Guest Blog: It started off, "Hey, cutie, where you from?"

Well, hey, y’all—long time, no see. I do hope you’re enjoying the slight reprieve from the Great Heat Wave of 2011 down here in the south, and are gearing up for the season of football games (i.e. tailgating), Brach’s Candy Corn, hot chocolate, and stuffin’. As a special fall treat, my friend, Katie, has written her first guest blog for your reading pleasure. Look for more guest blogs to come (I’ve been collecting), as well as a few posts from yours truly in the near future. Follow me on Twitter to make sure you know when I’ve updated! And now, on to H2LG1D’s latest cautionary tale…

This, friends, is a tale of a naïve girl’s first date and first kiss. Prepare yourselves to shake your heads in pity, gasp in horror, and laugh at the ridiculous nature of this date. And please bear with fifteen-year-old Katie. She was young, inexperienced, and flattered by this older gentleman caller. And don’t worry, I used to be embarrassed that my first date and first kiss weren’t until I was fifteen, but I’m totes over it. In fact, for the sake of the story, I think it only adds to the terror. Do not pity though, twenty-two-year-old Katie has learned her lesson and is quite the classy lady.  Shall we begin?

Sidebar (E): I didn’t get my first real (i.e. non-stage) kiss until I was almost eighteen. And it was AWFUL. Reason #76 why peer pressure/power of suggestion inevitably bite you in the ass.

Back circa summer 2005, I was on a summer league swim team. As summer leaguers we spent our Saturday mornings sitting on a pallet of towels with our friends, playing cards, drawing on each other with markers, and trying to qualify for the coveted Ponderosa meet at the end of the season. The beauty of swimming is that it is a co-ed sport. Flirting whilst practicing and competing was a norm. Plus, there were gentlemen in Speedos everywhere. Now, after ten years of swimming, I was over the Speedo. It really had no effect of me. To focus on practice, you had to get over it. In fact, the boys thought they were way more attractive in them than I and my fellow seasoned swimming ladies actually did. They would walk around with their butt cracks hanging out, flexing their 4 to 6 (give or take) pack of abs. We were over it. And I’ve digressed.

Summer 2005. One particular Saturday meet, one of the 18 and under fellows in particular was focusing more of his attention on me than before. I think prior to this meet we had said “Hi” maybe once?  He had just graduated high school, making him two entire years older than yours truly.  Lemme just say…THIS WAS A BIG DEAL! And a big mistake. We shall name this fellow ­­Kolka.

Fun fact: Kolka is actually his middle name. His mother is straight from Iceland.

Sidebar to Fun Fact (E): I totally read his name as “Koala” at first, which puzzled me exceedingly.

Kolka was two years older, attractive, and a smooth operator. Not that it would have taken much to convince me to go on a date at this point in my teenaged life, but with those three qualities at work, I was smitten. After flirting all Saturday morning, I left the meet with my mom, and he ran up and requested my digits.

Fun fact: I had just gotten my very own cell phone a month prior. I was a big girl now.

I probably peed my pants a bit and went through every possibility of why he would need my number with my mother on the way home.  Why would cute and older Kolka want my number? It was mind-boggling.

When I got home, I got a text from him saying, “Wanna go out tonight?” (We’ll count how many times I say I should have known then in this story) I have a TERRIBLE memory, so I’m not exactly sure what went down next, but it probably involved getting really excited, dancing and doing high kicks in my room, then getting really nervous about asking my Dad if I could go. I went downstairs to ask Faja and it went something like this…

Sidebar (E): Oh, I so wish there was video of the high-kicks! Re-enactment?

15-year-old Katie: “Hey, Daddy, so, um, Kolka wants to go out with me tonight. Can I?”

Daddio: “Kolka who?”

15-year-old Katie: “………..?”

I DID NOT KNOW HIS LAST NAME! In fact, this got me thinking, I did not know anything about Kolka except that he was totally fine and was two years older and wanted to take me out. What more did my father want?! A last name? Stupid.

Sidebar (E): I think we all know where this was going…

Fun fact: The reason I didn’t know Kolka’s last name was because it was fourteen letters long and completely Icelandic, so it wasn’t pronounced anything like it was spelled. Minor details.

15-year-old Katie: “Well I don’t really know, but I’ll find out…tonight, at the movies.”

I could tell I had thrown my father for a loop. As the eldest child, I was the first to request such a thing. So after a short hesitation, and realizing that I was fifteen and most of my friends had been in and out of three or four “relationships” by now, he agreed to my night out.

Sidebar (Katie): Woooow! As I typed that last sentence that I remembered that I was, in fact, sixteen years old, not fifteen! Please note: I. Was. Sixteen. I don’t want to go back and change the fifteen times I said I was fifteen.

Sidebar (E): ‘Cause when you’re…erm…SIXteen! And somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them… Sorry, but this post is really making me want to go download some pop-country J

So, Kolka came to my house to pick me up in his super cool black truck. He came to the door to meet my father in a bright green hat that said CORONA in bright yellow across the front. I should have known then.

From here on out the details of the date get a little foggy. I believe this is due to two things:

1. I always have had and always will have a terrible memory
2. My brain’s primary defense mechanism is repression

We got to the movies and realized that our first movie choice was sold out. Who cares what it was. All that matters is that we decided to see Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith instead. I was less than thrilled. I should have known then. I do love Star Wars, but I had built this whole first date situation up in my head and Star Wars was cramping its feng shui. On top of that, we walked into the COMPLETELY full theater and had to find seats on the second row. Here, my friends, is the scene where one of the most awkward moments of my life occurred.

Recap: 2^nd row.

Huge screen.

Craning necks.

Anakin Skywalker turning to the Dark Side

About twenty minutes into the movie, Kolka reached over and took my hand. This was a lovely and first date-appropriate gesture. However, the next move was not.

He dropped my hand

and

reached

for

my

…

face.

When his hand reached my face he started slowly caressing.

Repeat… caressing.

Sidebar (E): Okay, seriously? Is there some sort of Halfwit Academy for Wannabe Ladies’ Men out there that teaches a class on awkward face-caressing/wrist-stroking? Who is telling them that this is okay?!

Up until this point, I had not thought about Kolka wanting to kiss me. We didn’t even know each other’s last names. Surely that is a perquisite to lip locking?!

Sidebar (E): Thank you, Carrie Underwood, for instructing us in this matter. Silly little 16-year-old Katie! You could have married him without knowing his last name!

I. Freak. Out.

 I did not know what he was doing. My instinct was to just keep looking at the movie screen. I thought, “Maybe if I look super interested in the movie, he’ll stop.”

He did not.

He kept awkwardly caressing my cheek…my ear… my chin… and even my lips…with one hand. I should have known then.

Sidebar (Katie): Who caresses people’s lips?! (ever….but mostly on a first date!?)

I was in full-out, body-paralyzing panic. I cannot tell you how long this went on, but it was long enough to watch Anakin (a.k.a. Darth Vader) and Obi-Wan Kenobi engage in a lightsaber duel where Vader’s leg and arm are cut off. Long enough. Kolka soon realized his seduction techniques were not working on this scared, naïve, slightly trembling from fear, little girl.

So he got forceful and straight to the point. I should have known then.

He took my entire face and turned it towards his and before I even knew what was happening he was kissing me. Let me just say that his was not a soft, sweet kiss that all girls imagine their first kiss to be. It was sloppy, moist, and aggressive. His tongue was involved. Way too involved. I should have known then. I was mortified. He finally let me out of his sloppy, moist grasp and I just sat back and stared at the movie screen trying to comprehend what the devil just happened.

Sidebar (E): Apparently at the HAWLM, there is also a class called “Their Mouths, Your Tongues,” in which they all practice violent tongue-thrusting for use on unsuspecting victims.

If I had had the confidence of twenty-two-year-old Katie, I would have said something dramatic and left the date promptly. But, alas, this was a far less-cool version of me. I was still “star struck” that I was on a date with this guy and I sat out the rest of the movie trying to convince myself that maybe that was what kissing was, and that I was totally cool with it.

After the movie, we walked out hand-in-hand to the ice cream shop across the street. I had “recovered” to a point and was able to carry on normal teenaged conversation for about a half an hour before he took me home. 

When we pulled up to my house, I was ready with an escape route planned. I thanked him quickly, keeping out of face-caressing reach, and literally jumped out of the truck. In my room, I sat and mulled over the date and decided that the kiss was far too intense for me and I wouldn’t be going out with him again.

Sidebar (E): Famous last words.

I’ll spare you the gory details because the above date can be passed as funny but the rest of the tale of Kolka’s and my relationship unfortunately cannot.

My “don’t go out with him again” plan failed and we ended up dating for a year and a half.  What can I say? I was passive. 

He went on to cheat on me multiple times with multiple girls. There’s just no way I can make that funny.

I could go on and on about how stupid I was and how I should have known (clearly, there were signs), but I won’t. Instead I will just say this: Ladies, just because he’s older doesn’t mean he’s cooler, and trust your gut. There are some certified douche bags out there. Happy dating to you all!

“I should have known” Count: 7

Many thanks to Katie for sharing her story. I’m sure that all of us have had our fair share of “I should have known’s” but it’s always nice to hear each other’s horror stories to remind ourselves that we are not alone in the fight against the KKDB’s of the world (that’s Kappa Kappa Douche Bag to all you uninitiated).

Guest Blog: Why Optimism, con't

When we last left Brie, she was in the middle of her date with Stephen, a guy she met online who had questionable notions regarding adequate housekeeping and very few skills when it came to reading body language.

 ***

My roommate and I have concocted this plan for whenever we go out on dates: if you need out of the date, text 911 and diligent roommate will call with an “emergency” that requires immediate attention. Best. Plan. Ever.

While Stephen was in the bathroom, I grabbed my phone and texted the pre-planned 911, but was nervous because I knew she herself would be on a date as well; I was hoping she had kept her phone nearby. Luckily, as soon as Stephen walked back into the room, with his shirt off (again, not thinking about what went down in that bathroom – pun intended), she called. My savior! I had never been so happy to hear my ringtone in my life.

Nonchalantly, I said, “Oh, it’s my roommate… sorry, hold on.” He disappointingly sat next to me on the mattress and began to rub my shoulders, and I tried not to cringe as I answered the phone as calmly as possible, as if I were surprised by the call: “Hey.” My roommate was cracking-up laughing as she said, “So, my date choked on some popcorn and we need you right away. There is no one around and I can’t save him by myself; hurry, come quick.”

Sidebar (Brie): I had a chat later with her about how to properly convey an emergency situation.

I was trying to turn the volume down on my phone because I knew if Stephen heard her laughing he was not going to believe there was an emergency. I add the appropriate “uh-huhs” and “oh-no’s” and “I’ll be right there’s” and hung up the phone. I turned to see puppy dog eyes looking back at me as I said, “I’m sorry, my roommate needs a ride, she went on this date and I don’t know what happened, but she is stranded at the movie theater. I know he picked her up, so maybe something went wrong and she doesn’t want to be with him anymore. I don’t know any details, but I have to go.”

Sidebar (Brie): This is why you drive your own car.

I grabbed my shoes and my keys as he stammered about hoping I could come back after I helped her. He walked me to my car, and tried the awkward goodbye kiss, but in my “concern for my roommate” I bobbed and weaved and managed to get out of there disease-free, which was a genuine concern of mine towards the end.

The following is the last of our correspondence via text message. And yes, this is word for word as my trusty iPhone has no text message capacity and can save all my messages for a time such as this:

Him. 9:00PM (this was about two minutes after I left) – Hey. I hope you can make it back and I hope your roomie is ok. If you need I can come to your place and be quiet!

Sidebar (Brie): The eagerness is a little creepy. I’m not saying you have to wait three days as the movies and TV shows have convinced society is proper, but give it a little time. Also…what plans did you have that you needed to be quiet for?

Sidebar (E): *Giggles uncontrollably*

Him. 9:28PM – I just shaved. So now my face is as smooth as your wrist.

Sidebar (E): I’m surprised that at this point he didn’t break out some “Song of Solomon”-esque compliments: Your hair is like a flock of Goats moving down the gentle slopes of Gilead…Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes that have come up from the washing…

About this time, I had arrived home and my roommate was waiting with a bottle of wine and two glasses, as any good roommate would. I walked in the door, threw myself on the couch and recounted the past few hours. When this text message came in, she was literally rolling on the floor laughing at me as I described the awkwardness of the wrist stroking. We discussed possible responses and everything we came up with was too bitchy to actually send, so I did nothing.

Date tip: Silence speaks louder than words.

Him. 11:29PM – Is everything ok?

By this time the bottle of wine was gone and I was certainly not going to engage in “tipsy texting” even if I had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Him. 12:40AM – I hope all is well for you and your roommate. I am heading off to work. Take it easy. I am hoping I did not scare you away or make you mad, you’re a really nice girl and I hope we see each other again soon! Good night!

Him. 4:57AM – Good morning babe!

Sidebar (Brie): WTF? When did any of my signals tell you we had moved on to the nickname stage?

The next morning I had decided I should probably say something; I was feeling a little guilty for just leaving him hanging. The following message went through multiple drafts and editing with the help of my trusty roommate.

Me. 9:52AM – She is fine now, thanks for asking. But I don’t think this is going to work out. It was nice meeting you, but this is as far as it can go.

Him. 1:20PM – What was it that turned you away? I thought you were rather great, I don’t know why you feel the way you do, but an understanding would be nice. I had a wonderful time talking to you!

Him. 6:23PM – Will you tell me what I did?

And that is the last I heard from Stephen. About this time, I realized that I had paid for the redbox, and in my rush out the door I had left it behind. I quickly looked up the policy of unreturned movies and found out that it is a dollar a day for twenty-five days; after that, you get to keep the movie. So, worst case scenario, I would be out $25; he returned it within a couple days and my card was only charged $3. Honestly, I would have been okay with him keeping the movie—the escape was well worth twenty-five bucks.

***

Oh, Stephen. Seemingly so sweet, and yet so unbelievably clueless. I’m curious to see which Guest Blogger’s guy you think is worse: Katie’s Mr. Suave, the slick, smooth-operator who was way too pushy, or Brie’s Stephen, who was way too earnest and in dire need of “Clean House: The Complete Series” on DVD. Let me know in the poll in the sidebar!

Guest Blog: Why Optimism Isn't Always Rewarding

Welcome to our third Guest Blogger, and my bestie, Miss Brie! After I started doing guest spots on here, I called Brie and told her that she simply had to write this story—I think it may take the cake for worst date ever. It is, however, quite instructional—she’s included several date tips throughout. Unnecessary side-stories brought to you by me. 

 

***

I graduated from Texas A&M with only one ring, and it was on my right hand instead of my left.

After graduation, I entered the workforce as a teacher—buildings full of women and the occasional man who is usually married and almost always an arrogant ass.

Sidebar (Brie): If you are a male teacher that does not fit these criteria, I apologize. If you do fit these criteria, then stop being an ass.

Since I had made a rule to never mess around with coworkers (ladies and gentleman, you should make the same rule), my chances of meeting Mr. Right were quickly dwindling, as much of my time was spent at work with teenagers, women, and of course, off-limits, arrogant, asses. So, on a whim I joined this website called CatholicMatch.com. (link)  I wanted to at least narrow the online dating world to those who were Catholic and perhaps shared the same morals and values that I did.

Sidebar (E): Funny story. I got on Catholic Match too, for the hell of it. Overall, it’s a good site, but naturally, they want to approve anything you write and any photos you want to post. My written profile passed without a hitch, but they definitely denied one of my pictures because my dress was “too low cut and/or revealing.” Thanks, CM, for making me feel like a dirty whore.

At first, I joined out of curiosity and then it was kinda fun. I spent a few months emailing different guys, then it moved to texting and phone calls, and eventually we would meet up. I dated a few of them ranging from a week to a couple of months, but as soon as I realized I wasn’t into him, I would break it off. No sense wasting my time, or his.

I started emailing one fellow, Stephen, right before Spring Break. And since I was going out of town and would not have computer access, he asked for my number so we could text, a sneaky way of getting my number. All week long we talked—he even sent me “good morning” notes each day.

Date tip: Some girls find that sweet; I, however, find it a little creepy—I had only been talking to him for about ten days. I may be in the minority, but guys, give it a little time before being all cute and “coupley.”

Sidebar (E): This is why Brie and I are best friends—sometimes I think we’re the only girls in the world who get totally skeezed out by this kind of stuff. And yes, I said “skeezed.” We’re making it a thing.

I was scheduled to return to town on a Saturday and he wanted to meet up before he had to leave for work in Huntsville on Sunday morning. At this point, I was still thinking that he seemed like a nice guy, very gentlemanly, funny—so I thought “Okay, why not?” We made plans to stay in with dinner and a movie because I was tired and not really in the mood to “go out.”

We met up at Taco Cabana, which was totally fine—I wanted low key. We had a nice meal, good conversation, and he was still making me laugh. There were times that I thought he was a little socially awkward, but I thought it had to do with the fact that it was our first date and maybe he was just a tad nervous, so no big deal. After dinner, we decided to go and planned to hit up a redbox on the way to his place.

When we walked out, he asked, “Do you just want to ride with me and I’ll bring you back to your car later?”

Date tip: It’s always a good idea to drive yourself, especially in the beginning (and definitely if you met online)…it’s just safer if you don’t know him very well, and you always have an out.

I must tell you about this car. There was a crack running the entire length of the windshield. It was about seven different colors from patch jobs over the past three decades. I could see “stuff” in the backseat that was overflowing into the front. The doors didn’t quite hang even. He jumped on the hood and said, “It’s a piece of crap, but it only cost me $200.”

The thought crossed my mind to leave right then and there, but I honestly felt like I was being judgmental and materialistic, so I said, “I’ll just follow you, but thanks for the offer.” I climbed in my own car and breathed a sigh of relief. We stopped at a redbox and got Inception, which neither of us had seen before.

Date tip: Get a short movie unless you are sure you want to spend the next several hours together.

We headed to “his place” or what I thought was his place, though it turned out to be his brother’s apartment. Stephen did not actually have a place of his own since he was working in Huntsville. That explained all the “stuff” in his car. He toted around all his belongings so he could just stay wherever he wants whenever he’s in Houston. I don’t think I need a sidebar here as you probably know what I was thinking.

Again, the thought crossed my mind to leave, but I repressed the feeling and tried to be optimistic.

Then, I walked into the apartment.

Sights: Empty beer cans, half-unpacked boxes against every wall, “things” on every surface including the floor, with a small path carved through the junk that pretty much went from the front door to the refrigerator and ended at the couch.

Smells: Stale beer and weed.

Sounds: What could have only been the thumping of the neighbors engaged in what sounded like some really great sex.

I was less than impressed.

Sidebar (E): Now why on earth would you be less than thrilled with the romantic scene Stephen presented you with here? I mean, is there anything that drives a woman wilder than the sound of enthusiastic intercourse coupled with eau de Mary-Jane?

He forged ahead and kicked things out of the way to lead me to “his room”. We walked in and all I saw at first was a mattress on the floor. Not a low bed, but a bare mattress with no sheets or blankets or anything. Oh, and there was a TV against the wall hidden somewhere amongst more half-unpacked boxes.

Date tip: Don’t bring a girl back to an unclean apartment. It doesn’t have to be professionally cleaned, but seriously? You are supposed to be trying to somewhat impress her.

Sidebar (E): We promise not to bring our white gloves if you ask us back to your place, but you should at least toss the dirty clothes into your closet, wipe off the counters and wash any dishes in the sink. A Glade plug-in is also a nice touch—just make sure it’s something manly(ish), like Clean Linen, and not Sweet Pea and Lilac. Not that I know a guy who did that or anything…you know who you are.

What floored me the most was that he thought it was totally acceptable to bring a girl to a room with a bare mattress on the floor. I started to think to myself, “Did he think I was that desperate to be with someone that a first impression didn’t even matter?” Again, the thought crossed my mind to leave and to be honest I don’t know why I stayed—maybe the adventurous side of me wanted to see what would happen next.

I told him, in what I hoped was not a condescending tone, that I would need a blanket or something, so he pulled some sheets from the dryer (I assumed they were clean and I don’t want to imagine otherwise), and laid them on the bed. I reluctantly sat down while he got the movie set up. He was still being a nice guy, so as I was sitting there, I was thinking, “Okay, I don’t know his situation or circumstances, but this apartment does not define who he is, so just breathe, don’t touch anything, and you’ll be fine.” He got the movie up and running, turned out the lights, and sat down next to me.

I honestly don’t remember anything in the movie because things started to get really awkward fairly quickly. He tried the whole “yawn, put your arm around the girl” move but since I was leaning against the wall, I had to lean forward to make it work, AKA not very sly.

Sidebar (E): Guys do that outside of back-episodes of “Boy Meets World”?

He took my arm into his lap and began stroking my wrist (I thought this was weird, but it is an important detail for later) Since his arm was against the back of my neck, I really wasn’t comfortable, so I pulled my legs up, wrapped my arms around them (partially to get my arm back from the awkward wrist-stroking) and leaned forward to rest my chin on my knees.

Date tip: Learn to read body language: this is the sign for “do not touch me.”

He didn’t read it that way; he thought I wanted a back massage. Seriously? I am not really a touchy-feely person anyway, add that to the fact that I am already feeling creepy-crawly just being in that apartment…the massage wasn’t a good idea. Still not reading the body language very well, he went in for the kiss. I thought “Hey, if he’s a good kisser, then at least the night won’t be a total waste.”

…He wasn’t.

Sidebar (Brie): I do remember at one point, he asked me how many guys I had kissed and then he said he was hoping he was my first…um, yeah. I believe my reply started with a laugh and ended with, “Definitely not my first.” Good thing it was dark or he might have been offended by the eye-roll that immediately followed.

Sidebar (E): Bahahahahaha. I mean, no, Brie totally doesn’t need extra hands to help her count her list or anything…

At this point, I had decided this would definitely be the last time I saw him and my plan was to get out of there as quickly and painlessly as possible. However, I was still worried about offending him—I’m not a total bitch. But, of course, we rented the second longest movie EVER after The Ten Commandments and I was racking my brain, trying to think of ways to avoid what might happen next. Eventually, he got up to go to the bathroom…he was gone for quite some time. I tried very hard not to think about what was happening in that bathroom. But I took the opportunity presented to me…

***

So, what do you do if you find yourself in this type of situation? Luckily, Brie had a simple, yet efficient, contingency plan for this exact occasion. Find out tomorrow what she did to avoid any more romantic overtures from “Needs a Clue” Stephen.

Expiration Dating: Part III (Johnny's Rebuttal)

I would first like to thank E for giving me the opportunity to share my side of the story. I have to admit that I am addicted to this juicy piece of online literature, and I am honored to contribute.

To understand my point of view, you must first know a few things about me. I am a HUGE flirt, a bit of a flake from time to time, and extremely fickle. The thought of commitment makes me cringe, and given the chance I will run at the first sign of a relationship turning serious. Suffice it to say that when it comes to dating, I prefer to wade around in the shallows, never really diving into the deep end. I never learned to swim in those waters and I am terrified of drowning. Despite these points of interest, I still believe that somewhere past my “bad boy musician” façade, a decent human being still exists.

I’ve never read any of Nicholas Sparks’ Unrealistic Expectations of Love novels, but I imagine that the first time I saw Miss E could be a perfect scene. I was walking into a church function with a female friend of mine (whom I might have had a minor crush on), when a stunning young lady in toga caught my eye. This was a church function, after all, but all I could think was, “….Daaayaamn.” And she was quite the sight to behold: long flowing dirty blond hair, beautiful smile. I quickly ask my friend who might this fair maiden be. She looked at me with disdain and hissed, “You do NOT want to get involved with her!” I’ve never been good at following advice, and I’ve always been a fan of forbidden fruit, so naturally, I wanted to meet her.

Sidebar (E): I actually have no recollection of this first meeting. I definitely did not utter a two-syllable "damn"...I guess J didn’t make as big of an impression on me ;) It must have happened though, because I somehow ended up with his number in my phone, which is how the following took place.  

Our first hang out involved driving around College Station in my Jeep, talking about high school, past relationships, how she was such a theatre nerd. I remember thinking, “Wow, this girl is awesome, kinda nerdy, but in a cute way.” We didn’t really hang out after because a certain female friend of mine had a bit of bad blood with E. Something about a boy. Go figure.

Sidebar (b/c E really loves to use them): They later rekindled their friendship over the mutual disgust they had for me, and are to this day close friends.

Sidebar (E): There really is nothing like the shared experience of dating J to bring two girls together.

Flash-forward about a year and a half: After months of flirting via text message since her return from Italy, and my previous relationship’s fiery end, we were both back in College Station and single. We started frequenting our favorite pub a few times a week with our close group of friends and yes, one magical night, when the stars aligned and the alcohol was flowing, E kissed me. My first thought was, “This. is. AWESOME!” followed quickly by, “My ex is going to be PISSED!!” which, honestly, made our first MOS especially enjoyable.

So E and I started dating, or whatever it was, and we agreed to keep things casual. And things were very casual. We would go out, we would make out. Rinse, repeat. Kinda to be expected from a relationship that was supposed to be under wraps (it totally wasn’t).

Sidebar (E): Yes, it’s true that pretty much everyone knew. Except this one friend of ours, who ended up accompanying the two of us unknowingly on a movie date (he overheard we were going, and really wanted to see the movie too)—he figured it out about halfway through Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist.

After a couple months of some amazing MOSs and nothing of real substance, I could tell that she was getting a bit irritated with me avoiding the “G” word.

Sidebar (J): Girls, we know when you’re upset about something, even though we might not show that we know. Most of the time we’re just avoiding actually talking about a problem in hope that you’ll eventually just give up and get over it. Sorry.

I began to think to myself, “Why not?” I mean, E was (still is) a great catch. Beautiful, witty, extremely intelligent, and she always had me on my toes. She’s fun to argue with, a trait I admire in a woman. I could see myself dropping a “G” word in the near future.

Soon after I began to play around with the idea of commitment, I made the extremely tough decision to move home the following semester. Now, do I try the long distance thing, or cut the ties before someone really gets hurt? I struggled with this decision for some time, bringing it to some of my female friends, over long lunches. I was on the fence.

And then: Halloween.

Oh, the party to end all parties. Our household had never seen such debauchery, and it will never (and should never) again. The Jell-O shots were gut-wrenching, but the kegs were nice. E decided to wear her (Catholic) high school uniform, complete with matching pigtails. I decided to be the Todd from Scrubs. By this point, everyone pretty much knew we were an unofficial item, so when I saw her CLEARLY flirting with Indiana Jones, I admittedly was a little jealous. In my slightly inebriated state, I decided that it was time to drop the G-bomb. After all, I couldn’t have Prof. Jones raiding my lost ark.

Sidebar (E): WOW.

I went into life-of-the-party mode and immediately wanted to do something stupid, like climb a tree to jump on our roof. You should have seen E run after me screaming bloody murder, “YOU’RE GONNA HURT YOURSELF!!!” Haha. The sight of her running through our screen door could have been a scene from an American Pie movie.

Sidebar (E): Sadly, this was not the last time this scene was to be reenacted. For some reason, J turns into freaking Edmund Hillary whenever he drinks. True story.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending) for me, our good friend was in the bushes… for some reason…and tackled me as I was scaling the fence. He has a habit of trying to beat me up when we drink. He never wins (seriously, bro, what is up with that?).

Sidebar (E): Johnny turns into Edmund Hillary, Sean turns into Mike Tyson. No, seriously, I’ve seen him bite a guy before.

So as the party winds down, we did find ourselves in my room. I did drunkenly drop the G-bomb. I was probably sporting a really smug grin. And all was right with the universe.

…but oh yeah, I’m moving in 6 weeks. Do I really want this?

I go into panic mode. Finding myself in a no-win situation, I turn to my friends for advice. I’m back on the fence about this whole thing. A few days later I had a long lunch with a female friend, and yes, I mistakenly double-booked myself. Totally my fault.

E seemed okay with it at first, but when she came over to my house later that day only to explode in a barrage of bottled-up frustration, estrogen and anger, I was quickly kicked off the fence. I wanted to spend my last six weeks in CS spending as much time as possible with my close friends and I didn’t want to feel guilty about it, especially if she was that upset. I searched what little conscience I have and decided to do the right thing.

Did I feel guilty? Of course. Was I to blame? Probably. Maybe I should have read a few of those Nick Sparks novels after all (and lain off the drunk texting).

In defense of my NEXT relationship: it was TWO months later, she grew up fifteen minutes from my parents’ house and was home every other weekend, and our families sort of knew each other. And yes, we were very much crazy about each other. It was a completely different situation.

Moral of the story, kiddos: Expiration Dating is never a good idea. Someone always ends up more emotionally invested and gets hurt. But it is fun while it lasts!!

Yours truly,

Johnny Brandolf

Guest Blog: Once Upon a Time, con't.

**When we last left Katie, she was in the middle a pre-Valentine’s date with Mr. Suave, who maybe meant well, but was causing Katie to quickly lose her patience, and her appetite, with his lame lines and questionable motives.

The conversation obviously was not going well at all—my attempts to get to know Suave were seriously halted. Finally it was sushi time, so we downed our drinks and walked to the original restaurant. There still wasn’t a table ready. Mr. Suave said it was ok if they sat us at the bar, which I immediately dread because I can see it from where we’re standing. It is a teeny, tiny bar counter. We are sitting on teeny, uncomfortable, backless stools. There’s not enough legroom to turn our bodies and face each other.

So, we sit side-by-side facing the Japanese sushi chef while attempting to make eye contact every-so-often throughout our dinner conversation. Not exactly ideal, but I’m again trying to roll with it (no pun intended). So Mr. Suave made a hiccup in the plans—but he really wanted to take me out for sushi. It maybe even was kind of sweet that he was so insistent upon keeping his word. This is what I’m trying to convince myself of. I don’t want to be a silly, uptight girl who makes up her mind too quickly about a guy over a few less-than-lovely moments. I’m really trying to have an open mind—after all, how many college guys ask for your number, soberly contact you a few days later, and actually take you out on a date? In my experience, they were few and far between. I vow to continue to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Mr. Suave ordered our sushi; I think I picked two and he picked two, which we were meant to share. All of our sushi couldn’t fit on the counter in front of us. We could only fit one plate at a time. Throughout dinner, the conversation was pathetically dwindling. I feel like the only one trying to keep the momentum going, as he’d made little attempt to get to know me, and instead proudly explained past instances where he felt like Tucker Max (as if that were a good thing). After side-talking and side-eating two really large sushi rolls, I’m feeling pretty full. By the fourth one, I’m donezo (and when were we going to leave for the movie? It’s getting late!). But Suave insisted I eat more. I insist I’m full. He playfully insists again. I tell him I could hardly eat any of the third one, but thank you. He doesn’t drop it. I literally had to eat some of that fourth roll because he peer pressured me into it. I’m not proud of this moment. I just really wanted to get out of there.

Sidebar (E): Okay, seriously, WTF? Does this guy have some sort of force-feeding fetish? I don't even know what to do with this...

Finally, dinner is over. Before we leave the restaurant, Mr. Suave pulls out the movie tickets he had bought earlier online. Whoa—I’m pleasantly surprised! How sweet and thoughtful of him! I’m so glad I gave him the benefit of the doubt. This was a step onto the right track. Major brownie points.

But wait—he bought them for a 9:00 movie.

It’s past ten. Uh, what?

He is seemingly surprised but not bothered; however, I am a bit confused. Didn’t he know the movie was at nine? He picked the tickets. He was excited about this movie, too. I would have been more than understanding had we eaten at the other restaurant so we could make the movie on time… which he had already bought tickets for… which we both really wanted to see. Which was only playing the week of Valentine’s Day.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t angry with Suave, I just didn’t understand him. I was frustrated and turned-off. Why go through all the trouble of planning ahead to buy movie tickets only to have us miss the movie? And now what were we going to do?

Mr. Suave still wanted to go see the movie, and thought maybe he could use the tickets for a later showing. We arrive at the theater, only to see that there wasn’t a later showing. I’m more frustrated and definitely disappointed. I’m trying not to let it show though—because he seemed so cool with it all. He didn’t apologize or anything (which, I realize now, would have curbed my frustration some). Then, he says he still wants to see a movie! I just want to go home; there isn’t another movie playing I wanted to see. I tell him it’s okay, we can see a movie another time. I have class in the morning. Let’s just call it a night.

But Mr. Suave isn’t fazed by my plea. He picks the movie Gran Torino. Which doesn’t start for at least another half-hour. At this point, I’m too frustrated and tired to fake much interest or enthusiasm. I meekly shrug my shoulders and say alright. I don’t even know what this movie is about, but the name of it sounds like a car.

Once again, we go to a nearby bar to pass the time. After indulging in drinks before and during dinner, I don’t really want another now, so I tell Suave I’ll just have a Shirley Temple. He asks me if I’m serious, and when I tell him I am, he’s amused. I shrug my shoulders again. I want to go to bed.

I’ll spare you all the juicy details of this next phase of the date. In summary, after waiting for him to take the reins and try to get to know me, I begin to fill the awkward silence with more chitchat. I can’t help myself. I’m trying to make this as painless as possible. At one point, Mr. Suave whipped out his iPhone and I asked him about that. I played with a light saber app. That was probably the highlight of the night. The app, obviously—not the conversation.

We go watch Gran Torino. It was actually a really good movie- but definitely not a date movie (if you’re thinking the Valentine-horror movie isn’t exactly date material either, but I beg to disagree). I remember wishing I was more awake to fully take it in—and with someone that I wanted to discuss it with afterward.

Suave takes me home, and asks if he can walk me to my door. I oblige, out of fear of a repeat of the sushi incident, but I’ve already made up my mind that we are not going to kiss.

Sidebar (Katie): This isn’t unusual. At one point or another, girls usually decide how far they want to go with a guy way before the date is over.

Sidebar (E): Truth.

So he can walk me up. Whatever. By now I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t sensed my indifference from the majority of the date. I later learned (years later) that guys are pretty oblivious to that kind of thing.

I unlock my apartment door, and he immediately and silently invites himself in. I’m in my kitchen, cutting the flowers and putting them in water, while he watches and tries to chitchat. Out of nowhere, Mr. Suave proudly admits that I’m the first girl he’s ever bought flowers for. I can’t help but give him a look (this is my famous/infamous natural reaction to things weird, dumb, or offensive). I say something like: surely he couldn’t be serious? What about prom? High school? Mother’s Day? How did he get away with never having to buy flowers?

I was set up again. He smugly replies that he gave those girls flowers… but I was the only one he had bought them for. The others got last minute flowers pulled from his mother’s front yard because he didn’t really care.

Sidebar (E): Again. Ew.

I’m completely, strongly, turned off. The last shred of “give him the benefit of the doubt” was worn out because:

(A)  I don’t believe him. It was totally a set-up. Like he’d been waiting all night for the right moment to whip out this golden anecdotal nugget.

(B)  Is this supposed to impress me? To make me feel special? I’m supposed to feel special because a 22-year-old guy, who pulls flowers from his yard for all his unworthy dates, found me good enough to finally buy a bouquet for? Oh yeah, what a catch. He is soo sweet.

I remind Mr. Suave that I have class in the morning, and don’t even hug him goodbye. Yet, he leaves with a smile on his face. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know I don’t want to go out with him ever again.

Luckily for your entertainment, and unluckily from my perspective, this is not the last I will hear of Mr. Suave.

Poor Katie. This guy did so many things wrong, but I think his main problem was trying way too hard. I have a couple of friends who are genuinely really great guys, but who have an unfortunate propensity to jump the gun. I usually make them call me with their first and second date plans for approval first. It’s entirely possible that I am alone in this group, but I simply think taking a girl to the fanciest restaurant in town, or dropping $150 on baseball tickets for a first date makes you seem like too much of an eager beaver. Impress her with the real you—with your conversation and gentlemanly attitude (please, always open the door for a lady, regardless of how old, unattractive or related to you she is). Save the big ticket items for later, if you must.

Guest Blog: Once Upon a Time... I Met Prince Charming-When-You're-Drunk

Today’s tip on how NOT to lose a girl in one date also marks our first guest blogger! My good friend, Katie, is the survivor and author of today’s cautionary tale, with commentary by yours truly.

How to Ensure a Second Date: Tip #3

Beware the grand, romantic gesture if you haven’t been dating for long (or haven’t even gone out officially  yet).

I don’t know about all you ladies, but I am not afraid to admit that deep down I long for that romantic Hollywood fantasy- the big grand gesture. You know what I’m talking about—your dream guy chasing your plane as it departs, suddenly confessing his undying love for you or giving you the magic kiss to wake you from a 100 year nap… it’s always a memorable scene in which he’s totally courageous and vulnerable, and you’re looking freaking gorgeous (without really trying, of course).

The reason these fantasies are so precious is because things like this don’t happen every day. They are highly unrealistic. The chances of you, for example, looking your absolute best while enjoying a cigarette break on the beautifully lit rooftop of a fabulous club in Austin on New Year’s Eve, and getting asked out by a quality guy who just so happens to live in the same town as you do (Lubbock, which is roughly a 6 hour drive away), are slim to none.

Well, I can’t say that, because it’s happened to me. Or, more accurately, it happened-ish.

So there I am, celebrating the New Year and newfound-singleness with my good friend, all dolled up and danced out, when we decide to hit the rooftop for a ciggy. Suddenly, distress strikes; we soon realize that neither one of us had the precious lighter we’d looked after all weekend. But wait—out of the corner of my eye walks up a handsome stranger who offers me a light.

Sidebar (Katie): I should note that people always look more attractive when you’re single and drunk on New Year’s Eve.

Not only did he offer a light, but he also struck up polite and fun conversation. Of course, in the midst of this romantic scene, I’m still being realistic. I wasn’t expecting anything past a midnight kiss at this point. Until we learned we were both visiting friends in Austin and were returning to Lubbock after winter break.

What are the odds? Could this be fate? Haven’t I seen this in a movie somewhere?

He (let’s call him Mr. Suave) asked for my number, and my friends and I left soon after. A couple of days later, Mr. Suave texted me and asked when I’d be back at school so he could take me out. Wow. He actually followed up—and not with a booty call. Totally appropriate conversation. Planning ahead. Short and sweet message. He was acing it as far as I was concerned.

Sidebar (E): It did seem promising. And yet, as we all know, these stories rarely end well.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks, and Suave asked me out, for our first date, on February 13th.

Yes, the day before Valentine’s Day. He told me he wanted to be my valentine (because I was his), but didn’t want to be so bold as to ask me out for the first time on Valentine’s Day.

Sidebar (E): Awwww...ick.  

I understood what he was getting at—but I thought it was a little weird. Why not just ask me out a few days (heck, even a week) after Valentine’s Day and avoid the awkwardness altogether? There wasn’t a rush. But who am I to be so nitpicky.

He asked me to dinner and a movie, and we agreed to see a special release 3D anti-Valentine horror flick. I’m not kidding. We were both slaves to our curiosity, but was glad he suggested it because I really wanted to see it (I know I’m totally a weird girl).

Date night arrives. Suave calls me when he is outside my apartment building and asks how to get up. As I had explained to him on the phone earlier, I would just meet him outside, because it is an unfortunate hassle to let people in the building. He insists on coming up. I tell him again, no, and further explain that in order for him to be let in, I would have to leave my apartment, walk around the corner to take the elevator down, and walk around to another corner to open the door, so at that point we might as well just leave. Suave wasn’t satisfied with my refusal, but I didn’t want to do that silly charade. I didn’t appreciate his pushing to come up to my apartment, but I chalked it up to him just really, really wanting to be a traditional gentleman (despite my womanly intuition telling me otherwise).

Sidebar (E): See I would totally be thinking “stalker!” at this point. But then I’m all dark and twisty inside ;)

I come outside, and Suave steps out of his car to greet me. He opens the passenger car door, and I nearly plop myself (it was a low, little car) onto a dozen red roses placed on my seat. Mr. Suave explained that was why he wanted to come up—so I could put them in water. That probably would have been better than having me sit on them. Anyway, I was a little bewildered. A dozen red roses on the first date? Could this guy be for real? And so much for not making it feel like a Valentine’s date…I tell myself not to be turned off by this cheesy, trying-too-hard, gesture. Suave was just trying to be nice.

Sidebar (Katie): It’s so not a big deal I couldn’t put them in water. Certainly not worth repeatedly pushing to come up. In my opinion, it’s the thoughtfulness in the moment of getting flowers that is so wonderful, I don’t care how long they last.

Sidebar (E): Oh, hell to the no. This guy just went from zero to creepy in less than a second. See? Big, romantic gesture? Too soon, boys, too soon.

Mr. Suave and I arrive at the sushi restaurant (which was pre-approved by me via text) and there is a 30-minute wait. We didn’t have a reservation. I’m a little turned off, because everyone in Lubbock knows the three sushi restaurants we have are always packed on the weekend. But, I very generously suggested we go to a restaurant nearby, and he agreed, but not to eat—only to get a drink while we wait for our table. Not what I was going for, but okay. I’m also secretly hoping Suave is sure that there’s a movie playing at a later time, and so it’s alright to delay dinner. And I’m really hungry.

We chat while we’re getting a drink at the other restaurant. At this point we’ve only made casual small talk, so now I’m trying to get to know the mysterious Mr. Suave—trying to uncover his interests, his stories, his goals, etc. He coolly tells me he wants to be in the restaurant/hotel business. I find out he’s worked in many restaurants since he was in high school. He implies that he knows all these behind-the-scenes restaurant tips and tricks, and is always mentally critiquing his dining experience, so naturally I try to test him (also trying my best to be flirtatious in a dry conversation).

I ask if he’s been watching our bartender—if he liked his skills or not. I asked him if he liked the lighting of the restaurant, or the uniforms. My questions were quickly dismissed however, because honestly, he was too busy looking at me to notice those things. Because… I looked so beautiful, he said with a sly smile.

Sidebar (E): Gag me.

I wanted to barf.

                      

I almost wasn’t sure if he’d really just said that. I felt set up. He did not at all seem genuine. I think all I could muster was a weak “thank you.”

I’m a tad (err, a tad more) concerned that the universe got this one wrong.

**Part two goes up tomorrow! Believe me, it only gets worse from here. But, for now, I'm curious as to what you think: were the roses sweet or creepy? Vote in the sidebar!