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)