I Should Be Writing Christmas Cards

(DISCLAIMER: the below was written last week and I've since had another delightful dating situation. But I've also been thinking about my trip to Africa several years ago so I may end up posting about that soon too. It will involve pooping baboons. You're excited now, right? So to recap, my next post here will likely either be about Boys or Baboons. Which, sometimes, really aren't that different anyway, let's be honest...)

I should be writing Christmas cards, but I feel like I'm neglecting you, internet, so I will narcissisticly write more about my life instead of spreading holiday cheer to my loved ones. You're welcome, my 10 official followers. (and all you other people from places like Bosnia and Latvia who end up here, apparently, from searching for things like "mean sharks standing in water" and "squirrel eating cable network." I'm sure you were dissapointed when my blog popped up instead of whatever the heck it was you were actually wanting, but thank you for making my readership as random as my life :)

My last week has been typical. For me. Last Saturday I attended a Christmas Parade in historic Old Town, Alexandria and of course, since this is D.C. and everyone has like 2 degrees of separation, the group I was with ended up holding at least two guys I've had dating incidents with. So, starting off great so far! Then, while we were standing at the parade, a nice man who was by himself next to me, started talking to us. And he happens to have a job I'm interested in so I started talking to him quite a bit. Then, because of my internal homing device, a coworker friend of mine - who I did not know was also at the parade - sees me and says hi and then immediately tells me "that guy I told you about is ready for you!"

Now, this guy is someone she's mentioned to me in the past and I really do want to meet him so this was good news. But for some reason "he is ready for you" made it sound like I have people planted around the city baking men for me like cookies and I'm pretty sure my new stranger friend next to me was probably thinking "this girl must be desperate..." But in the end, we finished our nice conversation and he gave me his card anyway. And hopefully I still get my Cookie Man at some point too.... in the meantime though, I met another guy who asked me out this week....

This guy and I exchanged numbers but were mostly talking over email. And I liked talking to him because he made jokes like "once you get your Masters, you should make people refer to you as Master Dana, like people put Doctor in front of their names when they get their PHDs." And since I can't get people to call me Queen Dana or Mrs. Clooney, I think Master Dana is a fairly good consolation prize. And then I asked him if he was getting his PMP (Project Management Professional -- it's a very common certification around here) because he said he was doing some type of management program. And I told him that if so, then he should just add an "i" and make himself *John Doe, PIMP. Which he also enjoyed.

So fast forward to when I was actually supposed to call him (because he had called me and of course I was doing something very important like watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta and missed his call) and his number got buried in my call list and I hadn't actually saved it so I had to go back through emails to find it again. And I was already running late on calling him because work exploded that day and I didn't get home until 10:30 pm. So I texted the number something like "Um, just got home and not sure when Pimps go to bed but feel free to call back." And I don't get a reply for a bit.

So either John Doe has gone to bed, or I just accidentally texted a complete stranger "I'm not sure what time Pimps go to bed"


Finally he did text back and asked me out for this past Thursday. And he asks me if I've ever been to this restaurant in Mclean, VA.

And I laughed.

Because once again, a guy is asking me to fight traffic and schlep further into Virginia to meet him like here. And I quickly try to cover up my laughter and just be like "ahem, cough cough, um no, sorry, don't hang out there much" (while secretly wanting to say "I try to avoid driving out to McLean in rush hour like you are proposing I do for this date lest I kill someone in road rage") but I realize that he lives in Maryland so McLean is kinda in the middle for both of us which makes more sense. Sigh. Sure! Let's meet there.

I'll just try to find some valium for the trip out there.

And the date was fine, but per usual I just couldn't feel a connection. So much so that I was more interested in staring at the late '60s model pale blue Mustang in the parking lot than I was in having a meaningful goodbye. I quickly hugged him and went to my own pale blue 2008 Mustang and drove away.

Then at a stop light, I see the other Mustang. And he's the driver.

Note to men: Always lead with "I drive a muscle car." Always.

In the end, Mustang or not, I don't think I'll be seeing this guy again. But if anyone does have a magical man-making oven, I'll take a 6'1 brunette that requires less than 10 minutes travel time. You can leave him under the tree, thanks. 

*names changed to protect the innocent.