Meats. And Greets.

Oh.
Em.
Gee.

Sorry about the abysmal lack of blogitude. Here's what's been goin' down.

Note: The beginning of this post is a recap, with some elaboration. I'll get back into the swing of things soon. Mmm...regurgitated information.

So, shortly after my last post (roughly 37 years ago), things between The Editor and I ended. How did they end, you ask? Here's the timeline:

Monday: He comes over for dinner. We make plans to get together on Thursday.
Tuesday: Nothing.
Wednesday: Nothing.
Thursday: I text him and say, "we're still on for tonight?" I hear nothing.
Friday: I text him and say, "hello?"
Saturday: Nothing. I listen to a lot of depressing music and cry and eat ice cream.
Sunday: Nothing. I come to the conclusion that he is dead. Or paralyzed from the forehead down. I call, at wit's end, and say, "Look, don't you think you at least owe me an explanation before you disappear? Be a man and do the right thing." I hear nothing.
Monday: Nothing.
Tuesday: He calls. And here, for your viewing pleasure, is a paraphrased transcript of that conversation.

ME: Hello?
HIM: Hey, it's me! How are you doing?
ME: Um...I'm fine.
HIM: Great, great. Hey, sorry about the disappearing act.
ME: Yes?
HIM: Yeah, I guess I was just feeling a little hermity.
ME: (thinking, "that's not a word, you a-hole.") Wow. Okay.
HIM: I mean, I guess I've just been thinking a lot, and I'm thinking that maybe I'm not really interested in having a girlfriend right now, you know?
ME: (pause) You know, that statement loses a lot of credibility when you meet someone on eHarmony. What you mean is, you don't want me to be your girlfriend.
HIM: (nervous laugh) Yes, I guess so. I mean, I'm sorry, you're a great girl, but I don't think I'm ready to take things to the next level and let's be honest, we're not getting any younger.
ME: Right. And you don't want to waste your time.
HIM: Exactly! I'm glad you get it.
ME: Yes. So, tell me. What did I do that made you assume that I was thinking that this would be long term?
HIM: Well, nothing?
ME: Right, because honestly, I didn't see myself married to you. I didn't call you or expect you to call me, I never referred to you as my boyfriend, I never talked about our future together, right?
HIM: Yeah, I guess you're right. So, this is mutual, right?
ME: (sigh) Sure, whatever.
HIM: So, can we still be friends? I mean, I'm new to the city and I don't really know many people, and it would be nice if I could call you and go to the movies or something.
ME: Don't call me--I'll call you when I feel like I'm okay with hanging out with you.
HIM: Okay. I'll look forward to that. Thanks.
ME: Yep. Good luck out there.

I have clearly never called him. Why would I want to spend time with someone who uses words like "hermity"??

Two days later, my grandma passed away at the ripe old age of 94. She'd suffered in the throes of dementia for about 5 years, and while it was a joy to let her go and to know that she's at peace, it was difficult to say goodbye to my mom's mom. I'm now the oldest woman in my family. No joke. No aunts, no grandmothers, no mom.

I am THE MATRIARCH!

FEEL MY WRATH!

(Just kidding about that last part.)

In the meantime, there's The Aviator. He and I went out the weekend after things with The Editor ended (side note: The Editor and I weren't really even exclusive--I was seeing The Aviator occasionally the whole time we were "dating". These are not the actions of a woman who is pressuring a man into a relationship. But I digress.). We went to P.F. Chang's, had a great dinner served to us by an insane waiter and then...

he went to Colorado for 3 weeks.

I texted him when he came back and asked if he wanted to grab a drink, and he said sure...but that he was out of town for a conference. He promised me a call when he got back.

Again, despite my outward appearance and poor life choices, I'm not dumb. I know that avoiding a date and not calling or texting means "I'm trying to make you disappear", so I just figured I'd let it go. I started communicating with another eHarmony guy who shall, as of this printing, be named "The Educator". I have nothing to say about him except that, for a teacher, he has TERRIBLE grammar. That's a turn off. But again, irrelevant. On we go.

I did, miraculously, hear from The Aviator when he returned. He texted, and suggested that we meet for drinks. I just finished working on "Hamlet" at work, and was responsible for costume and prop strike--I told him I'd meet him in Squirrel Hill at 9:45. He agreed, but informed me that he had a 6:00am flight out of town this morning. He then reassured me that, as long as he was on his way home by 11, he'd be just fine.

We met for drinks. We laughed a ton. We shared eHarmony horror stories. He informed me that his subscription had expired, and I told him that mine expires next week. 11:00 came...and went. As we'd finish a beer and continue our conversation, the bartender would check on us and he'd say, "One more?" I reminded him that I was not flying to Alaska (that's right, Alaska) at 6am, and that it was totally his call.

And at 1:00am, when the bar closed, we went our separate ways.

It was a great evening, and we made plans to get together upon his return next weekend.

So, Editors: Out. Aviators: In.

Educators: Learn to Spell.

Side note: I am eating meat. At the end of July, as I was sitting down to an utterly depressing dinner of corn and cereal and my roommate was preparing some glorious Mandarin Chicken, I said, "you know what? I'm so over being a vegetarian." And I haven't looked back. My two months of vegetarianism did impact me, though--I definitely eat more vegetarian meals than I ever did before. I just temper them with some delicious Chicken McNuggets.

Three Truths and a Lie (and an update)

1. The Editor did call, finally. We mutually agreed that things weren't going to move forward, and I have since forgotten he even exists. The Edi-who?

2. The other day, I made fun of Larry, who is cable sales. I regret that comment, mostly because I didn't read the REST of Larry's profile which reads, "I have a past history of working in Gentleman's Clubs. If this bothers you, close me out."

Dear Neil Clark Warren:

Are you friggin' kidding me?! I have 29 levels of compatibility with this dude? REALLY, NCW? REEEEEEEALLY?

Love and kisses (but not until marriage),
Moi

3. Haven't heard from The Aviator. I'm a little surprised, but not too upset. Whatev. If I really liked him all that much, I would have dumped The Editor for him in the first place. So, I guess I should probably settle for Larry, who is cable sales and who spends his free time with nude women.

4. I'm so glad I'm doing eHarmony. This has been the best $119 I've ever spent.

(Note: The Aviator just called. We're going out on Friday night. Never a dull moment.)

Ding, dong, The Editor's dead.

Well, he'd damn well better be--I haven't heard from him in a week.

(Warning:  This post has nothing to do with vegetarianism.)

When last we left our intrepid Dating Vegetarian (me), The Editor had come over for dinner on Monday night.  Before he left my house, we made plans for Thursday.  "I'll give you a call later this week," he said.

Thursday, no call.  

"No biggie," I thought.  "I'll just go to bed early, and tomorrow I'll reap the benefits of him feeling like a terrible person for standing me up!"

But there was no call on Friday.  I texted--no response.

Saturday, I called.  Didn't leave a message.  No response.

Last night, at the end of my rope, I called and left a message.  It could have gone a few different ways--I vacillated between some variation on the following themes:

1.  "Eff you!  Stick it in your ear!  Your mom!"

2.  "::sniffsniff::  Just wondering why I haven't heard from you...I miss you...call me, please..."

3.  "You know what?  There are better ways to handle what's going on here.  Calling me is the right thing to do, and you know it.  If you think this is the best you can do, I'm not going to try to change your mind, but I think I deserve some closure."

Yes, I opted for choice 3.  

I know, I know.  I should have played the Cool Girl and never called him.  But guess what?  I am NOT cool.  Not at all.  I do crossword puzzles and I like "The Jerk" and I eat cereal 3 meals a day.  So I did what I had to do, even though I know it's not right for everyone.

(I like how I'm making myself sound completely coherent and calm in this little personal essay.)

(Don't you love blogging??  I do.)

I'm feeling pretty okay about life today, but there were tears shed at the expense of this a-hole.

  

(Can you believe it??  I can't.)

Moral of the story, we went out on 14 dates--in my mind, that's definitely within the range of expecting to be told that we're breaking up, rather than him taking the "witness protection program" route.

I'd consider myself a highly suspicious person, and I really didn't have much of an indication that I'd never hear from him again.  I mean, there were a few moments of "hmmm...really?", but in general, things seemed to be scootching along pretty smoothly.  I certainly never put pressure on him, I didn't see my unborn children in his eyes (gag), I didn't even refer to him as my "boyfriend" (mostly because I hate that word).  He just disappeared like the fine morning mist.

Granted, he might be dead, trapped in a cage somewhere, or paralyzed from the neck down, but I'm pretty sure things are over.

SO.  I did what any self-respecting Blogstress (yes, Blogstress) would do.   

I called The Aviator.

More on that as it develops.

And for the sake of my financial investment, I got back on eHarmony a minute ago.  Wading through the dunes of inadequate men, I started to realize a common theme--I'm getting "closed" by guys that I wouldn't even consider dating.  

WHAT???  Don't they know who I am?!?

My favorite is a man named Larry.  He's 42, his profile picture features his truck, and as his occupation, he has listed "I am cable sales."

Really, Larry?  You are cable sales?  

Best of all, he has closed me out because--and this response was chosen from a long list of choices provided by eHarmony, lest you think Larry is suddenly halfway articulate--"based in statements in the profile, the difference in our values is too great".  

DO YOU THINK SO, LARRY??  

I'm just very frustrated with the whole eHarmony scenario right now--they're matching me up with guys who are considerably younger than I am, or considerably older than I am, or with whom I am clearly not compatible on any level.  Worst of all, the last thing I needed to see when I opened my account was the following:

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

CLOSED

Because with every shmuckatelli that closes me out, that's one step closer to 

DYING

ALONE

IN

A

TRAILER

FULL

OF

CATS

I'm going to drink some wine now, I think.  And maybe eat some ice cream.  And call my best friend and cry, because if I'm already a walking cliche, I might as well just hit it out of the park.

Two Faces Have I.

Do you know that old song?

"Two faces have I...one to laugh and one to cry..."

If you don't know it, you can watch it here, or you can live your life devoid of the pleasure of hearing Lou Christy sing "Two faces have IIIIIiiiIIIIIIII...YI YI YI YI OH-OH-OH".

Disclaimer: I will just state, for the record, that I thought the song was "Do Faces Have Eyes" until about 3 weeks ago. This disclaimer has been brought to you by My Utter Uncoolness.

At any rate, here's why I feel like this song sums up my life at this point.

I want you to imagine that there's something you want very much to be good at (sentence ending with a preposition, suck it). Crochet, for example. Or, for that matter, croquet. Or crouton-making. The list goes on.

Now, I want you to imagine that EVERY TIME you make a feeble attempt at crocheting a sweater, for example. Or for that matter, winning a croquet tournament. Or crouton-making. EVERY TIME you try, all of your friends see the end result of your efforts. Your too-long, uneven scarf. Your terrible croquet score. Your revolting, chewy croutons. All of your friends and family see your failures, and they judge you, over and over, for being a major crochet/croquet/crouton tool and, while they still love you--and they don't love you any less for your failures--a part of them will always feel sorry for you.


"Oh, there goes Blahblah. Such a nice girl...but her croutons bring shame to her family."

This inane analogy, folks, is how I feel about relationships. Every time I get one started--I fan the feeble fire into flame (alliteration. high-five!)--it burns out magnificently usually taking my eyebrows/dignity with it. I hate introducing guys I'm seeing to friends and family, because I know that when it ends--even if he's an idiot with no job or no body hair or mustard on his shirt--ultimately I chose badly. Sure, it's not my fault that he can't spell (like, at all. like, on a 2nd grade level), or that he's obsessed with lousy bands, or that his hair has kind of fallen out in random patches, but I picked him. I picked him, and I coddled him, and I tried to make it work, and it didn't. So not only did I lower my standards, I got crapped on. Standards: lowered. Crap: achieved.

This is not written to be any reflection of how things are going with The Editor. If anything, I am psychotic (please act surprised) and am ascribing jerk-like tendencies to the poor guy when he's just trying to live his sweet little life. It's just to say that this is why no one will meet him any time soon. I had a little taste of how things would go if they ended this weekend--all is fine, no need to break out the Ani DiFranco albums--and I've decided that I'm just not ready to let the world experience my croutons quite yet.

And now, how this ties in to that inane song...

This weekend was rough. The Editor and I were NOT communicating at all, and the results were very hurt feelings and me driving around Western PA practicing The Break Up Speech in my car.

(Go ahead and act like you've never done such a thing.)
(I don't believe you.)

The worst part of it all, though, was that I kept thinking, "How am I going to tell my friends? How am I going to tell them that I failed AGAIN at keepin' it together?" So, I act like everything's cool. I put on my Sunny Disposition and made it through the weekend. And in hindsight, I realize that if I feel like telling my friends is going to be the hardest part of a breakup, well, things aren't that bad.

So, back to current events.

And yes, I realize that if I'd update my blog more frequently, I wouldn't have to write mammoth entries. Thank you for your input.

Things with The Editor are fine. He called out of the blue tonight for being incommunicado yesterday (a minor bone of contention), and stopped over for a quick dinner. We went out on Saturday and saw "Public Enemies" (pretty good), and we had dinner at Bravo (really good).

Do you think I use too many parentheses?
(Yes.)

On to VEGETARIANISM.

I miss meat like the ocean misses the shore. If meat and I were in high school together, I'd write in its yearbook, "Dear Meat, U R 2 Good 2 B 4 Gotten.". I write haiku (haikus? what the heck's the plural to "haiku"??!) to meat.

Meat, you elude me.
I crave you between my teeth
And in my tummy.

Here's today's exceptionally weird meat craving moment (nope, that wasn't it):

I got a text from The Editor yesterday while he was at a concert--the text said, "Got me a tshirt!", and in my meat-deprived state, I read, "I got meat shirt!"

I was all, MEAT SHIRT. MUST GET MEAT SHIRT.

I'm turning into a Neanderthal. I suspect that this does not happen to lifelong vegetarians.

Eats and Reads

I'm sorry I haven't blogged!
I've been SO busy!

Now that we've got that blogging cliche out of the way, here's an update on my life.

Let's start with vegetarianism, because that's where the fun's at (pronounced "funzat").

In the interest of full disclosure, you must know something. Eet's a seeeecret. Come clooooooser.

I accidentally ate meat last week.

DUN DUN DUNNNNN!

My friend Hannah makes the most delicious little cream cheese tortilla roll ups. I am a big fan of anything that has no basis in nutritional value whatsoever, so I've always enjoyed those little puppies. She brought them to a picnic, and I was all CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP! After having eaten three, I noticed the meat. I mean, it wasn't camouflaged. It was all up in the tortilla roll-up, and yet, in my meat-crazed stupor, I didn't even notice.

I felt bad for 3.652 seconds, then I moved on with my life. I'm still committed to sticking to vegetarianism for the summer, but to be honest, I miss meat. Every kind of meat. My friend B. mentioned Steak-Umm on her Facebook status yesterday, and I probably would have traded my kidney for a big ol' Steak-Umm with cheese and onions after reading it. Not a sign that the vegetarian lifestyle is perfect for me.

Also, I recently drove past a poster that said "WORK SHOP", and I almost wrecked my car because I thought it said "PORK CHOP". Let's be honest. I'm a carnivore to the core.

Now, the greets.

Things with The Editor continue smoothly...but he keeps me guessing. I suppose this is a good thing, because otherwise I'd get bored. (I bore easily, with such things as hobbies, self-improvement ideas, and blogs.) Anywho, he seems to be into me, and the more I think about it, the more I'm into him. But I'm reserving judgment. I'm trying to keep the insane commitmentphobe in check, lest I terrify the poor man.

This weekend, we went to Panera and Barnes and Noble. We sat at Barnes and Noble--in the Cafe--and read magazines. And didn't talk. Have I ever mentioned how much I love that? No? Well, let me tell you a little story.

The librarian of my elementary school and her husband were frequently spotted around local restaurants for brunch or an early dinner on Sundays. I know this, because my family was frequently spotted around said local restaurants. They'd come in, each with a book in hand, and proceed to read their books--independantly--while their meal progressed. As a person who was constantly (CONSTANTLY) being punished for reading at the dinner table, I made up my mind then and there that the perfect relationship would involve separate reading of separate magazines/books at meals. I don't want to talk about your day. We can do that while we're driving to the restaurant, or while we're cooking dinner, or while we're grocery shopping for what we're going to eat. While we're eating, we will read. We will read, and occasionally share intriguing or well-written portions of what we're reading, but generally speaking, we will just read and enjoy some quiet time.

I'm not proud. I like to read and eat at the same time. It's my thing.

Does this make me antisocial? Perhaps. But you have no idea how much something like this appeals to a person who was grounded for sneaking a beat-up, old 1976 Reader's Digest under her napkin during her grandma's birthday dinner, just so she could read Drama in Real Life.

Hm...maybe not antisocial. Maybe just unspeakably nerdy.

The Editor vs. The Aviator

I'm eating meat!
And I'm married!

Okay, neither of those are true. I'm just trying to spice things up around here.

The latest:

Still a vegetarian. It's been a ridiculously busy week in The Life Of Me, but I've maintained the lifestyle in spite of a lack of time to actually a) grocery shop and b) cook. Suffice it to say, I've been eating a lot of peanut butter.

As for the men in my life: The Editor lost a lot of points this week. I saw him on Sunday night for a little R&R--we watched "Benjamin Button" (and I didn't hate it) and ate noodles. I didn't hear from him on Monday or Tuesday (you know, a little "How was your day?" action goes a long way), but whatev.

Wednesday, we had some apocalyptic weather here in The Burgh. I, however, was not in The Burgh. I was teaching piano lessons in the Great White North, and we just got a little boom/flash. I texted him when I heard that much of his neighborhood was flooding and receiving some nasty wind--he texted back to inform me that he'd stayed at work, and that he'd call me when he got home.

He called at 11pm, and his mom called at 11:05. "I've got to take this," he says. "Call you back in a minute."

An hour later, I went to bed. An hour and 15 minutes later he texted to inform me that his mom is long winded, and that he's going to bed.

Aaand I haven't heard from him since, except to hear that he was too tired to hang out last night, and that he was working tonight. He suggested that we hang out tomorrow night...I replied, "That's ok, but I work very early on Monday--can we do an early dinner?" And I didn't hear back from him!

Dear Boys of America:

Do you ever wonder how to piss a girl off? This is how. Tell her you'll call, then don't. Make your job sound more important than her feelings. Ditch her for a weekend, because you're tired.

THIS is how to piss a girl off.

Love and Kisses,
Moi

So, because I'm anything but a wallflower, I called The Aviator. We had lunch this afternoon, and it was fun. I may dump The Editor if things don't improve this week. I really, REALLY don't like being a jerk, but even more I dislike being taken for a ride.

Back to vegetarianism.

Things I miss:

Wings
Chicken McNuggets
Bacon
Wings
Steak
Sausage
Wings

(Note: had dinner at Dad's tonight. He ate wings. Droooooling ensued.)

Welcome to the Meatless Jungle.

First, Vegetarianism.

I tried my first meatless chicken nuggets last night. I'm not going to lie--the first few bites were ROUGH. I kept telling myself, "Mmm! Chicken! Isn't it so very tasty!", but my stomach was all like, "WTF, dude?! This is not chicken! OUT! OUT!"

However, the old adage rang true: everything tastes better with ranch dressing. I ate them, they weren't bad, I survived the potential Tummy Rebellion of '09.

Tonight, since I'm not eating meat, I ate nachos and a HoHo for dinner.

In case you have not picked up on this important fact, I am pure class.

And now, let's move on to the high-stakes world of Online Dating.

I hit my first pothole with The Editor today. On Sunday, we had discussed his schedule for the week--he was subbing for his boss today, and would be working from 2pm to 11pm. I suggested that we grab lunch in our mutual area, he agreed. I gave it no thought until last night, when I thought to myself, "Hm. Haven't heard from The Editor. I should text him." So I did, a neutral text about a book that we both have been reading.

For the sake of full disclosure, the text read exactly as follows:

"I finally finished "The Reader"!"

And he didn't reply, which was fine...but confusing...because I was going to follow that neutral text up with something like, "So, what time for lunch tomorrow?" , or, "Are we still on for lunch?" Or something wildly creative along that vein. Unfortunately, since he didn't respond to the neutral text, I was in the awkward position of not wanting to text again lest I seem like a creepy stalker, but really wanting to know if we were going to be having lunch.

Creepy stalker?

Lunchless loser?

Six of one, half-dozen of the other.

So, being a modern woman, I did nothing. I packed a lunch for today, and went to bed feeling dejected and frustrated.

This morning, I kept thinking, "He'll call! He'll text! Surely, he won't leave me feeling like a complete moron!" But alas, nothing. And at 1:00, because I am a Modern Woman, I texted him and said, "So...we're not on for lunch today?"

Passive aggressive much?
Why, yes.
Much.

I finally heard from him at 3:00ish, apologizing and offering to take me out tomorrow night.

I can't go out tomorrow night. Do you know why? Because I am taking a HIP HOP DANCE CLASS. That's right. In case you didn't hear me yell it just now, I am taking a
HIP.
HOP.
DANCE.
CLASS.

Sigh. The things I do for my friends.

And I'm out for Friday, because I am judging a beauty pageant. Mmhmm. You heard me.
JUDGING.
A.
BEAUTY.
PAGEANT.

Who is this woman?? I don't even recognize myself anymore.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. My life is ridiculous for the next two days. He's going to Kennywood with some friends on Saturday. So, we're going to hang out tomorrow night (after the aforementioned H.H.D.C.) and watch "Benjamin Button". It's going to be very glamorous, as I will be wearing a sweaty t-shirt and yoga pants.

As for The Aviator...it's been a few days since I've heard from him. I can only assume his interest has waned, or he's too busy, or blah blah blah.

eHarmony has been sending me some REAL classy matches, though. (That's right. REAL classy.) Frank, who can't live without his gun cabinet. Rick, whose best quality is his truck. Walt, whose profile picture features his pet snake.

(That's not a euphamism. It's really a snake.)

It's a jungle out there, folks.

All Day I Dream Of Meat.

It's all I can think about. I was at a friend's last night--there were wings. Pirate game last week: hot dogs. Someone in my neighborhood is making steaks on a grill right now, and I can't think about anything but

MEAT
MEAT
MEEEEEEEEEEEEAT

Happy One Week Vegetarian Anniversary, Self.

The Editor and I went to see "The Hangover" this weekend. It was very, very funny. I then took him on his inaugural trip to Eat'N'Park. Being a Georgia man, he's never been. Good times. We came to my house and proceeded to watch "Ironman", which I'd never seen and I straight-up loved.

(side note: I also watched "Sense and Sensibility" on Saturday afternoon. I watched 3 movies in one day. That may be my personal best.)

I did get an email from The Aviator on Saturday, as well, but he's been "Busy With Work"--an excuse I've heard enough times in my life. If "Busy With Work" was yarn, I could make a blanket big enough to cover Asia.

I just tried to make more "If 'Busy With Work' Was" jokes, but they all contained meat references.

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAT

Anyway, I don't doubt that The Aviator wants to hang out again. I just don't think he's going to beat The Editor in terms of Quality Hangout Time. It's a shame, but that's the way the eHarmony Flavored Cookie Crumbles, folks.

In other news, if you have not dropped everything and bought Bananagrams yet, do it now. Rob and I sat at my kitchen table and played it for about 5 hours on Friday night. My butt was killing me, but I won a few games so it was worth some butt pain.

Unrelated.

This has nothing to do with vegetarianism or online dating.

Go to your local purveyor of fun-type goods.

Buy yourself a little game called "Bananagrams".

Play it until your brain explodes, and thank me later.

Tee. Gee. Eye. Eff.

Well, my first work week as a vegetarian has come to a close. I wonder if Hallmark makes a card for that?

Things I've learned after 5 days of vegetarianism:

• Plan ahead, or you'll end up eating a mango, PopTart, and string-cheese breakfast. Three days in a row.
  

• There is such a thing as too many carrots in one sitting.

• Caffeine is your friend. Your best friend. If you were in 4th grade together, you'd make Caffeine a bracelet from your mom's cross-stitch thread.

I've been kind of digging it, though--I wouldn't necessarily say I feel "better". I mean, I am tired all. the. time. But that could be a by-product of my lethargic lifestyle, so I hate to blame my current lack of meat product.

I am still training myself. In my head, I'm constantly reminding myself that I don't eat meat. I don't eat meat. I don't eat meat. I may look normal, and may carry on normal conversations (well, as normal as any conversation with me can ever be), but in my head, I'm probably saying, "I don't eat meat." I'm really afraid that I'll forget, and take a big ol' bite of someone's chicken sandwich, or blindly drive myself to McDonald's or something.

In unrelated news, I had a dream that my roommate bought a HUGE kitchen table. It was lovely, but I was baffled as to why he bought it. And now, I'm baffled as to why I'm dreaming about tables.

The Editor and I have plans to hang out tomorrow night. I'm thinking dinner at The Waterfront somewhere, followed by some quality time at Barnes and Noble...yeeeesh. You know you're a nerd (dating a nerd) when Barnes and Noble is a totally viable date destination.

I did hear from The Aviator this week, but frankly, not enough to justify me carving out time in my schedule this weekend. I'm totally booked for Sunday, Saturday belongs to The Editor, and tonight is a long-overdue hangout with a college pal. So, whatever.

I have a few qualifications when it comes to who I will be contacting via eHarmony. I will not contact men whose profile pictures feature any of the following:

Their car
A dead animal
A gun
Their shirtless torso

You wouldn't believe how many of the matches I land fall into these categories.

Dear Men Of The World:
Free advice! NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOUR NIPPLES BEFORE THE FIRST DATE.
Love, Moi

The kicker is, apparently, I have 28 levels of compatibility with these dingdongs. This shocks and saddens me, and kind of makes me wonder if this contributes to why I suspect I'll actually die alone in a trailer full of cats.

When it rains...

I hung out with The Editor on Saturday again. He came to my place, we walked to dinner, we came back to my place to watch Synecdoche, New York. If it had been a better movie, we probably wouldn't have had to resort to a makeout session to pass the time.

Damn you, Philip Seymour Hoffman.

And, just to round out the weekend, I went out for dinner with P. (hereafter known as The Aviator). We went to a great little restaurant a few blocks from my house. I was afraid he'd be super short (he's not) and teeny (he's not). He's stocky, which I like. He has cats, which I like. He plays the piano recreationally, which I like.

He's a pilot, which I don't like. Not that it's not a noble profession--I just HATE flying. I do it, but I have to be drugged up like B.A. Barracus on the A-Team. He's actually a biologist by trade, but worked as a commercial pilot for years. He's a fascinating guy, as well as being really funny and really smart.

The Editor vs. The Aviator!
DEATHMATCH '09!

Okay, things aren't that serious. But there comes a point where I have to choose, and the last time I was in this position (in fact, EVERY TIME I'm in this position), I choose poorly. I've just got to get to know each of them slowly and intentionally, and hope for the best.

And here, we come to the root of the problem with eHarmony.

The issue is quality vs. quantity--you want to meet good men, right? And most importantly, you want to meet them one at a time. But when you're paying for it, you want to meet as many as possible! And time's running out! GAAH!

In other news, I am a vegetarian. It's 11:30 on Day 1, and I haven't eaten any meat yet! High fives all around!

And the verdict...

Okay! It was okay! He's moderately attractive, he's very smart, he's charming, I had a good time!

I'm not going to marry him any time soon, so my eHarmony investment is intact, but still, it was a pleasant way to spend the evening. We're going out again on Saturday night, and I'm calling him tonight to nail down the details, but all in all, a positive experience.

Several uncanny coincidences:

We have the same phone. I know, I know. Most of America has the same phone as me, but still. Same color and everything.

He just finished reading "The Reader". I'm halfway through it right now.

His brother is 16 months younger than he is. My brother is 16 months younger than I am.

Several odd occurrences:

We sat down at the restaurant, and the waitress came up to us and said to me, "I'm so sorry, I have to tell you, your perfume smells SO GOOD. I love it! You smell AMAZING!" Awwwwkward pause. Then, I said, "Um...are you hitting on me?" We laughed, awkwardness deflected. Still, weird.

We went out to a bar after dinner, just to grab drinks and talk about life a little bit. My back was to the very young looking and obviously extremely inebriated guy on my right. I did notice, however, that though the bar was nearly empty, he was scooting closer and closer and closer to me. Finally, he elbows me in the back and gestures to the 5 screens of basketball that are on at the bar. Here's how the whole exchange went down.

(and note: I will replace the profanity with "fudge" for now, but know this, gentle reader. I didn't say "fudge".)

Drunk Kid: You watching this?
Me: (surprised) Um...well, it's on the 5 screens in front of my face, so I guess so.
Drunk Kid: (flips the bird at the TV screen) Fudge you, basketball.
Me: Yes. Fudge you, basketball. Fudge you. That'll show 'em.
Drunk Kid: (instantly irate) You know what, lady? Fudge you!
Me: You know what, pal? Fudge YOU!
Drunk Kid: (pause) I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you.
Me: Aw...you know I can't stay mad at you.
Drunk Kid: (stumbles away to bother someone else, and is immediately escorted out by a burly hostess.)

When he walked away, R. was like, "what the hell just happened?" And I proudly said, "It's important for you to know that I can hold my own in a bar fight." Seriously, I was ready. The kid weighed 135, tops. I could have kicked his ass. But I was wearing a skirt, and was really trying to make a good impression.

I think I did.

Anyway, R. is an editor for one of the big papers in town, so I shall dub him: The Editor! Voila! A nickname is born!

As for Paul, whom I mentioned several blogs ago, he has dropped off the face of the earth. That's for the best. I was already envisioning how hard it would be to dump someone with dimples like that.

There's one more guy on the horizon right now: P. He's a scientist, and lives very close to where I live. How convenient!

Pros:
Funny.
Smart.
Lives in my neighborhood.

Cons:
Short.
No, REALLY short.
Lives in my neighborhood (I once had to avoid my grocery store for 6 months after an awkward in-town breakup...sheesh).

The other interesting thing is that I am being consistently set up with Southern men who have recently relocated to this area. Who knew that there was a tsunami of single men heading this way from the deep South? I feel like there should be a TV channel devoted to the migration patterns of bachelors.

I ate meat while out with The Editor last night, and I explained that I was magically turning myself into a vegetarian on Monday. He found it amusing. I found that endearing.

The deed has been done.

I have spoken to my first bachelor, even before I give up meat.  

What an odd sentence.

His name, R., is the same as my best friend.  Not an unusual name, and I actually have a rather painful-to-think-of ex with the same name (just conjured up a painful memory...ow).    Anywho, I went to put his name in my phone today and, realizing that I didn't know his last name, had to do it in all caps to differentiate it from that of my own dear R.  

We spoke on the phone this morning--I was commuting to a seminar/talk-back session about 35 minutes away, and his only free time today was before 11.  Perfect.  I called him, we talked. He seems like a sensible guy with very little to like or dislike--just a normal person.

He does have a southern accent.  Yee-haw!

R. works as an editor for one of the local papers--a great job, really, and it guarantees that he knows how to spell.  A positive trait in any man.

However, before I could do my usual "You seem really nice, let's meet for coffee" bit, he leaped in and asked me to have dinner with him.  DINNER?!  What if I don't like him?  I'm in it for the long haul!  Coffee's half an hour, 45 minutes tops.  DINNER is an event!

(You know you're reading the blog of a commitmentphobe when DINNER raises red flags.)

So we're on.  For DINNER.  Tomorrow night.  I'm not really nervous, because let's be honest.  I paid good money for eHarmony.  And I started a freaking blog, with plans for a summer-log project of vegetarianism and online dating.  Unless he is the culmination of all of my wildest dreams come true, I'm going to continue to get my money's worth and eHarm it up until September!

(And before you get up in my grill, folks, I promise to give him a fair and true evaluation, and not avoid making a love connection simply based on a small financial investment.)

(probably.)

I also received an email from a guy named P. (who shares a name with another of my dearest pals)--on paper, he's much more my type.  Very witty, very smart.  I giggled at least 3 times when I read the email.  So I'd anticipate a date at some point this week.  Stay tuned for updates.

T-minus 4 days until the Veggies hit the streets.

(by "the streets", I mean "my tummy")

In which I realize that I might be crazy.

Chances are good that if you know me (and if you're reading this, you probably do), you know that I have a deep and abiding love of Free Time. Free Time in all of its manifestations--really, just time spent accountable to no one but myself.

As I find myself looking toward being in a "relationship" (that word kind of squicks me out a little), I wonder, how much compromise on my Free Time am I willing to make? Would I really be better off in a trailer full of cats, shaping their turds into jewelry and selling it on the side of the road? Can I really inflict my lame-ass hobbies on someone else, and trust that they won't a) resent me or b) make fun of me?

I don't know. I have limited experience with all things Relationshippy. I'm happiest when Bouncing Between Boyfriends

(side note: PERFECT name for my band)

and talking about how I've been done wrong, or have done someone wrong, or am making fun of what someone has done wrong. I've never been happy in a relationship. Mostly my fault.

Sometimes my fault.

(usually his fault)

I'm beginning to wonder if it's not what I thought it was, my penchant for singlehood. What if it's not Terminal Unmarriability--what if it's fear?

It might be.

Fear of failure (Atychiphobia)
Fear of being alone (Monophobia)
Fear of bald people (Peladophobia)


I ate chicken nuggets for lunch today, and am having a hamburger for dinner. Five more days until I
Kiss Meat Goodbye.
(side note: questionable title for my band's first album)

I knew it wouldn't be easy.

Or fun.

I was greeted this morning with 7 new matches, all of whom I can sum them all up in 3 words:
Bald Graduate Students.

I find that rather amusing--I mean, I work within blocks of two huge universities. I see bald dudes all the time. Who knew they were all looking for love?

And don't get me wrong. I don't mind a bald dude. But I am sensing a trend in their profiles. They're all self-proclaimed quiet, shy introverts. Hm...I can handle bald, but I'm not sure I can handle shy. Or, for that matter, whether shy can handle me.

I'm not going to talk about every person eHarmony matches me up with--I'll just throw the ones I'm communicating with out there, and talk about their pros/cons. Eventually, if I go out with him, he'll get himself a nickname like so many before him.

Examples:
Shrimpy Keith
Condescending Stephen
Barf Bill

On slow days, I'll dip into the vast well of experience and talk about boys of my past and their quirks and foibles.

Oh, and vegetarianism. I'm becoming a vegetarian on June 1st. I keep forgetting.

Anywho, today I'm communicating with Paul. Paul is 38, and a Bald Graduate Student. Paul's friends describe him as "hardworking, intelligent, perceptive, and quiet".

(yeeeeesh)

The first thing I'll notice about Paul is: "quiet".

(yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh)

Five things Paul can't live without:
Apples
Bicycling
Cross country skiing
Water
Italy

(what an unusual list of unrelated things.)

Paul also informs the world that he has ADD. He informs us twice. I'm not sure if he's serious, and wants to date someone who's not stimulating, or if it's an attempt at humor. Either way, I'm not really sure things with Quiet, ADD Paul and I are destined for love.

He does have dimples, though. That's cute.

Meats and Greets

In this, the Summer of 2009, I, a humble blogger (blogette?) will take on two vastly different and yet equally intimidating worlds:
Vegetarianism and Online Dating.
The eHarmony profile has been posted.
I've been eating Chicken McNuggets at an alarming rate; as though, camel-esque, I can store up for the meatless months ahead.
June 1st it all begins.
Join me on this journey into lunacy, won't you?