Ever Been Stood Up? Because I Have.

I began dating at 15 years old when I begged my dad to let me go on my first car date with Nathan Wheeler. I have NEVER been stood up in the 14 years since then. Until Friday. For those of you lucky enough to have never experienced this, I liken it to being pooped on by a bird. You feel something on your shoulder (or even your face) and you say to yourself "no, it can't be, that's not what just happened." Then the horror and disgust of the realization hits you. You've been shat upon.

If it hadn't have been for the two gay men who bought me my glass of wine at the bar or my friend Maria who met me for dinner later that evening, I might have been reduced to beer tears. It scares me on many levels - this was the second date with him and my psycho hosebeast radar had not gone off. Am I really that bad at judging someone's character? Yikes. Maybe the next time a man tells me his nickname is "Danger" I won't go on a second date with him. Yep, let's start there.

I Wouldn't Call It a Fetish. Yet.

We all have preferences in the opposite sex. Some women like muscley jock-types, others like men who are tall, dark and handsome and still other women like men in uniform. Pretty typical, eh? Not me. I like accordion players. You heard me right. I dig men who play the accordion. There is something so sexy about men who are a. musicians and b. play an instrument otherwise known as a “squeezebox.” It’s not a fetish, per se… just a preference. Ha.

I am at the 9:30 club with April and a few friends to see Ozomatli. The opening band is on-stage and they are actually pretty decent. They are an Afrobeat band playing big-band funk music. The instrumentation is impressive – they’ve got trumpets, trombones, saxophones and a sweet percussion section. Then all of the sudden the keyboard player pulls out an accordion. ::Swoon:: I get an idea. I ask the girls if anyone has a pen.

I don’t know what came over me – it’s a stunt I might have pulled as a 16 year old (well, let’s be honest, I DID pull a similar stunt when I was 16 and left a note for a musician at Busch Gardens on his music stand). I guess I have a long history of this type of behavior.

After accordion man reads the piece of paper, all of my friends point at me so he knows who wrote him the note. I keep trying to catch his eye but he is in the zone. This might mean that either he isn’t interested or perhaps has a girlfriend. Ah well – still fun to pass a note to a musician while they’re on stage. I’m such a groupie! As soon as he gets off stage he texts me and says “Hello Jamie, I would very much like to take you up on that adult beverage.” Success! It worked!!! I can hardly believe it. My friends are in shock. They can’t comprehend what they’ve witnessed.

Ryan, a.k.a. accordion man, and I grab a drink after the show. He’s a full-time musician and a pretty cool guy. He tells me I made his night (and possibly month) with my note and that it would be gracing his refrigerator when he got home. Says it’s usually the guitar players that get hit on – not the keys player. Ryan is impressed with my gumption. So are my girlfriends. But I have to remind people that it’s not bravery so much as it’s shamelessness.

I am shameless. And rockin’ it. Thanks to my shamelessness, I might have found an accordion-playing beau.

Leaving On A Jet Plane... With My Future Husband?

Airplanes. It’s where the action goes down. I am NOT kidding, folks. I am at the airport on my way to visit my sister in Oregon. I’m flying Southwest, which is indisputably the BEST airline for meeting cute guys. Why? Because you get to pick your seat! That’s right – you scout out the cute guys while you’re in line and then you sit next to them when you board the plane. Freakin’ genius! Oh, and in case you were wondering or had any doubt: yes, I look quite pretty.

I have two legs of the flight – DC to Chicago and then Chicago to Portland. There is a handsome guy who keeps checking me out but he boards long before I do. Let’s call him man number 1. The man in line behind me strikes up a conversation and come to find out he’s from OHIO (like me) and he’s in town interviewing to be a resident at Georgetown hospital. A doctor? Yes, please! We sit near the back of the plane across the aisle from one another and talk the entire flight to Chicago. Man number 1 is actually only a few rows in front of me and I catch him looking back at us – sadly – a few times.

Doctor man gets my business card and he exits the plane in Chicago along with 95% of the passengers. Guess who’s left and also continuing on to Portland? That’s right – handsome man number 1! He finagles it so that we both move up to the front of the plane and sits next to me. He seems unfazed by the fact I just hit it off with doctor man on the previous flight.

His name is Adam. He’s flying to Portland to be with his brother and his dad so that they can put the family dog down. It’s so sweet and endearing that it strikes a sympathetic chord with me. I am unabashedly a dog-lover. ::swoon:: Adam buys me a drink (I told you – airplanes are the NEW bars!) and the flight attendants look at us knowingly. Yep, they’ve seen this before. We literally talk for 5 hours straight. The conversation is easy... not forced at all.

Before we even get off the plane he has already asked for my information and even suggests that we meet up in Portland. Once we land, we are making our way to baggage claim when an older gentleman approaches us.

I don’t think I’ve ever blushed so much in my entire life. Adam is thoroughly amused and after the man tells him we should get to know each other better he replies “yeah, that’s the plan” with a smirk on his face. I even tell the guy about our age difference (I’m 29, Adam is 25) and he has an answer for everything. “That’s perfect, men die sooner anyway.” Well, alright then. There you have it. Maybe I will be sending this crazy man a wedding invite someday. You never know - crazier shit has happened.

Are You *$&#$&% Kidding Me?

I would like to momentarily interrupt our normal programming to bring you a segment called, “Are you ::insert expletive:: kidding me?”

I go on a date with this guy for drinks in Chinatown at Cuba Libre. We have a decent time and he even sneaks a kiss in at the bar. At this point I’m thinking I’d go out with him again. He had walked to the bar and asks for a ride home. I should know better. When we get to his apartment, he asks me to come inside and hey, I can’t blame a guy for trying. But when I say “no, thanks” it should stop there. It doesn’t. He asks four or five more times. I grow more and more uncomfortable and am tired of being nice about it. Finally, after what seemed like a half hour of begging, he gets out of my car. He asks me out again (via text, of course. Ugh.) to which I respond that I’m not interested. He pushes for a reason so I tell him the truth: I should only have to say “no” once. He doesn’t take it well and accuses me of being too sexy and for kissing him at the bar. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?

I decide to try online dating. Eek. I meet a nice Vietnamese guy named Van on Okcupid and we agree to meet for drinks at Front Page. He’s very cute… except for the fact he looks exactly like Joseph’s younger brother. I can get over that, right? Van is super sweet and I get the feeling he’s very much feeling the vibe I’m laying down. Still, I didn’t expect what happens next. He pulls out his phone and says “I’m just going to delete my Okcupid account right now.” I respond “no, no, don’t be silly – don’t do that!” to which he says “I don’t need it anymore... I’ve found you.” ARE YOU EFFFFFING KIDDING ME?

After hockey one Friday night I meet some friends for a drink downtown. A mutual friend of theirs was handsome, latino and funny. Trifecta! He asks for a ride home since I have wheels and he took metro. Wait. How does this keep happening? When will I learn? We get to his place and he kisses me. Okay, fine. THEN he yanks the keys out of my ignition and takes off running toward his apartment. He gleefully shouts “now you have to come inside!” I sit dumb-founded in my car and you bet your ass I’m refusing to move. ARE YOU *$&#$&% KIDDING ME?!

Sinners. You Are All Sinners!

This story takes place on Halloween. I know you’re thinking “What the hell, Jamie –it’s freaking March! Get caught up, already!” What can I tell you? There just have been SO many men between my break up and now that I’m running a severe back log. Consider yourself “disclaimered.”

Most women use Halloween as an opportunity to dress slutty. I dress ::ahem:: sexy most of the time so I like to use Halloween as an opportunity to dress as a man. Some of my past costumes have included Wayne from Wayne’s World and Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords. I looked so much like Wayne, a girl even tried to kiss me. She was aptly dressed as Babe-raham Lincoln. Schwing!

In light of my newly found singledom my roommate Bethany convinces me NOT to go as a dude this year. I oblige her and oh do I *really* oblige her. Think Sister Act meets Jersey Shore. I wore a nun’s habit with fishnet hose, a black mini skirt, and a black bra with a “shirt” that went all the way down to my belly button. I can’t even begin to tell you how deliciously naughty it felt. I spent most of the night running around yelling “sinners, you’re all sinners” to other partygoers. Many men approached me confessing to have gone to Catholic school and that this was fulfilling some boyhood fantasies. Bethany, who looked like a hot Amelia Earhart, and I did very well for ourselves that night.

I had my business card on me which is mega dangerous. I was handing that thing out like candy. In fact, I gave my number to 5 men that night – and 4 of them actually called me. I’d say that’s a pretty good ROI.

Bethany and I are a little tipsy at the end of the night and we walk to Hard Times Café in Clarendon for some late night “sober up” chili nachos. While standing in line we meet three men – one is incredibly handsome, one has scary, bloody makeup on and the third one is brown and cute. Somehow they finagle it so we’re seated at the same table together. Incredibly good-looking man’s name is Joseph. Um no. Sorry, that’s not going to work for me. I inform him I’ll be calling him Joe. When I tell him why – that my ex-fiance’s name is Joseph – he looks at me and says he’s also recently dis-engaged. What the hell? I had no idea how common it was to suffer failed engagements until it happened to me. Although to be fair, Joe was one week away from the altar when they called things off. So he’s WAY more messed up about it. Train wreck is probably an appropriate classification here.

They invite us back to Scary Makeup Man's apartment in Courthouse for more drinks. I shoot a glance at Bethany like “are we up for this kind of night tonight?” and her one-eyebrow raise replied “why the hell not?” These guys are on the older side (36-40) so the apartment is really nice. Joe invites me out onto the balcony even though it’s freezing outside and I know where this is going. He has one of the nicest bodies I’ve ever felt. And oh do I enjoy exploring it. His legs are like rocks, his stomach is ripped, his shoulders are bulging… His strapping frame makes me feel petite and feminine. Fuck yes.

The making out is getting fairly intense and it feels wonderful to be desired… and also to torture him. I have already made it clear to him that I’m not interested in a one night stand. Regardless, it doesn’t stop him from telling me all of the unbelievably naughty things he would do to me and it makes me blush in the best way possible.

Who says that? Seriously?! I wish I were making this up. But I couldn’t make it up if I tried. This is 100% true. He told me he was going to choke me. So naughty! Fyi, if you’re trying to sleep with me, this isn’t the way to entice me.

Joe and I went on one date after that night. It became apparent to both of us that 1. He wasn’t ready for anything given his recent break up and 2. I wasn't up for just a casual sex arrangement. Oh, and then there was 3. I didn’t want to be choked. Ahhhh, those minor details.

Worst Date In The History Of the World

Any date that ends with you writing an affidavit can technically be considered the worst date in the world. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?

Garrett is 23. I met him at a bar. Where he works as a bartender. Soooo stereotypical. What can I say? The kid cracks me up. He genuinely makes me laugh and I don’t find that every day. So what the hell? I decide to go out with him.

After his shift at the bar, we head to Freddies in Crystal City. We walk in and are immediately engulfed by a sleazy vibe. Maybe it’s the stripper who approaches us and makes it very clear she’s interested in both of us… or the supposedly gay Asian man who tries to feel me up… or maybe it’s just the sleaziness exuding from Garrett. I can’t be certain.

I’m laid back enough to tolerate this environment – I’m holding my own talking with a group of strippers and Mr. “touchy-feely” Asian man. I look at Garrett and am thinking he’s quite good looking for a baby. I’m busy fending Asian man off when I see Garrett talking to a woman as he pulls out his phone and gets her number. What. The. Fuck.

I wish that were the worst of it. It gets worse. “How?!” you ask. Well, let me tell you. Garrett is laying it on strong and is trying to convince me to come home with him. I’m like “hell to the NO!” He’s completely unfazed and whips out his phone to make a call. “Hey bro, what’s up dude?” Wait. Is that a girl he’s talking to?! He continues with “yeah man, where you at?” Shut up! You’re pretending you’re talking to a guy when I can totally hear that it’s a girl? Seriously?!! You can’t wait until I drop you off to arrange your booty call?

I wish I could say that 1. Asking for another girl’s number in front of me and 2. Arranging a booty call with another woman while pretending it was a man were the only things that qualified this as the worst date ever. Wrong.

The next day I get a call from a friend who knows the owners of the bar where Garrett works. “Hey, just a head’s up: you might be getting a call from the police.” WHAT? Apparently he had been accused of credit card fraud and the police wanted an affidavit from me stating where we had gone and what he spent money on. So let me get this straight. Not only did you take me on the worst date of my life but you didn’t even use your own money to finance it?! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!

To be fair, even though Garrett acted like a major douchebag, I don’t think he is a thief. What can I say? I see the best in people. Not that I would EVER consider going out with him again. I need to reevaluate my “lower limit.” Might need to raise it to at least 28. Hell, let’s just raise that puppy up to 30, the age when men actually become acceptable to date.

Speed Dating Disaster

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be trapped with tons of socially awkward, geeky guys who you would never in a million years give the time of day to? Well, wonder no more! Just sign up for speed dating!

April had a groupon for this speed dating event – a two for one special… lucky me! We arrive early at McFaddens and grab a drink by the bar. GW is also hosting a happy hour and there are plenty of men to mingle with. Wait. So why are we doing this again? April and I have no trouble meeting guys but we are both willing to give speed dating a chance. Especially since we don’t seem to be meeting the right kind of guys.

The bell rings. It’s time for speed dating, folks! Girls are seated at tables and the guys move from one girl to the next. Only there aren't enough guys – so every other round you are sitting alone. Hmph. Typical. You get 5 minutes with each guy and let me tell you: five minutes can be a very, very , very looooooong time depending on who’s sitting in front of you.

There are many “blah” guys who don’t even register in my memory. A few stick out, though. The guy who talks a lot about video games. The guy who can’t think of anything to say and starts recycling questions. The tall Indian man with piercing blue eyes. The guy who purposefully moves his chair to sit closer to each woman and makes every woman feel uncomfortable about having her personal space invaded.

We were encouraged to write down notes about each guy and to put a star next to the ones we want to see again. I look down at my painfully star-less sheet of paper. Zero stars. None. Not a one. Just when I had lost all hope I hear…

What are the odds? I know Jason from hockey when we both used to play for a league in Fairfax about five years ago. I remember thinking he was cute – even when I was dating his teammate. The five minutes with Jason felt more like 30 seconds and I knew I would be putting a star by his name.

There’s this whole convoluted email system that the speed dating organization sets up so you can see people’s pictures, find out who’s interested in you, send messages and likely cringe at the memories. Jason and I both “choose” the other and are alerted via email that we like each another. Score. Age of technology = win.

Jason comes to my house to pick me up. That’s right, ladies. He actually parks his car, walks to my front door, meets my dad (j/k) and picks me up. He doesn't say “let’s meet at such and such bar at 9 pm” or text me “I’m here” when he’s in my parking lot so I can scamper out. Seems like a small thing – but in an era when men are no longer men, he gets major bonus points.

I feel very comfortable with him. We quickly find out that we both have survived failed engagements (his reaction is actually to "high five" me when I tell him about my break up). He looks relieved that I can understand what he went through. I feel the same way. I decide after beer 2 that I like him.

Unfortunately we decide to have one more beer and that appears to be my tipping point. After beer 3, all I want to do is make out with him. We are being kicked out of the restaurant and are both heading to the restroom. I give him an opening and we share a kiss outside the bathroom. Romantic, eh? We leave with our arms around each other and pause to make out by the stairs leading down to the parking garage.

Once in my apartment’s parking lot, the seatbelts fly off and more making out ensues. I climb over to his bucket seat – shameless move, I know – and things are getting hot and heavy. When he undoes the clasp on my bra I’m instantly snapped back into reality. Pump. Those. Brakes. He walks me to my door like a nice man and doesn’t even ask to come inside. I’m relieved -there's nothing less attractive than a man pushing for sex.

Once inside I curse myself for letting things go that far. I mean – dude didn’t even get to second base BUT I should've just been content with a kiss goodnight. In any case, it is hands down the best date I've been on since Joseph. So to my ultimate chagrin, I owe a huge ol’ THANK YOU to speed dating. Not that I will ever do it again. I'm not that crazy.