I have good intentions

I had to re-schedule my date this week, due to a sudden work emergency. Said emergency will also delay me from shopping for the essential last piece of my costume, so eek! Friday is going to be a crazy day.

In other news, I’ve apparently become the worst flake on email answering EVER. I read something, fully intend to answer it later, and then never do. Now, will this get better or worse if I upgrade to a Blackberry? There’s probably only one way to ever find out. Upgrade time!

“to love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”

I went to a university mostly populated by women. When they visited, my guy friends from high school were delighted to find that they couldn’t make it from the entrance up to the bar without getting hit on by at least four sexually frustrated drunk girls. The men on campus were generally either taken, gay, or jerks that absolutely no one wanted. I managed a few romances, but there were times when batting my eyelashes and deploying my superior wit resulted in a whole pile of nothing.

This is why several of my girl friends from university are not only single, but they missed out on prime formative dating years, and are now having trouble diving into the dating pool. On the other end of the spectrum, a surprising number of my friends from high school are in long term relationships with–if not married to–guys they’ve been with since they were teens.

Personally, I’m a huge fan of being single. Knowing who you are and being comfortable with yourself alone is super important. And deciding what it is you’re looking for in a mate is really hard to do when you don’t have some bad dates and messy break-ups under your belt. For me, it’s hard to imagine settling down with someone without experiencing the adult dating world first, and being able to go to the movies alone.

shaken martinis are weaker

One of the guys from my first speed dating experience just called me out of the blue. It’s been like a month; I cannot for the life of me remember what we talked about then, and I only have the briefest of notes to go on. But we’re going to a sporting event this week. Helpfully, he told me what he’s going to be wearing (must be nice to be a man, and be able to have this sort of thing set in stone in advance), so hopefully I won’t end up accidentally picking up some random off the street just before he gets there. I promise nothing, however!

I’m afraid I was only half-listening to him for most of the conversation, because I was racking my brain, trying to remember what he does for a living, so I could figure out what we were talking about. I’m usually a bit better at faking previous knowledge, but he caught me off guard. Now I might have missed my opportunity to haul out the old, “Sorry, refresh my memory… you’re a (pilot/botanist/chimney sweep)?” At least our date will give me a chance to use my super stealthy investigative skills. We should all keep the secret agent sides of our personalities sharp.

let this be a lesson to all men

Well, my attempts to embed this video failed horribly, but go here and watch.

I didn’t even watch SNL

You know what sucks? Being unable to go out Saturday night because you have to get up super early Sunday morning. It’s still dark out!

I’ve always wanted to go as the Bride of Frankenstein, but I can’t get my hair to do that

I’m heading out for an evening on the town with Antonia and Joanne tonight. The plan is to drink a lot (complicated, I know). We’re worried about what the projected rainfall will do to our hair. And, possibly, pneumonia.

In other news, I’m trying to decide on a costume for the Seven Deadly Sins party on Halloween. For some reason (being unable to properly read a calendar, maybe), I thought I had more time. But no, it’s in a week! Time flies when you procrastinate.

apparently arson is no joke

Last night I rounded up a single sidekick and headed out to FastLife’s Oktoberfest Beer Tasting event. It was fabulous, and twice as much fun as my first speed dating event! There were twice as many guys, they were taller and cuter, and the conversations tended towards the goofy, rather than being job interview-esque. My notes, however, suffered immensely. The tables were close together, and the dates were only five minutes long this time around, so I had zero time to jot down any descriptors, and eventually I just gave up. But I do have “gay?” written next to one name.

My table was kind of rickety, and since the gents were moving around and carrying glassware, I took to warning them… which led to me joking that I’d taken a sledgehammer to the legs of said table to one guy. It’s possible that he believed me, even when I followed that up by saying my hobbies were smashing things and lighting them on fire. I know I have a strange sense of humour, but I thought it was pretty clear that I was kidding. I checked no for him; being able to laugh about pyromania is a must for any potential mate of mine.

I’ve wanted to go to the BierMarkt for a long time, and the venue did not disappoint. My wingwoman and I stopped by early to grab a few cocktails, and I was pleased to find it a sausage fest. Seriously, men everywhere. And they had wild boar on their Oktoberfest menu. I don’t know how attractive men find women when they’re in meat comas, but maybe I’ll go down there before the month is over and find out.

I have somewhat particular tastes when it comes to beer–not to say I’ll refuse one proffered (except for Blue. I do not drink Blue. And I also judge people who do), but when picking something out at a pub, I know what I like. I have to say, I was surprised by the raspberry wheat beer. I did not expect to like it, but it was much better than I thought it would be. I’m probably not going to go anywhere and order it, but it’s not going on my list. And I might stop judging people for enjoying fruity beers.

can it be explained by the economy, like hemlines?

Inevitably, on Monday I crapped out entirely on bra shopping, and went to a matinee instead. This is the beauty of being freelance; on days when you have no work, you get to dick around while serious people go to their offices. Rach and I saw Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist and ate disgustingly buttery popcorn.

I thought it was cute, but not much more. I’d have liked it better if I were sixteen. You know what struck me the most? It wasn’t THAT long ago that I was in high school, but the pants that boys wear have gone from ludicrously over-sized to ludicrously tight. Is there no happy medium?

don’t do laundry while sleep-deprived

As I’ve previously mentioned, I am a babe on a budget. So much so, in fact, that I’m rekindling my love affair with Mr. Noodles. I recently realized that I could put off buying new bras AGAIN because I’d lost enough weight to fit into the old ones I’d been busting (hah!) out of all summer. Fantastic! However, due to a rookie laundry snafu, I’ve managed to dye my two favourite bras green. Tragic! I haven’t stopped wearing them, fear not, but since they were my go-tos when I thought someone might have a shot at seeing me in less than a shirt, I may, in fact, have to devote some time to bra shopping. I did also dye the matching panties green, but even as an ensemble it looks silly and unintentional. You know what this teaches me? I should really suck it up and handwash my delicates.

I should probably also go and get properly fitted. I know, I know, what’s taken me this long? It’s just that, when it comes right down to it, it’s a stranger with a name tag touching your boobs with measuring tape. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right size, but there comes a time in all our lives when we have to listen to Oprah and whip off our shirts in front of a lingerie professional.

In less indirect dating news, I’ve got another speed dating event coming up this week! Maybe if I get my act together tomorrow on the bra shopping front, I can test-drive the lingerie there. It’s in the tips for successful dating, after all, and who am I to refuse any advantage that comes my way?

I am woman, hear me roar

Ironically, the guy who hasn’t travelled, doesn’t drink, and lives in the boonies was a much more interesting date than Dr. Vanilla. Plus, this one is tall. Unfortunately, I get the distinct impression that I’m too much car for him. He talks a good talk, but I’m pretty sure I could wrap him around my little finger, and I just can’t respect a guy I can push around.

He wasn’t lacking in confidence, though. Or at least, he steeled his nerves and went for it, because he not only went for the hand hold, he also went in for a goodnight peck. I still just got this sense that I could run rings around him if I so chose (and I always do), and that’s no good for either party in a relationship.

Mother has a theory that I intimidate guys. Me? Sweet little me? Well, it’s possible. But I like to think of that as a screening process. Men who are frightened of women with brains and attitude had better toughen up before diving into the dating pool. Especially before going to speed dating events; I didn’t spend that much time talking to the other ladies, but I sensed some kindred spirits. I don’t want to date the creepy guys that leer at me on the street, but neither do I want the doormats who defer to my whims. Here is another one of my tragic flaws: once I know I can get away with it, I become more and more tyrannical, and respect for my hapless victim goes down exponentially.