One-Date Quota: Filled

And way ahead of schedule, I might add!

Earlier this month, I mentioned that one of my friends sent me a proposition via e-mail: would I be interested in going on a blind date?

In the past, I would have emphatically said, “No!” outright. Nope. Not in a million years.

But considering my dating life the last decade and a half has resembled a dry desert with parched, cracked earth and the occasional tumbleweed … I agreed. ‘Cause even a desperado wants a change of scenery once in a while.

My friend fed me the odd detail. He works fairly near to where I live (and lives relatively close to me, as it turns out). And she couldn’t stress enough how hot he is. I admit, that’s where I felt a bit of uneasy pressure. I mean, meeting a complete stranger being hyped by your friends is one thing. But while I appreciate her not starting the sentence with, “He’s got a really good personality”, it kinda makes me nervous. ‘Cause everyone’s standards are different. What if I think he’s good-looking but he doesn’t consider ME attractive?

And then the other things: How to make good, witty conversation? What if I think he’s dumb? What if he thinks I’M dumb? And so on.

But then the wheels really set themselves in motion. My friend gave Mystery Man my number. He called me the day after that. I didn’t return his call until the day after that (due to work-related business). He left it in my hands to decide where to meet. I finally decided on a place to meet and then called him back.

Finally after all the to-and-fro-ing, yesterday was the big evening. As it was, I was exhausted from the night before, having only gone to bed earlier that morning. I was practically asleep for most of my hair appointment that afternoon. I managed to get home in time to eat dinner, putter around for way too long, and then had to race to get ready.

And when I opened the door, I managed to be dressed and not covered in deodorant and toothpaste stains. My make-up was minimal – I think I had enough time to smear some lip balm on. And off we went.

Looking back on it, I thought it went fairly well, a lot LESS painful than I expected. We made really good conversation (for two strangers, anyway). He seemed really nice, told me a bit about his family, what he does for a living, what he does outside of work, etc. We talked about movies, music, just stuff in general.

And I’m going to e-mail him tomorrow to thank him for the evening and say that I hope we’d maybe meet up sometime in the near future.

But I’m not going to be putting my eggs in one basket (like some of my friends, who are ALREADY asking if they’re going to meet him … a bit much!).

This was definitely a start, though. I’m hoping maybe this will give me the confidence to make this the first of many coffee dates, and other types of dates, too.

We’ll see if I actually come out of my shell and take another dip in the big pond.

UPDATE: I ended up e-mailing him Monday; he e-mailed me tonight (Tuesday) to say, although I was a nice woman, he didn’t really feel enough of a spark to carry it forward. At least he was honest. And truthfully, I didn’t feel much there, either. But hey – that’s the world of dating, right? Next.

Weird Facebook Moment # 1

Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day!

I was just updating my Facebook profile, responding to friend requests and generally writing on people’s walls when it just occurred to me:

Within the last three weeks or so – in addition to being contacted by old classmates – my friend list now includes a former boyfriend, and two previous crushes.

For all I know, they’ll probably just end up being FFiNOS (Facebook Friends in Name Only). But it’s still kinda, sorta weird, making my world that much smaller.

A Pre-Emptive Ass-Kicking …

So remember all that talk a couple weeks ago about I think March may just kick my ass?

Well, I think it may well have, with a little help from me.

This week has been kinda off all week so far. Work-wise, Monday and Tuesday were mediocre to me (Tuesday a bit more so, only because I had to be up for an MRI appointment at 4:30 a.m., so my daily pattern was a bit screwy.)

But the pinnacle was last night, when we had a major screw-up on air and went to black for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about 30 seconds. In any case, it was not good, and by the end of work, I was ready to meet up with my friends at a bar down the street.

And MAN, was I ready to pound back a few rum-and-cokes to blot out the blunder. More so than I thought, as it turns out.

It started out calmly enough – I got to the bar, found my friends sitting in a big group at the back. Eventually I ordered my first drink, and also got an appetizer to stave off the hunger.

Well, the one drink multiplied into three, followed by a shot, my friend’s unwanted drink, and I think another shot in between that.

By the time I left to go home, I think I may have committed the alcoholic equivalent of what happened to ol’ Julius Caesar in 44 BCE.

I was SO sick on the way home – dry heaves, the whole nine yards. By the time I got inside my house, I just dropped my things everywhere, hurriedly changed into my jammies and curled up in a ball in my bed for about five hours.

Today was worse. I really didn’t think I would actually make it to work. I felt like complete garbage, hoping, just praying someone would take one look at me and send me the hell home.

And I know I wasn’t the only one. Some of my friends were in various phases of the same death we inflicted on ourselves the night before.

I was better by about 4 p.m., but I’m telling ya, I wouldn’t be surprised if I never wanted to drink again after this. I honestly don’t even know how I’m going to make it to the end of the week, which includes MORE parties to go to.

And now I am a COMPLETE believer in the Ides of March. If someone tells me at this time next year to “beware”, I’m gonna duck and cover for a week.

Sound Off: FINOs…

There’s something that’s reeeeally beginning to annoy me a bit about Facebook (and maybe life in general).

You know those people who request to add you as one of their friends, and then proceed to never talk to you, or leave a message on your wall? Nothing?

They’re in this new special category I’ve created, which I call Friends in Name Only, or FiNOs. (Or, in the case of Facebook, they’d be called FFiNOs.)

WHY do they DO that? I know it’s tempting finding all these people and adding them to your lucrative list. But it’s not a contest. And believe me, I actually understand that you can’t talk to everyone all the time.

But once in a while, holla at a sista, yo?

I’m sure you could apply this concept outside Facebook as well. I’m sure there are tonnes of people who are like that. They say they’re your friends, but then don’t do anything, or are never around.

And I don’t mean periods of time where they’re around you lots, or here and there, and then disappear because of work, life, or whatever (because I’m sure I’m an extremely guilty party in that respect).

I mean, they’re NEVER. AROUND. You “befriended” them in 1999 and, even though you might exchange a “hi!” in passing them that one time every three years or so, you now only hear about their lives through other people, who basically tell you stuff as if you still do talk to them regularly (even though the truth’s to the contrary). That’s the only reason you know they’re even still alive.

I think I may have one of those circulating right now. And maybe they have their reason for doing so. Maybe they ARE just busy. Or it’s part of the psychological game they like to play with certain people in their lives.

But if this is true, I’d rather that they didn’t add me (or have me) as a friend in the first place.

If I Had One Of These …

So I’ve been at my new desk at work for just under four weeks now. I have pretty much the essentials: (some) desk surface to write on … a functioning computer with Internet access (heh) … I even got my own pencil sharpener.

But despite this, and a few knicknacks I keep to make my desk more “me” like (ie. miniature gnome I got in a workplace Secret Santa last Christmas, the magnet I got from my boss on his return from Turkey, and the stress cow I keep for special occasions), something is still missing.

I mean, one of my co-workers has pictures on his desk. Another has not one, but TWO globes of the world perched up on hers. What the hell do I have? My workspace really doesn’t have any character, no identity … nuttin’.

And then, while cleaning my desk earlier this week, it hit me. I need something to store my pens and pencils. But not just in anything.

I need a pimp cup. With my name on it in big, shiny, gems.

You know what I’m talkin’ about. Those iced-out magic goblets crunk and gangsta rappers (and sometimes, their wives) use to carry their “crunk juice” (not to be confused with Michael Jackson’s “Jesus Juice”) in.

I think there are SO many pros to having one. Aside from it being the most kick-ass pencil-and-pen holder ever, it would definitely be a talking piece to anyone that would visit my workspace. And no one I know of that works in my building has one. (And if there is someone who does, we’re going to have to have a discussion.)

Plus, I’d be able to use it on special occasions when someone decides to open a bottle of wine.

And potentially best of all – it could also work to my advantage in work situations. Say I don’t want to do something. The pimp cup could give me an excuse to be totally obnoxious:

Co-worker: Hey, could you go and get this news item from our satellite desk. We need it for our show.

Me (grabs the pimp cup and empties out the contents): What?

Co-worker: I said, could you please go and get the news –

Me: What?!

Co-worker: (looks at me strangely) Are you deaf? I need the –

Me (stands, holding pimp cup to one side): WHAT?!

Co-worker: (exasperated sigh) Oh, forget it. I’ll just go and get it myself. (Walks away)

Me: (Raising my pimp cup) O-KAY!

See? So many advantages. I think L’il Jon and the rest of them may have been on to something.

So, potential Secret Santas, consider the biggest hint EVER as to what I want for our gift exchange in December. Take a good, long, hard look at it.

Now get to workin’.

A Baby And A Dog

Sometime last night, I had yet ANOTHER dream …

I was living by myself, and had this baby I was taking care of – about three or four months old and really cute; she kind of looked like me, so I’m assuming she was mine …

But then there was this dog – a mutt, I think – and there was something wrong with one of its front legs, so it was limping.

And all I remember was running around, trying to find an after-hours animal hospital to seek help for this dog – and finally finding one – all while trying to remember to feed, take care of, and generally not neglect the baby.

Man, it’s times like these when I’m glad I don’t remember what I dream about most of the time. Weird.