Millionaire Matchmaker

It's the Friday night of Memorial Day weekend.  I am sitting at my desk with a glass of red wine, my jambox bumping out some weird-ass indie tunes, and I'm all Carrie Bradshaw looking out the window while it's raining and I'm typing.

I like to think I'm Carrie Bradshaw, but did Carrie Bradshaw ever encounter a Patti Stanger, Miss Millionaire Matchmaker herself?  Did I just one-up my fictional idol and inspiration?  I think I did.

Last night ... I went out on a blind date, set up by a local matchmaker that scouted me months back and kept me in her files to share with eligible bachelors that apparently have some money.  All I knew about this guy was that his name was Roy, he was a medical doctor, had cool hobbies and was tall.

My day leading up to this evening was pretty typical.  I left for work without my bag of "sexy clothes" (per the matchmaker, I needed to show skin.  I don't show skin, mostly because it's droopy in nature, but I digress...).  I had to be at work at 7:30 AM to present to my leadership team.  Of course since I was running late I didn't get to eat breakfast.  Note:  I'm newly on "head meds" to control some OCD and anxiety.  Note:  I REALLY should eat when I take those in the morning.  As soon as I stood up to speak, my legs turned to jelly (not loose-skin-jelly, like they didn't want to hold me up jelly).  My pits also started to sweat, bad.  And I saw spots.  I'm still not sure what came out of my mouth for 5 minutes.  All I was thinking was "Don't pass out, you're wearing a dress and you forgot your underwear.  Again.  Don't hit the ground.  Don't."  I know I had a remote clicker in my hands, I think I used the laser and accidentally pointed it in a chubby guys eye.  Survived my speech, speaking jibberish.  Ran out of that meeting into about 5 others.  Ran home, changed into my "sex clothes" then remembered I had a psychiatrist appointment.  Ugh!

Ran out of the house emailing my shrink telling her I would be late.  And traffic sucked.  Ugh.  As I'm driving my boss is looking for me.  Can't tell him I'm at the shrink so I say I'm "in a meeting" and will see him in 45 minutes.  I run into the shrinks office and the receptionist and others in the waiting room stop and stare.  5 inch heels, 4 inch skirt, more makeup than a lady of the night.  "Hi, I'm here for my 4pm appointment".  The receptionist says "Ummmm, you cancelled this afternoons appointment".  I stood there, crinkled my face, and then yes ... I did cancel that didn't I?  Because the day was so busy.  My response... "Oh man, I'm going crazy!"  In a shrinks office.  Again, looks from the others waiting.  To recover I said "Well I guess i'm in the right place for that then, huh?".

Ba dum dum ching. Thank you, I'll be here all night folks.

Run out of the psych office and am now furiously hurrying back to meet with my boss because we have a huge meeting with the CIO in the morning and need to finalize things. I get all the way to the office and as I open my car door to step out, I remember my outfit.  I'm dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.  Before she gets the wad of cash to shop.  GREAT.

I have no choice but to walk into my bosses office and tell him the truth.

"Listen, I know I'm not in the same clothes I was wearing all day and I look very inappropriate but I'm going on a blind date after this.  If you don't want me to be single for the rest of my life you'll ignore this outfit, not ask any questions, and just carry on.".

He says "This is exciting!! How did this come up.  Did a friend ..."

"Nope!  No questions".   He laughed and we worked like maniacs until 5:30.  I wasn't supposed to be in Boston for my date until 7:30.  I planned to just sit in my car for a while, no point driving home, no where else to go in between dressed like a tramp.  And just as I stepped out of the office for the millionth time that day - I get a text from one of my friends from work...  "Chinese and a drink"?

"Can I drink before a first date"  I ask.
"Absolutely".
"Fine then - let's go"
"Ok," he says "I'll ask Scooter, too".

We all remember Scooter.  Who I loooooved.  He who was going to help me break down my issues with my therapist.  Perfect.  And of course, he who is always busy, is readily available to drink with us now.

"Where are you going dressed like that" was the first thing he said when he saw me.
Our mutual friend who started this happy hour, Jake, says "She's going on a blind date, she'll probably get murdered later.  We're going to drink before she ends up on the news".

About 1/2 of my watermelon martini in, the boys, the bartenders, and 95% of the patrons at this establishment were aware I was going on a date with a rich guy that I'd never even seen a picture of, courtesy of a match maker.

And they ALL thought I was nuts.

I told Scooter this would be my first time drinking while on my head meds again, too.  I honestly think he was genuinely worried about me.  And I caught him staring at me a few times.  I'm joking that I looked like a hooker.  I actually looked every classy in my high heels, and black pencil skirt, and a beige camisole top.  My makeup was perfect.  My hair was in messy waves because of the humidity.  I wished I was just staying with Scooter at the bar.  And almost said I'd be happy when he asked "What would you do if I walked into the restaurant you're meeting this dude at and just sat at the bar to keep an eye on you, make sure you're ok?".   Sigh.

So ... off I went.  A martini down the hatch to relax me and I wasn't nervous as I headed into Boston.
I got there and group texted those concerned parties of Jake, Scooter, and two of my friends to let them know I arrived safe.  I got a "run, run while you can" and some "good lucks", "can't wait to hear about it".   Then a note from Roy: "In case you don't look like your pictures, I am in a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and shaved head".

Shaved head.  Instantly I wanted to leave.  That always means bald.  Not that bald is bad.  But my imagine in my mind of him looking like Dr. McDreamy just flew out my car window.

I had beat him there, so in I went to sit at the bar and await my fate.  3 minutes later, and in he walked.

Age appropriate was ... 57.  I was expecting a little older than me, maybe 40.  I'm 35.  I don't consider 57 age appropriate.  I knew there would be no spark.  He also wasn't as tall as I thought he was.  He was nice though.  And we chatted about travel and music and he didn't ask me to pay for dinner like other dates have.  I was thinking of other friends he might be appropriate for.  But I think he wants to date the youngin's like me.  The whole time I was sitting with him, I could hear my phone in my bag going off.  When he went to the bathroom I glanced down ... 51 text messages.  Mostly group chat stuff but a couple sweet ones from Scooter telling me to be open to shaved heads and to be careful.

After the date everyone was sad to hear it wasn't going to be a fairy tale ending for the Millionaire Matchup.  I was ok.  I was kind of proud I did it and didn't chicken out.  Which I could have done and months ago probably would have.

Weird how life changes.  Drinking with an old flame before a date with a new guy.  Realizing your friends love you and your crazy ass life stories.  Even right now -- one of my other best friends who's so busy with a demanding job, little baby, brother getting married - she remembered and is "dying to know how last night went".  <3

Lessons Learned:

• Life is crazy. 
• You never know what tomorrow will bring.
• You can go from heart broken to being real friends with your ex in less than 5 months.  
• Shaved heads usually means bald.
• Friends are priceless, and they're the real soul-mates. 

Charlotte

Happy May 10. It's almost 2 o'clock in the morning and this blog is going to be done all via talk to text.

I feel the need to capture this blog in real time because tonight I pulled a "Charlotte".  Maybe some of you remember the episode of Sex and the City when Charlotte stepped out of character and went on two dates with two different men on the same night.  Both her dates were really great, but she ended up single at the end of the evening when guy one caught her out with guy two.  I kind of did that tonight.  Only my night when a little differently. 

I left work early with a splitting migraine because of how the day started. This morning I got a text from Nantucket Paul saying "Sorry,  I can't even be your friend. I have too much going on. You're sweet and great but not for me me".  

Knife.  Heart.  

Everyone always lies and says "Sure, let's just be friends" when they decide not to date anymore, even if there's no intention to.  Not this guy.  One my my best friends pointed out "You are sweet and great and not for him because he's NOT a good guy.  Thank him. He's doing you a favor".  So I did.   I sent a "Thank you.", cried a ton, and dragged myself through my work day.  Came home - cried some more and tried to psych myself up for the evening. 

I only had one date planned for tonight.  It was with the tadpole from town. See previous blog post.  He was from my hometown and knew my sister.  His older sister used to want to beat me up in high school.  I thought going out with him would be "harmless". I was a little off with my assumption. 

He was nice.  Seemed nervous.  He talked a lot about our hometown.  I heard names I hadn't heard in a long time.   He told me that all the girls that used to hate me are for the most part miserable in their lives and with "bums".  He also said that some of them look like "beat up prostitutes".  That didn't make me feel as happy as I thought it would.  Those girls were so mean to me, and I always figured karma would get them.  But I think getting older brings compassion.  I actually felt bad hearing those stories.  

After he had 4 beers as I drank 4 waters -  he decided to change the subject and mention that I was the  oldest woman he had ever dated.  He's 32. I am 35.  As soon as he said that I felt terrible.  But he continued... He asked me how I felt about having children being an "older woman with a ticking clock".  I told him I stopped putting so much pressure on myself to live and date by my biological clock.  He proceeded to ask me "well how do you feel in your gut. Do you think you can have kids?". 

I reiterated that I try not to think about it, my gut said nothing, family history proved to cut women off from reproducing around my age, but I try to live by "everything happens for a reason".  I could always adopt.   

That made him appear distraught. He said: 
He wanted two kids. 
From his own loins. 
So they would be athletic.  
He also said he was very against adoption.  (Which was the wrong thing to say to someone with a sister who was adopted)
Then he proceeded to ask if at my next gynecologist appointment I could get a report on how my reproductive organs were working.  

I thought this was a joke. Until he asked four more times if I really thought I couldn't have kids.
Whyyyy were we talking about that!?  I tried to stop it a couple times with no avail.  I left feeling old.  Like I was never going to have kids of my own.  And like my ovaries needed a hug. 

He wrote to me after the date telling me he had a blast, hoped I did too. Can't wait to do it again. 

Sigh. 

While I was with the kid-craving-guy Matt* texted me.   I've been talking to Matt since January 2013.   I've only met him once, by accident, at a grocery store. He's a friend of one of my friends.  

Matt's older, 43, and persistent.  His text to me said "You need to get off Match and go on a date with yours truly"

I looked at that text again as me and my old eggs drove home.   

Yolo.  I said "come meet me out now".

And he said where. 

We ended up at the local Chinese dive bar.   I had one drink. He had two. And I was hungry.  Bar wasn't serving food anymore.  He asked me if I wanted to go back to his place and try a Newmans frozen cheese pizza.  We were getting along ok.  It was only 10 minutes away.  

Yolo.  I said "fine". 

I followed him back to his place. He made a pizza. I sprawled out on his couch.  I bossed him around. Complained about his toilet seat being up. Made fun of his stereo. Forced him to watch my shows. He didn't care. He served me two pieces of pizza on a plate, handed me a beer.  Then told me I was beautiful and proceeded to make out with me.  

All I could do was think of stupid Paul. 

I stopped the make out sesh, ate my pizza, drank my beer, and said I needed to go home. It was 1 AM.  

I am home now in bed, struggling trying to figure out what I should be doing.  Do I take a break from dating or keep doing this.  Nights like tonight are exhausting and depressing.  

It's the damn zsa zsa zsu!

It's so rare for me to have it.  I'm mad and sad I didn't have it with either guy from tonight.  But I'm thinking as I'm typing/talking to text ...  the zsa zsa zsu hasn't really ever worked out for me.  Every guy I had it with - obviously didn't stick around. Was that because I'm different when there's zsa zsa zsu?  Or am I getting the zsa zsa zsu from a specific kind of guy that's not good for me. Do I explore opportunities with guys I'm not excited about and have no zsa with?   Or do I hold out for the guy with the zsa that will like me just as I am.  

Did I mention I'm seeing a psychiatrist Monday.  A psychiatrist.  I have a feeling there are some head meds in my future.  That might not be a bad thing. 

Anyway ...  I'm tired.  Physically and mentally - because it's late and dating is a bitch.  I yelled at God a lot today for doing this to me over and over again. I miss stupid Nantucket - even though he's a dick and is probably sleeping at some other girls house right now.  FRIGGING ZSA ZSA ZSU ... you get me every. single. time. 

I want more pizza.  Different kind of 'za. 

Lessons Learned:

• Be kind to your ovaries.  They can't help getting old.  It's part of life.
• Karma probably does exist. 
• Newman's Frozen Cheese Pizza has no preservatives and is pretty good. 

Will they all eventually come back?

So this happened this morning. It makes me wonder ...  Will they all eventually come back around?  I wish some would more than others.  Actually just one. Sigh. 

Bad Breath Bob Frog

Just had lunch with one of my best friends and bumped into BBB, Bad Breath Bob*.

He's a frog from not too long ago that I stopped talking to after an incident on Thanksgiving Eve where I got drunk and made out with his best friend.  It happens.

He was pretty mad and I'm not too sad about it because, well...  I call him Bad Breath Bob for a reason.  

In my defense, that day, I had lunch with Ding Dong Frog and drank bourbon.  Then I went to my friends house so I could watch and learn as she made cranberry sauce and cookies.  I drank all her wine instead.  Then called Bob and told him he should come over my friends house since he knew her, too.  He brought a friend and a 30 pack.  I probably drank some of those, too.  

It all started to go downhill later that night when Bob went to the bathroom and I made my friend, and his friend, go hide outside on the porch with me.  Bob coming out of the bathroom and not knowing where we were was the funniest thing ever to me at that moment.  Despite the 20 degree weather that night, they humored me.  Everything's blurry after that. 

I later found out:

• While we were hiding on the porch, I rang my friends doorbell so many times that I broke it. 
• I went back out on the porch with Bob's friend, smoked one drag of his cigarette and coughed so much I nearly passed out.
• Then made out with the friend.
• Then Bob left, and left his friend behind with us.
• Then I apparently realized my friend had taken my keys away so I wouldn't drive.
• Then I woke my friend up, who had gone to bed, and I was crying I didn't want to sleep with Bob's friend. 
• Then I was told to go to sleep. 

Glad my family doesn't do much for holiday's because I was in rough shape on Thanksgiving, and I beat my body up so much I actually was sick for a whole week after that.  Karma?  Probably.  Probably getting some form of bad karma back for referring to this poor dude as Bad Breath Bob, too.  :/

Bob actually just emailed me. He saw me, now he's telling me he was thinking of me the other day. Very chatty. Guys from my past tend to make regular re-appearances.  Which of course has me wondering if I'll ever hear from Nantucket Paul again.  Hate that I care if I do.  I need a distraction dude. Or head meds.  Either/or.