Manache.
I woke up with a headache this morning. And no, I didn’t knock out a bottle of vino last night, or stay up way past my bedtime watching the Late Late Show. Quite confused as to what my brain’s issue was and popping two advils with the quickness, it hit me.
It’s these damn men. No lie — managing my dating life has literally become a pain in my ass, or technically, my mind.
By the time I wrapped up a very productive Monday, I had booked 3 dates over the next 3 days. The Resident got Tuesday, the Student [I’ll introduce him in a minute] got Wednesday, and the Quarterback got Thursday. Let me clarify that if I had a full-time job right now, there is no way in hell I’d be able to keep up with this packed after hours schedule. Typically I’m a brat when it comes to my down time and rarely let others infiltrate that coveted 8-10pm me zone. But, I came up with this brilliant idea to challenge myself to a dating game and refuse to back out now.
To be totally honest, out of all the chaps in my digital rolodex, the Resident is my favorite prospect. So I was pretty excited to see him again after a week had lapsed thanks to the holiday. Forcing myself to spinning class and managing my prep time perfectly to eat, shower and change for our 8:30 get together, he called to cancel. Now granted, just like the Reporter with a crazy ass schedule, the Resident also had a legit reason. He’s headed to some kind of doctor’s conference in Vegas and had to be up at 3am the following day and needed to finish up errands and pack.
Fair enough, I get it. But, still, a wee bit irritated. Why do guys not think these details through before hand? Then ironically enough, we ended up chatting on the phone for a solid 30 minutes. He continues to be extremely personable, charismatic and shows 360 degree interest in me — my day, job search progress, and the like. For flubbing our plans, he profusely apologized and verbalized how much he looks forward to seeing me again. And in classic MaryB thoughtfulness form, offered to hook him up the VIP host @ club Tao, a hot spot in Sin City, who happens to be a childhood friend of mine. Now if that doesn’t showcase cool girlfriend potential factor, I don’t know what would.
We end the call and just as I’m about to hit play on the DVR remote to watch The Biggest Loser, a shiny silver lining to the change in plans, my Treo rings. It’s The Artist. When we ichatted the other night I gave him my number. Ninety minutes later, I was actually not irritated [one thing I’m not is a huge fan of phone marathons] and laughed more than I had in a very long time. We swapped hilarious and frightening date stories from The Match and discovered that we have several things in common, including that we’re both “Creative” professionals. Oh, and he can dance. Major points in my book. Since my schedule is booked the rest of this week, cough cough, we’ll get together next week.
Meanwhile as I’m chatting it up with the Artist, the Student is texting me, confirming plans for Wednesday. Now this is another guy I emailed with last Spring but actually never met; just like so many of these other recycled guys popping up left and right. We’re getting together tonight for drinks at one of my favorite Mediterranean spots. It was such a long time ago that we originally communicated, I remember very little about him. But figured we’d forgo the usual 14 standard issue emails this time around and fast forward to meet in person. All I know is he was in the Army and is now in college finishing his degree. If photos are worth a thousand words, his screams fun and outgoing.
Lastly, the Quarterback continues to make it abundantly clear how much he wants another shot. He has tried to see me a few times over the last week. At one point during a late night texting session, he suggested I come over to tell him about my interview. I jokingly said, “I’m courting, not booty calling.” To which he responded, “It can’t be a booty call when you actually want a relationship. I’m trying to get my girl!” Doh, touche. So he is now booked for tomorrow.
Turns out his birthday is this weekend which always happens, without fail. Every single bachelor I interact with inevitably has an upcoming birthday. And gift-giving gestures are my thing…which will likely extend my headache. Do I just give him a card, do I get him a small token, do I bake him a cake, or do I simply return the orange Banana Republic tee that I swore he’d never get back.
