There was a giant elephant in my bedroom last night

So much has changed with my buddy since my last post. He's no longer just a hugger! He is wonderful, thoughtful and romantic and makes me very, very happy. Last night he spent the night at my place - and it was the last night I'll see him for a very good while. And what parting gift did I leave him with this morning? I gigantic uncontrolled fart in bed.

I have stomach issues, I can't help it. I could feel lots of rumbling, had lots of moments where I squeezed real hard to ensure nothing slipped out. At one point, I actually said a little prayer, "Dear God, Please don't let me fart on him. Amen" Well folks, not all prayers are answered. It was about 5am, we were both tossing and turning, and then it happened. I was so surprised by it that I actually immediately said - "oh my god." It was so loud, and long. Luckily it didn't smell, or at least I don't think it did. This guy is the reserved type, so I was beyond mortified. This great guy, who was clearly awake, pretended to be asleep. How thoughtful of him - he even did some pretend deep, tempoed breathing sleeping, and then did a fake wake-up a few minutes later. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I spent the rest of the morning pretend sleeping, but really could think of nothing but gas.

I really should have just said something, but with him fake sleeping what was I supposed to do? Shake him and be like, wow, did you hear that? All day today I've relived that gassy blow. Is he thinking about it all day too I wonder? It actually crossed my mind that maybe I should email him about it but realized it would be a horrible read:

Dear Super Guy,

I'm so sorry I had all sorts of noise come out of me this morning. Thanks for pretending not to notice. You are a convincing fake sleeper. Or would you prefer to just laugh at it? I blame it on my stomach problems and the mussel you made me eat at dinner last night. Thanks for still being so sweet to me this morning; it's like you were caressing my face just to let me know that you know I ripped one, and you like me anyway.

Love,

me

Yep, not going to be sending that email. On a happy note, the only thing that blew about our final night together was my booty.

My Buddy, My Buddy, My Buddy and Me

Do not, under any circumstance, ask a guy if the evenings you're spending together are dates. Take it from me, I learned the hard way. If you have to ask then the answer is no.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where seconds after you wake up the events from the previous day are resurrected and replayed over and over? Last night, after 7 evenings together, I asked him, "So, are these dates?" I felt like there was enough evidence to the affirmative to warrant the question. I'll present my case and you can decide.

Two months ago I went on a non-date date with a guy that works at the same company as I. It was innocent, more opportunistic than planned. Friendly. A casual night at the ballpark then drinks afterward. Since then we've gone out six more times and email most days. He lives 800 miles away so when he comes in town we "hang out." So far, we've gone to a baseball game, four dinners, a really fun night bowling, spent an evening at my place playing monopoly and drinking wine, and last night - he cooked me dinner, in my kitchen.

The dinner was a result of our bowling bet - loser cooks winner dinner. It was HIS bet idea. I whipped him, which is good because if he had won and I had to cook for him, well let's just say that wouldn't be much of a prize. I surely would have served him up a Hot Pocket. He was very solicitous about planning the dinner. He learned of my adoration of macaroni and cheese over the previous 8 weeks of non-date dating. He cooked me homemade mac and cheese! I could write an entire paragraph about the gooey cheddar and gruyere mixed with butter and breadcrumbs. He also made salad with homemade dressing, lamp chops and dessert! Never in my entire life have I made such an elaborate meal, and he claims he rarely cooks too.

A couple other anecdotal pieces of evidence:

• a few weeks ago we were emailing about a band he saw in his hometown, and the next week he brought me a CD he burned of his favorite songs.

• he knows I've had lots of sleeping issues and he showed up last night with what he called a "sleep care package" with all sorts of tincture and teas.

• i double-fisted Cheetos in front of him while playing Monopoly, which he totally called me out on and laughed really hard. (doesn't everyone love dried, puffy cheese snacks?). He's told me since then a few times how "charming" and "endearing" it was.
  

So, let's get back to the heart of this - my big question. Here's how it went down:

After five really enjoyable hours together last night I walked him to my porch. He proceeded to again give me a hug. HUGS ARE FOR SISTERS. Hugs are not for whom you cook homemade mac and cheese. He turned to walk to his car and I blurted - "I have a question, are these dates?" His immediate reaction was more of a stutter than anything else. His consonants were as hard as pebbles in his mouth as he tried the ole, "well what do you think?" throw the question back at me technique. But I would have none, and suddenly felt as if I was having a conversation on the playground at my elementary school. He told me - originally no, that wasn't his intention but that now he'd say yes. (so far so good). He then said, "I guess people on the outside would call them dates because we go to dinner, and that's what dates are." So I said, "I'm not so concerned with people on the outside as I am with what you think." He then tells me that he didn't really need to come to Dallas this week for work but he came to see me. (again, thinking this is going relatively well). Then, it happened. He babbled on for a couple minutes and then landed on, "I guess I just see us as buddies hanging out." The only word more offensive than friends, is buddies. Seriously? And he used it more than once. He cooks for his buddies? He writes long cutsie emails to his buddies? (although if he did that would explain things) He then said something about how he lives on the other end of the country, I'm leaving in a few months, and we work at the same company, so with all that he's going with "not dates." Since when should logic come into play, aren't these matters of the heart? We mumbled goodbyes and abruptly went our separate ways, I inside my condo to gulp the last of the wine.

He sent me an email saying "Maybe it was just me but I felt like our last exchange before I left was sort of awkward..." Umm, pretty sure it wasn't just you feeling awkward, buddy.

So the defense rests. Maybe I'm just some ditsy girl who can't tell the difference between being buddies and dating. Perhaps I'm guilty of romanticizing the cheese grater he bought me. In light of my self-destruction, I have a feeling we won't be "hanging out" anymore when he comes to town.

He could have at least spelled my name right.

What's the deal with the passive ask-out? With texting and email, calling up for date seems like it is no longer in fashion. It seems to be used most when the asker thinks there is a low probability that the askee is going to say yes, so it's simpler and less awkward.

Last night I was out, and I have a bad habit of checking my phone. (i blame Apple, the iPhone is just too addicting). I got an email and this is what it said:

Aug 22, 9:07pm
To: Me
From: Greg
Subject: Out tonight if u are bored...

Hi Me (name spelled incorrectly),

I'm with people at Gordon Biersch. Come out if are looking for something to do.

Its patio and its really nice.

Greg


There are so many wrongs with this email:

1. The most obvious is that he butchered the spelling of my name - and my name is in my email address so I think this is inexcusable.
2. He needs to learn the difference between it's and its. I'm giving him a pass on having left out a word in the second sentence.
3. 9:07pm on a Saturday, and I've NEVER been out with this guy and in fact have only met him once at a work event. Did he really think I was sitting at home at 9:07 on a Saturday night waiting for an email such as this - to go drive across town to meet up with a bunch of strangers? Not that I'm above sitting at home on a Saturday night because that's one of my favorite things, but in this case I happened to be out.
4. This one is back story outside the email, but when I did meet Greg, he was wearing dockers with tassel loafers - no socks, and he's 17 years older than me. Enough said.

I think the rule should be that email and text ask-outs are only okay after a first date. I mean come on - nut up, call a girl and ask her out! And the same goes for girls - we need to, um, not sure our equivalent of "nut up" is, but we need to do 'it' and if a guy asks us out and we don't want to go, politely decline the invitation. It's hard, it's uncomfortable - but it really makes the most sense for everyone. So in the words of Nancy Reagan, just say no!

Do women really need men like fish need a bicycle?

Single white female looking for goldfish.

In college I loved to date. Maybe I was making up for lost time because when I was in high school I couldn't get a date to save my life. Looking back, I'm not sure why I was so undateable. Perhaps it was the braces I had on most of HS, or maybe it was my total lack of coordination and coolness. I like to blame it on the fact I have an older brother so guys at school viewed me more as a 'sister.' Something changed when I got to college and all of a sudden I was datable. Highly datable. To the point I was almost never boyfriendless.

And then, three years after college I went and got married. Rock on finger, big wedding with all the trimmings. That's not what this is about. This is about that six years after getting married I became a statistic. Yep, that's me. I'm one of those. The dreaded D word. I never would have thought. I guess no one ever really does.

So I find myself back in the dating game. For a variety of reasons my life is full of single men. For one, I work in a male-dominated industry. Secondly, I can talk to a concrete pillar. And thirdly, my life operates on both extremes of luck only - so I have the best and worst luck, ever. If there is a cute guy on the plane, I can bet my seat will be next to him. If there is a really large man on the plane with body odor, I can bet my seat will be next to him.

I don't believe in soul mates. I do believe in sole mates. My philosophy is that there are many lids that could fit this toilet and I just need to try them out one at a time (yes, that would be me as the toilet in this lovely metaphor).

I've now been on a couple dozen dates in what I call 'dating - round 2.' Wow. Cat Stevens said it's a wild world, and boy is he right. It's also a world full of stalkers, bad kissers, total dummies, know-it-alls, those who don't know when sarcasm isn't appropriate, and of course terrible dressers. It's also full of adorable men who are smart, interesting, fun and have a great heart. And somewhere, in the midst of them all, could be my next main man.

After much contemplation, I have decided that U2 must not really think fish need bicycles. And while I suck at a + b = c kind of equations, I do believe that would mean that women don't need men. They sure are fun to have around though. So I'm off in search of my goldfish. Most of the men I meet I will surely flush like I did my pet Goldy when I was eight-years-old. And hopefully, one day, I'll be lucky enough to win the perfect goldfish at the fair to bring home forever (and I may even let him out of the plastic baggie he came in).