Dial-A-Boy

I’m a beautiful, intelligent, funny, girl with that auburn hair/golden eyes combination that reminds men of a certain FBI Agent that they crushed on in high school. I’m easy to get along with, a shoo-in with most mothers, and, in case you haven’t noticed, completely unlacking in the self-esteem department. My nice girl qualities mean that I have a steady supply of nice men in my life who, should I find myself conducting boyfriend-auditions once again, are more than willing to toss on a suit and accompany me to a plus-one affair with no strings attached. After all, we all know what men really think with, and these things usually have GREAT food.

All of which meant Jack-Diddly last night.

It all started Saturday when Kristen told me that the boyfriend was taking her to the O’Malley Inaugural Ball. Interesting, I thought. I figured that the tickets were way out of my price range and were probably all gone. Then yesterday, while at the inaugural in Annapolis, I realized that everyone there was talking about how “inexpensive” they were. Fifty to be exact. Open bar, tons of restaurants, and the chance to see Big Bad Voodoo Daddy live ????? Oh I was so in.

Since I was freezing my butt off in Annapolis, I couldn’t really do anything until I got home. Therefore, my evening pretty much went like this:

4:30 – Arrive home, plan to check email and hit gym.

4:45 – Get ball ticket.

4:46 – Check email. Realize that all hell has broken loose while out of office. Decide to forego gym.

5:00 – Get in shower.

5:15 – Get call from Kristen…they have an extra ticket. Would I like?

5:16 – Thank Kristen. Explain that she is half an hour too late. Learn she’s calling around. Place request for someone hot and single. Realize that this is a Democratic Party event. Mentally amend request to “single and mildly attractive.”

5:30 – Start hair and makeup.

5:45 – Get call from Kristen. She can’t find anyone. Do I have a friend I can take?

Now, keeping in mind that I do have that steady supply of dial-a-boys, I figured it wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Who cares that we’re meeting in 45 minutes, I thought? Guys have to toss on a suit, make sure they don’t stink, and brush their hair. Free Food. OPEN BAR. This, I thought, was going to be a cakewalk.

Sure, Cakewalk. I sure am a funny girl!!! I started moving down the phone list. Here they are in random order:

1. Practically Engaged
2. Insane – only in phone so I can avoid calls
3. Friend, but way too interested in me to allow him to accompany me to anything where I look hot. ANYTHING
4. Staunch Republican
5. DC
6. Engaged
7. Phone Busy
8. Married
9. See #8
10. Salisbury
11. Co-Worker
12. Forbidden
13. Um, NO
14. Kristen already called him.
15. Drunkard
16. Exiled out of state for work
17. Texas
18. See #5
19. He’s still in this phone?
20. See #5
21. Too close of a relationship with #13
22. See #5
23. See #19
24. Awkward would never begin to describe what the evening would be like.
25. Suit was at drycleaners…if he wasn’t obviously interested in me, I’d swear he was "washing his hair.”
26. See # 7 (twice!)
27. See #16 – tried anyway to see if he happened to be passing through. No dice.
28. Other plans.
29. See #19. Ironically enough, I did run into him there.
30. See #16

Yes, folks, that was 0 for 31 (including another one who wasn’t in the phone, but whose number I ended up getting from one of the guys we dismissed earlier).

Then, I tried some, shall we say, “alternative” routes. This included calling my sister and asking her for the number of a guy who she had gone out with when she was living up here. He seemed nice, they didn’t really hit it off, and I figured he’d be able to pick up a few stories for his comedy routine. She refused the goods (“practically engaged” my foot) but began suggesting other people I could try. Note to self: when your sister actually describes a potential date as “I know he’s not Mr. Socially Adept, but he’s a body,” you know she doesn’t quite have your best interest at heart.

For the record, both Julia and Kristen suggested the “head-hunter” who turned the head of HR at my office into my personal dating service. I told them he was quite out of the question.

Then, knowing that we still needed to get rid of the ticket, she suggested that I move on to the girls she used to work with. After all, girls like dress-up events with lots of single successful guys and a good looking Mayor Governor at hand. I agreed that that may have been an option, but we still faced a bit of a challenge: I had spent the entire night calling my boys, and this was Black-Tie event. We were meeting at 6:30. It was 6:15. You see where this is going…. I did call her one friend from work who thanked me and then (though she was way too nice to say it) clearly thought that I must’ve been high to propose this at such a late hour. Yeah, she was probably right.

Considering that I never really expected to have a date for the evening and anyone that I would have come up with would have been strictly platonic, I didn’t let it bother me. I got super-cute, headed to the pre-party, and promptly ran into the two guys from that October incident at Café Hon (one of whom was the guy I cancelled and reinstated the date with three times). Awkward? A little. But I was determined to enjoy myself nonetheless.

And enjoy myself I did!! Food: to die for. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy: hopping as usual. One lady asked me if they were a local band. I pointed her in the direction of “Swingers,” but I fear she may have misinterpreted that as “swingers club.” She moved away, scared. I kept dancing. Side bands: Fun dancy music. We ended up missing Kool and the Gang, but hands down the best band of the night… O’MALLEY’S FREAKING MARCH. They did three songs, and the entire crowd was going nuts. We grabbed our Guinnesses and sang along like we hadn’t heard the band in a year. Which, ok, we hadn’t.

It’s nice to be on the winning team. Even if you can’t find a last-minute date.

Office Politics 101

Quick!!

Name the one thing that's ten-times worse than having a head-hunter call your office and leave a message for you with your boss.

Answer: Having a guy you met at a bar call your office and leave a message for you with your boss that sounds like it came from a headhunter.

Of course, since I'm playing this little pop-quiz, you can probably guess that that's exactly what happened this morning. About ten minutes ago, I got this lovely email from Ginny, the HR Director at my firm:

Hi Lindsay
I received a phone message for you from
Fred Name Redacted
Baltimore Chamber of Commerce
Phone Redacted

He asked that you call as soon as possible.

Instantly, I recognized Fred as the guy I met at the BJAC (Baltimore Junior Association of Commerce for those not playing along regularly -- someone probably wants to fill Fred in on that too, now that I think about it) meeting the other night. Nice guy, didn't make much of an impression, but, then again, I was having an active, interesting, conversation before he walked up and tried to insert himself with the usual new-person-small-talk. "What do you do, Where do you work," you know, those types of things.

Little did I know that the answers to those two questions would land me in my present situation. I mean, you guys know how much of an impression I can make when I'm not even trying. From what I can gather, he took the time to look up the phone number of my firm, and left a nice, succinct message with the HR Director that sounded, unfortunately, like he was looking to steal me away. Oh Goody...corporate suicide. Ironically enough, this isn't the first time that HR has gotten involved in my dating life, and while the "Chocolate Incident" and its associated nightmares is definitely a story for another time, I would have preferred the chocolate again. Yummy, and much easier to explain, by far!

After explaining myself to HR, I think they were relieved. I, of course, am mortified, and these guys don't tend to forget things. They're still asking if I'm still dating the guy (my neighbor) from our Calypso Cruise two years ago. Clearly, I'm not, but then again, I never was in the first place. Our Winter Formal is next weekend, so I'm looking forward to a night full of good-natured ribbing about Ginny being my "social director."

Silver Lining: THANK GOD the message wasn't something like "I'm looking for the hottie with the nice ass that I met out drinking on Tuesday." Because, seriously, while I work hard for my rear, I like my rear employed at a job I actually work harder at. Somehow, I'm thinking that implying that I spend my Tuesdays bellied-up to a bar isn't going to go over too well when I've sick all week with strep-throat.

My sister makes me laugh

For the record, it hasn't been 4 months.

I accepted a date for tonight, and since my friends always complain that I don't provide details, I decided to issue a "Personal Press Release" just so that everyone's in the loop.

It was clear, concise, and included all of the pertinent information. However, leave it to my personal publicist to edit the release in such a way that she better be glad that I can run fast in heels -- especially since I had downed 96 ounces of water by 10 AM!

Her take on my "event" tonight:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
10.10.06

(Baltimore, MD)—Lindsay F., 28, Single Girl Extraordinaire, today announces relief in her four-month dating drought, with the acceptance of a dinner date from “Jeff.” Jeff (last name withheld), 33, is a Project Manager from Baltimore. The date will take place tonight. For privacy reasons, the would-be couple has withheld the location of the date and asks the paparazzi to refrain from seeking them out.

Ms. F. expressed excitement about the upcoming event, releasing this brief statement: “Thank God Jeff came along. I was about ready to request famine relief aid from Brad and Angelina. I’m going in with an open mind and a cute skirt.”
# # #

EDITOR’S NOTE: Full review and photography will be released tomorrow on Ms. F’s blog :)

The publicist got it wrong, no photos are coming. As for the review, we'll just have to see about that, won't we?

The Lonely Lawyer

Well, that’s $24 and 45 minutes I’ll never get back.

Those were the first thoughts that had crossed my mind when I left the Wine Market after my date with Chris. Yes, for those keeping score, that is now the eight or ninth Chris in my dating career (though the first one this year). This one, like most of the Jims, will never make it past the first date. So sad for him.

If you know the story of how we met, you can skip this part…If you don’t, keep reading…

Chris and I had originally started talking on Match.com. Then, about a month ago, I ran into him at SpeedDating. Of course, I didn’t realize who he was until the girls and I were doing the post-event analysis. It took him two more days, but he FINALLY got a clue, and he asked me out.

The night of our supposed first date, I was working around the clock and cancelled on him. Then, I was ill for two weeks, then he was ill, and needless to say, we kept missing each other. The problem was that we also stopped emailing each other except to set up/cancel the date. By the time we finally settled on last night, I had forgotten who this guy was and why I was even going out with him.

Which brings us to last night…

Since I never know how much time it takes to get anywhere in Baltimore, I arrived 15 minutes early. I did what any self-respecting early-girl would do; I bellied up to the bar and ordered. You can tell a lot about how the night is going to go by the bartender you meet, and this guy had a stick so far up his butt that I knew that the night was in for a bad turn. I ordered my Sangria ($3 at the bar, not sure how much it is at a table, but all in all, pretty good).

Chris arrives, and though I had assumed that we were meeting for drinks as most normal first dates do, he says, “So, do you want to go to the table?”

Oh wait, we’re having dinner!!??!!

The first thing I noticed about him was that he wasn’t moving his right arm. We’re talking Bob Dole here people. Considering that I know people our age who have had strokes, I didn’t comment. However, I kept watching to see if I was being paranoid or if there was really an issue. When he took his coat off, I realized that he wasn’t a stroke victim, he was just lazy.

We sat down, and the complaining started before his rear hit the chair.

First, it was too cold in the restaurant. Then, the wine tastings (Which we weren’t on in the first place) were too expensive…though, his outer/inner monologue kept pressing on with “But at least you get a light meal with that.” Then, he couldn’t figure out what size wine to get. Was 3 oz. too little (standard size is 4 oz for those playing at home)? Was 6 oz too much? I, of course, was too polite to order the super-mag of wine that I needed to get me through this. And why couldn’t he get the Happy Hour wine that I had?? Finally, though he claimed to know wines, and finally ordered a Riesling, he didn’t know how to say it. It wasn’t as bad as ChaBLISS, but it was close, and this is a guy who claimed to know all about wines and the local vineyards!

Side note to those who are planning to patronize the Wine Market in Locust Point: Stay at the bar for the Happy Hour specials. Twenty feet can make a lot of difference.

He started slamming on the people he went to college with. He doesn’t keep in touch with any of them, and I got the sense that he felt superior to all of them – especially the one who works at The Home Depot because he couldn’t find a “real job” after college. He was just going on and on about how dumb this guy was. I was flailing for conversation, so I brought up the Olympics. Though he claimed to like sport, he didn’t know anything about any of the Olympians or the sports. He also accused Home Depot of false advertising in their claims of employing more Olympians than any other company. I even told him where the claim came from (I’m a geek; I looked it up!) and he said it was still false advertising. I started to think he was the dumb one.

Then, Baltimore took a beating. Thankfully, I had been warned about his feelings about taxes from one of the girls who met him at Speed Dating. This meant that instead of getting offended, I spent the time trying not to laugh in his face. I’m sure whomever the rant before heard the exact same text because it sounded like he was reciting from memory!! To sum up…he hates the city in general, the BCPD, the taxes, and the government. He lives in the suburbs of Ellicott City, which is nice and a great place to raise kids (!!!). I started to think he was a little creepy. Really kids, is this proper first date conversation? I think not.

He asked about my job and why Good Morning America was at my house (They were supposed to come interview Jules but ended up canceling. That’s another story.) Then, when I was explaining Airtroductions, he got confused about the basic concepts and called it a “stupid idea,” (which was basically cover-speak for “I don’t get it, and I’m done looking like an idiot”). At that point, I knew there was no going back.

All though this time, we were eating. Well, I should say that I was nibbling because most of the conversation fell to me. He, on the other hand, was chowing down on like Jesus Christ on Holy Thursday. That right arm was active now, and it held the fork that stabbed his fish (hey buddy, they DO kill it before they cook it, you know) and shoved it in his mouth. I’ll admit that I did get some sense that he was trying to get out of there pretty quickly, but to eat with his mouth open was just plain rude. Then, he kept quizzing me about things so I couldn’t eat. Finally, I declared myself full (with only about 3 bites taken), and got the waitress to box it for me. MMMMMM, Lamb for Lunch!!

Finally, the bill arrived. Again, as is common first date polite custom, I reached for my wallet. Normally, I expect a guy to go, “I’ve got this one,” but no, he starts scrutinizing the bill and I…KID…YOU…NOT…goes, “Ok, well, it looks like it’s $18 for you.”

I threw my card down as serenely as possible, and when she brought it back, I put on enough of a tip to cover my 20% and a little extra for all the sympathetic glances she gave me. Then, he goes, “So how much tip are you putting on…” like it’s any of his business! Apparently, in his calculation, he figured his tip into his contribution and expected me to cover all of it. I did some quick math, realized I was being had, and kept on doing what I was doing.

I’m practically RUNNING for the door now, but first we have to traverse the obstacle that is the wine store. In one of his rants (this one about the wine store), he kept claiming that they didn’t have any of the Maryland wines. I was out to prove him wrong and succeeded beautifully. The first rack we got to, I saw three BALTIMORE COUNTY vineyards and told him that. He didn’t believe me until I pulled out the bottles of Basignani, Woodholme and Boordy and showed it to him. “Oh,” he tried to cover, “those are Maryland wines? Are you sure? The only one I know is Linganore.”

I thanked him for a lovely evening, and told him that I’d call him should I ever wish to go out again. Considering that the chances of that happening are about as slim as Mary Kate Olsen being caught eating a hamburger, I’m hoping that he’s not waiting by the phone.