

The Man Who Wore Sweatpants

I've been slacking on the blogging lately.  There was a point where I was going out every night of the week but let's face it, dating can be exhausting...plus, when you find someone you sort of like, it's frowned upon to keep seeing other people (more on that in another post).  So, I curbed the whole going-out-on-countless-random-dates-from-Plenty-of-Freaks thing as of late.  I did manage to squeeze a couple dates in a few weeks ago that I never mentioned because they were so underwhelming that I didn't think to write about them until now.    

Remember Date #2, the Billy Baldwin look-alike from the night that I went out with two men?  You can refresh your recollection here.  Well, he asked me out on a second date and we agreed to meet for drinks on a Thursday night last month.  I wore my go-to outfit of jeans, a cute top, open front cardigan and heels.  It's the perfect outfit.  Cute but casual and doesn't look like I'm trying too hard.  Plus, cleavage can be added for effect and covered up with the cardigan if you feel too exposed.  I figured Date #2 would be wearing the male version of this outfit, i.e. jeans, a button down shirt or polo and casual dress shoes.  Ehh, wrong.  

I texted Date #2 from the car to ask if he was already at the restaurant, as there's nothing more uncomfortable to me than walking into an unfamiliar restaurant trying to determine if your date is in the building.  He texted back that he was seated by the bar and already had a drink.  I strode up to find him halfway through a Jack and Ginger wearing a track suit and sneakers.  I'm sorry, what?  Yes, you read that right.  He was wearing sweats.  

Call me conformist, but I believe there's a certain "uniform" that is proscribed through dating.  Unless you're doing some activity that necessitates different clothing, including but not limited to hiking; biking; fishing; shooting; going to the beach or having crazy sex, I expect you to dress like a civilized human being.  If not because you want to impress your potential partner, than because you have more self respect than to be unpresentable in public.  My date was wearing track pants, a t-shirt, a non-matching zip up jacket and sneakers.  I'm thankful that at least he wasn't wearing a matching tracksuit, as that attire is only acceptable for guidos and old Jewish men in Boca, but he was wearing a tracksuit nevertheless.  

He looked a bit like this guy, but with cooler shoes
[via]

Date #2 hugged me and told me I looked cute (obviously, dude, I'm not wearing sweatpants).  I told him he looked, "Umm, comfy," and he sheepishly explained that he had come straight from the gym.  Awesome.  So not only did you not shower after your workout, but you didn't have the decency to change your clothes either.  Nice one.  I would understand if he worked far from home or his office, but no, the dude works in the same building where his gym is which is in walking distance to his house!  Seriously?!  Not to mention that he wasn't the least bit sweaty of smelly which makes me question his gym-ethic in addition to his sense of decency.

Not to be a bitch, but I came to the date straight from volunteering where I helped snot-dripping children decorate with markers and glitter and I still managed to wash up and change into a pair of heels in my car.  The fact that this guy went from his office to the gym, drove past his house to get to the restaurant and couldn't throw on a pair of jeans floored me.  It's not like he arrived late either.  He was early.  If you recall, he had already consumed half of a Jack and Ginger before I arrived.  At least I know where his priorities are.  

The date went as well as a date involving sweatpants could go if there's no prospect of an elastic waistband coming in handy for some easy access.  He was nice enough but there was just no chemistry...and he was wearing freaking sweatpants!  

Second Chances

I recently got an email on Plenty of Fish from JD, the attorney who got drunk on our first date and tried to get me naked.  He asked me for a second chance.  Usually I don't give second chances to men who have tipped the douche-o-meter scales, but JD happened to email me on a good night...and after a nice glass of wine.  While my first inclination was to send him a "Who do you think you are?!" email, I thought back to our date (read it here) and remembered that before we had imbibed that 11% devil beer, things were going well.  In fact, just an hour before I drove home in a fit of rage, I had texted my friend to tell her what a great night I was having.

I admitted to myself that he wasn't fully to blame for the things that occurred that night.  I had drank more than I should have on a first date and, as much as it might have seemed to be one sided in my post, I was a willing participant of the corner table make out session.  Judge me, I don't care, you know you've done it before too.

Anyone who knows me (or has read this blog) has likely gotten the correct impression that I have an offbeat and borderline inappropriate sense of humor.  My post about Steak and BJ day might give you an indication that my sense of humor is at risk of being misunderstood by men as forward advances for sex.  Add alcohol into the equation and it can be a recipe for disaster.

JD was cute and witty and the fact that he came back with his err, tail, between his legs showed a lot about his character too.  I decided to give him a second chance...but not before messing around and asking how he intended to redeem himself.  After some witty banter in which he promised to keep a 2 foot radius between us; make me smile; laugh and keep to a 2 drink maximum, we made plans to meet at a local bar on Saturday night.

When I got there I was instantly relieved that I gave him the benefit of the doubt.  He was cuter than I had remembered, his arms looked sexy in the shirt he was wearing and, most importantly, he didn't look once at the ample cleavage I had intentionally displayed.

We had a great rapport.  It was the kind of knowing conversation that you can only get after you've both acted like drunk idiots and talked about the mistakes you've made.  He admitted he was too embarrassed to contact me after our first date, I admitted that I had drank too much on our first date and we laughed at the fact that our make out session gave the Russian pimp at the table next to us a semi.

We stayed long enough to have a great time while sticking to our 2 drink limit. With our first date redeemed by the second, JD walked me to my car, joked about giving me a handshake, like the gentleman he promised to be, then gave me a sweet goodnight kiss.  This was a second chance that was well deserved!

"Double or Nothing": How to Date Two People in One Night

Since my time is valuable and I'm always up for a challenge, I decided to do something last night I hadn't done in a while--I went two dates in one night.  If you can swing it, this can be a good thing to try.  It's an efficient way of getting two first dates out of the way and if you don't click with either, you've only lost one night instead of two.

This wasn't the first time I've had a "Double or Nothing" date.  Over the summer, I met up for a morning hike and lunch with one man and then met another for afternoon drinks the same day.  It was easy enough to do on a weekend because there was plenty of time--I scheduled one date from 10am to 2pm and another at 3pm.

Last night proved to be a challenge because I had to work until 5:30pm.  I knew fitting two dates into the night was going to be difficult so I planned to meet one for drinks at 6pm and one for dinner at 8pm.  There was some very strategic planning involved, so if you're interested in doubling up, here are some tips.

Tips for "Double or Nothing": Dating Two People in One Night

1. Pick two dates (one you like, one you're not so sure about)-- "Double or Nothing" works best if you are curious about meeting someone but not curious enough to waste an entire night on them.  Pick one date you like or think you'll like more (Date #2) and one you're just willing to give a shot (Date #1).  If your gut instincts are right, you'll be ready to leave Date #1 by your deadline.
2. Stagger the dates-- You need enough time to get to know each other.  An hour and a half should suffice for the first--especially if you're not super interested in them.  Make sure to compensate for traveling time.   I planned my dates 2 hours apart, giving me over an hour and a half for Date #1 and enough time to travel to Date #2.
3. Location--For Date #1, pick a location that is near, but not too close, to Date #2--something in the middle of your point of origin and your second destination is perfect.  A place that is en route to Date #2 is good because it cuts down on driving time.  Since you're not sure if you're that into him anyway, pick a place you at least know you'll like.  I picked a place I had been to on a previous date--it has a ton of beer on tap so it's an instant hit with men.  It was between my office (where I was coming from) and the location of Date #2.
4. Excuse--Come up with an "out" so that you can leave on time.  Bring this up at the beginning of the date.  Don't lie, just keep it vague.  "I volunteer at a place nearby so I've got to leave at 7:30" worked for me.  It was the truth (I never said I was leaving to actually go volunteer; I just let him think I was), it gives you an end time and the subject is quickly changed to asking about the excuse.  "Oh cool, where do you volunteer?"
5. Deadline--Pick and stick to your deadline.  If you go over, you'll be screwed for Date #2.  About 10 minutes before you have to leave, mention that you need to leave soon.  This gives you a chance to get the bill settled, go to the bathroom and leaves time for an awkward goodbye.  

Results
Date #1 went as anticipated.  I had met him on Plenty of Fish, he seemed nice enough, offered to learn who Jason Aldean and Luke Bryan are and was pretty cute in pictures.  Our emails weren't anything to brag about so I figured he would be a good candidate for Date #1.   Right away I told him that I had a deadline to leave and he took the bait and started asking me about volunteering.

Conversation flowed but there wasn't any real spark.  He was also much cuter in pictures than in person.  I thought there might be some potential when he told me he drove a truck for work (you know how I love pickup trucks), but then I noticed that he was wearing one of those thick silicone bracelets (below) with the word "Groovy" written on it.  I have a feeling there was a story behind it but I wasn't up for giving him any positive reinforcement for wearing it and didn't ask.

[via]

Date #2 went better than Date #1, which was also anticipated.  I had met Date #2 at a bar last Friday night.  I was there for an intramural kickball event and he was there at a young professional event.  He was a tall, well-dressed, Billy Baldwin look alike and came up to make conversation while I was at a table with friends--bonus points for having the balls to come up to me in a group!  We engaged in some Yankees vs. Red Sox (go Sox!) banter and I gave him my number before he left.  

I met Date #2 for sushi in the town where I'm moving this summer.   I was looking forward to seeing him so when I got to the restaurant and he was no where to be found, I got a bit worried.  I quickly picked up my phone and called to ask him where he was.  Apparently he was peeing in the bathroom. Not exactly the way I imagined a man would be holding himself while thinking of me, but I'll take it.  He was soon out and after making sure he washed his hands, we had a great sushi dinner.  He even asked me out for a second date after I knocked a glass of water onto him.  

I'm exhausted this morning but happy that the "Double or Nothing" date worked!

False Alarm

I had a first date with a man from Plenty of Fish last night.  He had first sent me a message in December but because of the Bar Exam (and other men I was more interested in meeting first) we didn't get around to meeting until, well, last night.  I had a strange feeling about the date after realizing that I had no idea what his name was until the day before our date.  Oops.  Thankfully he was smart enough that when I emailed him with my name and number, he provided his name in kind.  Since I don't disclose names, I will just call him Chief.

Getting ready for my date, I tried to remember a bit about Chief.  Most of our emails were older than 20 days and had been deleted by Plenty of Fish.  His profession was listed as "Entrepreneur" which means anything from stinking rich sugar daddy to drug dealer, so that was no help.  I did seem to remember that he made wine, or his family owned a winery, or something else that had to do with wine--selective filtering at it's best.  Other than that, I was at a loss.

Aside from the fact that I had just learned his name and had no idea what he did for a living, planning to meet for drinks with Chief proved more difficult than necessary.  We communicated via text message and, even though he had asked me out, I got nothing but a series of one word answers when trying to set a time and place.  I had hope that he was just busy and would be more talkative in person.  I was wrong.

Talking to Chief was like pulling teeth.  I'm a pretty easy person to talk to.  I've lived in 6 states, 3 countries and survived sorority rush, yet I could barely get the man to speak.  I managed to find out that he's a Fire Chief (hence the nickname) of his town, makes his own wine with his family (I knew there was wine there somewhere!) and I *think* he might own some sort of construction business (hence the "entrepreneur").  After telling me that his job made it necessary for him to respond to every fire call, I spent the next 2 hours praying for a forest fire, gas leak or other disastrous explosion to get out of possibility the most boring date of my life.  Note: If after everything you say, I respond, "That's funny," I'm referring to the fact that you're now in the running for my worst date ever contest.  

It was obvious that this date was going nowhere so we finished our drinks and left.  We exchanged an awkward, "I hope I never run into you in public" hug and parted ways.

St. Patrick's Day Revelry

This weekend I engaged in a day of St. Patrick's Day debauchery.  It seems to be a growing trend to have St. Patrick's Day festivities on every weekend in March save for the actual holiday weekend.  This year, St. Patrick's Day is on a Saturday yet this past weekend I went to a parade in Morristown on Saturday and the weekend before marked Hoboken's green-infused craziness.  While the festivities may have been a week early, that didn't stop the revelers (present company included) from well, reveling. 

I had planned on starting the day with some new friends from my intramural volleyball league and then meeting up with BR, who I have continued talking to.  It was crisp and in the 50's so I dressed in as much kelly green as possible, which is surprisingly difficult for someone whose favorite color is lime green (thanks Old Navy for saving the day with a Friday kelly green lunch break shopping spree).  If you can't appreciate the difference between the colors then you are missing the obvious challenges I faced getting dressed on Saturday morning.  First world problems, they're real.

To compensate for my lack of green layers, I clipped on a hair extension, tossed on some beads and headed out.  Knowing that an all day drinking fest would render me a hot mess, I took a "before" picture and sent it to BR.  We were set to meet up in the afternoon and since I didn't trust my eyes not to be blurry by that point, I wanted him to recognize me.  He was coming back from a business trip in Europe so I sent him the following email: "Woohoo, you're home!  Now shower, sh*t and come out for drinks.  I'll be this girl (below) but sloppier :)" 

I met up with my volleyball friends at a house party at 10am and we had a traditional New Jersey Irish breakfast of bagels and Irish coffee (that's just regular coffee with booze in it, right?).  I was pleasantly surprised to discover that there was an actual parade to supplement the drinking fest.  Never one to miss a parade, I piled on some more necklaces, slapped a glitter shamrock sticker on my face, a fake tattoo on my hand and grabbed my ridiculously annoying but super fun St. Paddy's Day whistle (another Friday lunch break purchase) and headed out into the sunshine! 

My friends and I took pictures and danced to the bagpipe bands that marched by while I blew my whistle in time to the music.  For those of you who have never attempted to blow a whistle to bagpipes, let me tell you, this is no easy task.  For the record, there is a ridiculous number of bagpipe bands in New Jersey.  Whoever thought New Jersey was just Italian-descended guido wannabes is sorely mistaken.

I got so into the holiday spirit with my Irish coffee that I needed to use a Port-A-Potty.  Gross, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  While I don't mind peeing in the woods (yes, this blonde has gone camping!), Port-A-Potties just aren't my thing.  Aside from the obvious gross-out factor, my uber-sensitive olfactory glands and photographic memory make it an experience that stays with me much longer than necessary.  Thankfully I've got strong quads, so I was easily able to squat while praying there was no splash back.  I sanitized my butt and legs, just in case.

After the parade we headed back to the house party for a BBQ lunch and Jameson, which goes surprisingly well together.  Fresh off of a transcontinental flight, BR met up with me at the party.  I introduced him to my friends, who, for some reason or another thought he was a State Trooper and proceeded to ask him law enforcement questions.  Definitively not a State Trooper, BR, a jet-lagged slave to corporate America, took the interrogation in stride.  He was was extraordinarily patient with me and my drunk friends as I threw some necklaces on him, made him down a hefty dose of Jameson and we headed out to a bar. 

As it turns out, the chemistry that BR and I both thought wasn't there previously just needed a little liquid courage to come out.  There's something to be said for alcohol's ability to overcome awkward nervousness and before we knew it, we were really hitting it off.  We met up with some of BR's friends at a bar and ended up dancing in the bar like college kids on Spring Break.  I don't know how, but for some reason I didn't have an epic hangover on Sunday.  Irish coffee, for the win!

Food Baby

It's no secret that women are often the objects of unwanted attention.  Since I've been single, I've mistakenly given my number out to men who I have had no intention of talking to or dating, simply because I've been too polite to say "no" when asked.  I'm still trying to determine how to tow the line between respectfully declining attention and being a bitch. 

Case in point:  Over the summer I gave my number to a former NBA non-starter who now coaches at a local college.  While I had no intention of ever getting together, for some reason (either the booze or his ridiculously intimidating height) I gave him my digits.  I ignored his first 5 text messages before telling him that I wasn't interested and apologized for misleading him.  That has not stopped him from texting me an invite to every event he has attended since August.  I consistently ignore his messages, but could have gotten a chance to accompany him to countless collegiate and professional sporting events. I declined every one.   I almost accepted the invite to the Barclay's PGA tour, but I'm holding out for NBA playoff tickets instead. 

My mistake with the NBA retiree taught me that it's ok to be firm and reject someone I meet at a bar...especially the kinds of men who I've met in bars.  Taking my own sage advice, I was out one night with my girl friend Katie at her local watering hole.  I found a seat at the bar (uncommon on a Saturday night) and started talking to a a girl next to me while Katie was gallivanting around. 

A man sidled up next to me and struck up a conversation.  I wasn't interested, but not wanting to give up a seat, I entertained the conversation for a few minutes and hoped he would go away.  I assumed that he'd be smart enough to recognize my curt answers as disinterest...but you know what they say about assumptions.  So there I was, held hostage on a bar stool. 

I had two choices: (1) wait for Katie to come and rescue me or (2) reject the man staring at my breasts and trying to get into my pants.  Since option (1) wasn't going to happen until the either bar closed or the men disappeared, I was stuck coming up with something to say to let the guy know I wasn't interested.  Knowing that a band aid approach is easiest, I simply told him, "I'm not interested." and hoped he would leave me alone. 

But it wasn't enough.  He wanted to know WHY I wasn't interested and complimented some part of my body, presumably as a means of making me change my mind.  I told him, "No trust me, I'm really not interested." but he just kept talking.  At this point it was do or die.  I wasn't about to let some annoying guy who can't take a hint make me give up my chair and so I did something that I'm not proud of...at all...but nevertheless think is genius.

At this point it's important to let you all know that while I might not be terribly large in stature, I possess a strange ability to puff out my midsection, especially after consuming food or drink.  My family and friends lovingly begrudgingly refer to this as my "food baby".  At this point in the night, I had been drinking vodka sodas for a few hours and so my belly was rather full.  Realizing that there was no other way I was going to get this man away from me, save for telling him I had a penis (a close second choice) or leaving my barstool (not a chance), I made a decision. 

I puffed out my stomach and turned toward him.  After swirling my drink and taking a sip, I looked him in the eye, put my hand on my belly and said, "One drink won't hurt the baby, right?  It's just vodka!"  I've never seen a man run away from a woman so fast!

Food baby (watch out, she kicks!)

Blame the Ex!

One of the best things about taking a Bar Exam (aside from the obvious ability to practice in a specific jurisdiction if you pass) is celebrating the end of the exam.  For whatever reason, last time I took the Bar there was no big hooplah after it was over to celebrate the months of hard work I put in.  For those who are wondering, I took and rocked both New York and Massachusetts in 2009, while planning a wedding AND prepping for an international move.  While my friends were jet setting off to get drunk in exotic locales in 2009, I ordered pizza or participated in some other decidedly anti-climactic activity that I cannot recall with my now ex-husband.

This time, I was determined to have a better post Bar Exam celebration. For those not in the know, you must take a Bar Exam for every state (unless you can waive in).  So, even though I'm licensed in NY and MA, I must take NJ as well. 

While an exotic vacation wasn't financially feasible, I planned the second best thing--a weekend in NYC with my amazing girl friends.  As it turned out, a friend of mine, M, had recently relocated to NYC from San Francisco and she was also taking the Bar Exam.  Knowing that we would be stressed to the max and celebrating in NYC after the Exam, M and I invited some girl friends from law school down for our semi annual law school girls reunion weekend--woohoo!

After a harrowing two months of exchanging encouraging but increasingly frantic emails, text messages and phone calls, M and I took our exams our girls weekend began.  Two of our friends (L and N) arrived from Boston and the four of us took to the streets of Manhattan.   We had a blast catching up on life, reminiscing about law school and talking crap about former friends (yes, horse-loving-trust-fund-sour-puss, I'm talking about you!). 



Just a funny pic from SoHo--intended for no one in particular.



The best thing about my weekend with my girl friends was discovering their fierce loyalty.  Although we've been close since 2006, I realized that these women were true friends as they stuck by my side through my divorce this summer.  Now that I'm starting over and moving on, their devotion to me has been realized through a fun game that they made up over the weekend called, "Blame the Ex" (i.e. my ex--his name is used for the purposes of this game in in real life, but I will protect his privacy over the internet because I'm nice).   Note: none of the following are actually his fault.

Any foible in our weekend got chocked up to the fault of my ex even though none of these things could be attributed to him.  Traffic in the city? Blame the Ex!  Long line at the bathroom?  Blame the Ex!  N got food poisoning?  Blame the Ex!  Flight back to Boston was delayed 5 hours?  Blame the Ex!

By the end of the weekend we had six-pack abs from laughing so hard, way too few pictures, plans for a summer get together and a super fun blame game! 

View from Sutton Place--our future homes (after we all marry millionaires)



High Five

I spent the weekend finishing up studying for the New Jersey Bar Exam.  It's been a rough and lonely few months and I desperately missed my friends so I decided to get out of the house yesterday afternoon and met up with my friend, Katie.  Katie is the type of friend who I can always count on to go out and have a good time.  Whether it's taking pictures with vertically challenged diner bus boys or scaring away creepsters at a bar by telling them I'm pregnant, nights with Katie never disappoint.  Not to mention, she shares junky bar food with me.

So, when Katie told me to get my butt invited me to the Brick House yesterday to watch the Daytona 500 with her and a friend, I was happy to take a study break.  Beer and soft pretzels are enticing, but add in an excuse to dress up like white trash and I'm there!   Katie also promised there would be cowboys at the bar--liar!

Disclaimer: I do not actually own a camouflage thong.

While there were no cowboys as promised, there a group of Jersey trash boys to keep us entertained.  Katie knew one of the guys in the group through a former roommate and I can safely say she either does not hang out with these guys or is lying to me so that I don't judge her.  Yes, it was that bad.  I could describe the night as a sequel to Why I Don't Date Men in Their 20's but I'd hate to give the rest of the cohort a bad name because of three specific individuals.  So, who did I meet last night?  Let's call them High Five, Chinstrap and ThugLife.

High Five was the mutual friend of Katie's former roommate and the seemingly most normal out of the bunch.  He was dressed in a non-matching sweatsuit (as opposed to the guy wearing the matching Nautica sweatsuit who bragged that he had spent $150 on the look), had pretty blue eyes that could just be made out through his heavy drunk eyelids and a penchant for high fives.  He and his friends had come from a bachelor party in Atlantic City where the groom-to-be (or someone else, I really have no idea) got arrested the night before.  High Five spent half of his time at the bar telling Katie's friend how he used to be in love with her (she's married now) and how he wishes he could have slept with her before she was betrothed.  Apparently, Katie's friend's breasts are just "too big to be married off".  Charming.  The other half of his time was spent trying to kiss me.  In his defense, at least he asked first.  

High Five: "Can I kiss you?"
Me: "No, thank you."
High Five: "Why?"
Me: "Because you're drunk."
High Five:  ::sips water:: "Can I kiss you now?  I drank some water.  I'm not drunk."
Me: "No, now you just taste like water."
High Five: "That seems fair.  High Five!"


Chinstrap was an um, strapping (?) 26 year old fellow with full arm sleeve tattoos, a fancy shmancy hoodie and of course, a chin strap of facial hair.  He sidled up to our trio of ladies and started talking about something boring or stupid enough for me to have mentally checked out of the conversation from the get go.  After a while he asked what I did and I said I was a non-practicing attorney working in legal recruiting.  This opened a Pandora's box for Chinstrap who proceeded to tell me that he was a teacher who works with "retards" (his words, not mine) but that he is planning on taking the LSATs, going to law school and getting a job as a School Board attorney making $400k a year out of law school.  Awesome, I told him and wished him luck, mentioning that the legal market is pretty tough right now...and that I have a better chance of being a size 0 than him making $400k.  Some people are under the impression that an attorney's billing rate is directly proportionate to their salary.  This is not the case. For the record, billing $400/hour does not mean you will be making $400k a year.

Of course this didn't sit well with Chinstrap who proceeded to berate me loudly in a diatribe of "You don't know me...I'm the most motivated person you'll ever meet...I've got two Masters degrees from University of Phoenix at 26!....I'm gonna get a job as a School Board attorney and make $400k a year because my Dad's friend owns a firm and is holding a spot for me and I will be making that money straight out of the taxpayers pockets...so ha!"  Right.  I smiled, sipped my water and watched as his friends dragged him outside for a breather as I discussed with Katie how "You don't know me" is code for "I'm ignorant and don't listen to what other people have to say."

I gave Chinstrap a few minutes to cool off before going outside to talk to him and clear the air.  Wanting to be the bigger person (and not wanting to get my ass kicked on the way to my car) I told him that it's great that he has delusions of grandeur dreams, wished him luck with his legal career and suggested that some anger control might serve him well with adversaries in the future.  One thing I pride myself on is being able to insult people without them realizing it and so I told Chinstrap, with a smile, that his early success as a teacher (um, he has two Masters degrees from University of Phoenix, yo) has made him very confident but that he is too arrogant and obnoxious and good lawyers don't pick fights with sober women in bars.   He apologized, offered to buy me a shot (I declined) and gave me a high five.

At the conclusion of my makeup session with Chinstrap, ThugLife joined the conversation excitedly, "You're a lawyer?!  I really could have used a lawyer when I was arrested!" Then he told us that he was arrested for beating up the police officers who came to arrest him with a warrant.  He failed to mention what the warrant was for, but justified his actions with the question, "What else was I supposed to do?"  Um, anything but run and beat up the cops would probably suffice.  So I explained that I wasn't a practicing attorney, lest someone give him my name and he asks me to represent him.

During the conversation the group was waiting on the bartender for drinks and ThugLife declared, "If you were a real lawyer you would have been able to get us drinks by now with your sneaky ways."  While I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, I had run out of patience with the crowd of degenerates and snapped, "My chosen profession has little effect on my ability to get a beer for a drunk thug at a crowded bar.  If you want a drink, get it yourself.  I'm drinking water and have little desire to wait on you."  Cue another round of, "You don't know me....I'm more successful than you'll ever be...I even own my own company!"

I smiled, of course, and said, "Good for you for making the best of a situation where you were unemployable." At this point I was getting frustrated and Katie was giving me the don't-poke-the-big-stupid-bear-just-because-you're-smarter-than-him look.  Thankfully, ThugLife had taken anger management courses and took my low blow as a compliment to his resourceful nature....then he looked at my boobs, smiled and offered to buy me a shot, as the bartender had stopped by to see what the ruckus was about.   I respectfully declined, smiled and gave him a high five.