Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Damn Hooligans.

I realize it's been a very long while since my last post. And I have a perfectly good (few hundred) reasons for that. But basically, it's because...

I'm really starting to dislike criminals. The scum of the earth, bottom of the pond, law-breaking mongrels who have absolutely no respect....

...for a decent dating schedule.

Not that I ever liked criminals. But they really should be more flexible. Damn hooligans.

To start, I haven't been able to see the cop in over a week (and even before that, there was one week dating delay due to additional scheduling conflicts). Okay, okay, it's not like I'm boo-hooing, but I have to admit, seven(+) days of not seeing someone isn't exactly what you want for a budding relationship.

So what happened? Well, for the first thwarted date, a prisoner was at the hospital and the cop had to "sit" on him -- as in safely secure, watch, keep an eye out, and make sure everything was all right while he was in the hospital's care. Long story short, he didn't get off until about 2 a.m. and then had to turn around and work his 5:30 a.m. shift. The guy slept in his car for a few hours and rolled straight into a 16-hour shift.

Then another 16-hour shift the next day, followed by a hectic workweek (he also works most of the weekend while I don't), and...

Well, you get the picture.

Justice never sleeps. Or so they say. Let's do the math, shall we?

No dates = a whole lot of nothing = makes for bad blog material.

Now, please don't think I'm going on these dates for the sole purpose of writing about them. I'm just stating that, honestly, the reason I haven't posted in a while is because there hasn't been a lot to post!

These criminals really need to get their act together. Take a page from Aretha and have some R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

{Cop it to me, cop it to me, cop it to me.}

-- Miss Matched

Friday, March 11, 2011

mixed.matched + TV Guy

{Note: The following post is from my guest blogger, Mixed.Matched. Enjoy!}

Ok, so I know I said my next post would be about writing your perfect profile (it’s still coming, in case you were looking for it), but I have to write about my latest match.
It all started when I got a wink on New Year’s Eve. I was in Arkansas visiting my grandparents for Christmas, and I’m lucky to get a single bar of signal at their little cabin in the mountains (oh, and there’s no computer, much less internet). However, I managed to get a couple of emails at one point, which is when I saw a friendly email from match.com.
Cute. In the right age range. No weird screen name, or obnoxious picture. Few pass this first test. I truly believe that your profile says a lot about you, and if you are annoying or a borderline douche-bag at this first glance, chances are you are in real life as well. But we’ll get into all of that later. The point is - I was interested. So, I clicked see profile.
Right. I forgot I have little/no chance of loading a single page, much less logging in and loading more pictures. I make a mental note of checking back later.
Fast forward almost 3 weeks, and I’ve only just remembered about this guy. I was winked at by another potential match, and I logged on to view their profile (which I almost immediately dismissed due to the excessive amount of shirtless, bathroom mirror pictures). But when I saw TV Guy’s picture in my Connections, I remembered that I wanted to know more about this guy. I found out he was divorced, no kids, worked in television, and met all my other important check points. But instead of emailing him, I just sent him a wink in return. You know… let him make the first move.
The next day, I received an email from him. Here is the first paragraph:
Hi. Ok with all this winking going on I have to send you this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uef17zOCDb8&feature=player_embedded A friend of mine just sent that to me and I've been laughing about it for the past hour.
Pretty adorable. Usually I get a “hey how’s it going,” for a first email (notice the lack of capitalization or punctuation). But to receive a funny and somewhat witty first email made my heart smile.
We sent several emails back and forth and decided that we were both interested enough to meet. This is when the Snowpocalypse of 2011 happened in Dallas (where he is from… I’m currently 100 miles east of Dallas). We were unfortunately unable to meet for quite some time.
Oh boy, but when we did, it was worth it. He spent a pretty penny and took me to see Cirque du Soliel. Can we just say best first date ever? Yes. Afterward, we went to Starbucks for coffee and chat. Excellent conversationalist. This almost never happens. We sat and talked for 2.5 hours. Next, he took me to the Apple store to look around. (Any Mac-nerds out there swooning yet?) And while we were walking around the mall after coming out of the Apple store, he stopped in a department store to buy pants.
Hmm… Not too sure how I feel about this. I mean, he didn’t spend a lot of time looking, or trying on. He literally walked in, found the pair he wanted, and checked out. It took less than 5 minutes. At one point, he turned to me and said, “this is probably horrible first date etiquette, huh?” I just laughed and assured him that I was easy going and that there were no rules. But in my head, I was thinking this is something I’d never do. Not on a first date.
We’ve talked a lot since then. Lots of texts and emails. And one easy-breezy phone call discussing our next date. Did I mention he’s a great conversationalist? He even made a joke about going shopping for our second date. So far, this guy is a real winner. Wish me luck. Our second date begins in 10 hours.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Is that what I think it is?

He grabbed a black gift box from the kitchen counter and handed it to me. It was square -- about the size of a paperweight.

"I wanted to see you so I could give you your gift," he said, clearly ready for me to open it.

I had barely unleashed the dogs and hugged him hello. I couldn't believe he didn't have jetlag and wasn't exhausted. His plane had landed in the states only a few hours earlier, but he seemed wide awake.

It was a weeknight, so I had just spent the last hour fighting traffic to make it to his place. He looked exactly the same (after all, it had only been a week), but I was very happy to see him. And find out what was in the black box.

The top of the box said something about "crystal" gifts, so I carefully lifted the lid.
Inside was a solid glass clock that had "London" etched in it, along with various landmarks.

Funny thing is, you can't change the time. The back of the clock is encased within the glass, so there's no way of getting to it. And the cool thing is, it's set on London time. Why would you want to change it in the first place?

Thoughtful and yet not overly thoughtful. I liked it.

It looks good on my shelf at work.

"Really, you didn't have to do that," I told him, smiling. "I was only kidding when I said you should bring something back!"

"No, I wanted to." He opened the pizza box that was sitting on the counter. He fixed me a plate and we moved to the couch to eat, trying to keep the dogs' noses out of our pepperoni.

He flipped the channel to Justified, and I begged him to show me his London photos. But his camera was still charging and he had taken more than 200. He told me about his trip and how he liked Manchester so much better than London. (Not having been to either, I just nodded because I didn't have an opinion about one over the other).

And he said he really did try to make it to Ben's Cookies -- I recommended he try it based on @WhitforBrit's blog and celebrity endorsement. (Ha, well, celebrity in my mind, anyway. I'm addicted to her blog. But that's another post for another day.)

"I asked around about them and everyone kept telling me how amazing they were," he said, referring to Ben's Cookies. "But no one could tell me where to go or how to get there! So I never did find them."

So he didn't get to experience what is apparently the best cookie on the face of this planet, but he wasn't short on the sweets.

{Note: I'm not one to kiss and tell all -- only pieces here and there -- but if you'd like, feel free to stop reading now. Consider yourself warned.}

Did I mention he's a good kisser? So yes, naturally, we started making out and moved to his bedroom. Now, now, don't go making any assumptions. I said making out.

As we were kissing, my hand hit something under the pillow. The lights were off and I couldn't see anything in the dark. But it was cold. Hard. Metal.

"Wait... wait, what is... what is that?" I stopped kissing him and formed the words slowly, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

"What?" He asked, confused.

And then, 0.25 nanoseconds later...

"Oh shit!" 

He leapt over me to grab it, blocking me from getting any closer. He sounded surprised, but not worried. There was almost a chuckle in his voice, and even though it was dark, I could have sworn he was almost laughing. He picked it up and moved it to his dresser.

"It's my gun," he said casually. "Don't worry, it was locked down."

I assumed by "locked down" he meant the safety was on. After I had a moment to process what had just happened, I nervously laughed. (You know how you laugh when you're not sure what else to do?) I mentally reminded myself that no, my hand/arm/face hadn't been blown off and yes, everything was all right and under control. And after replaying the event in my head and laughing at the absurdity of it all, I did have to admit...

...it was kinda hot.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

1 in 5 relationships...

We were lying on his couch flipping through the channels.

"Do you like Pawn Stars?" the cop asked me.

"Who doesn't?" I shot a grin back his way.

I loved that show. It was the History Channel meets Antique Roadshow meets Family Guy (I see a little Peter (or even his son... I forget his name...) in Chumlee). My family and I would always watch it when I was home to visit. They were actually the ones who got me hooked on it.

He let the remote stop on that channel and turned my cheek toward his. It was our third date, and he leaned in for another kiss.

I wasn't so much worried about his kissing ability as I was my own, though. It had been a while since I'd really gotten out there and dated -- and by "been a while," I mean it had been about 5 years. My last relationship was 4 years (too) long. So I did the math... and I realized I hadn't had a real "first" date in over 5 years. (To be fair, I did have a sort of "rebound" guy right after the horrible, no good, really bad breakup, but we never officially dated, and long story short... I broke his heart. I knew it wasn't right, but I hung on for the security of it all.)

So to say I was a little nervous about kissing the cop was an understatement. But my nervousness melted as soon as he tipped my chin toward his. It felt so... natural. Unforced. Right.

And that's when everything stopped.

"One in five relationships now begin on an online dating site," a female voice rang out over his television speakers.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" The kissing ended, and I rolled over to hide my head in his shoulder.

"Wow. That's just... wow." I could not believe his TV was mocking me. Mocking us! I was too embarrassed. The moment was gone.

The cop laughed.

"Oh... c'mon, it's okay. I mean, I met you, didn't I?" He kissed my forehead. Was this really only the third date?

-- Miss Matched

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Third dates, dogs and raising the Bounty bar

"So you're giving away your dad's recipe already, huh?" The cop asked as he saw me pull my "secret" ingredients out of the Randall's grocery sack and line them up on his kitchen counter.

It was our third date, and I had agreed to drive to his place for dinner and a movie, but only on one condition. My two dogs had to make the trek with me. They stared up at me from my feet, tails wagging, hoping I'd drop a piece of food in their direction. I smiled. They looked happy here, in this stranger's kitchen.

"I told you I make an amazing burger. And these are the only ingredients he uses," I said as I opened a bottle of worcestershire sauce and a seasoning packet.

"So you're saying that if I don't like your burgers, I'm insulting your dad already? Man. The pressure's on," he teased.

"That's exactly right," I said. "So you better like 'em. And if you don't, you better lie."

He grinned and gave me a peck on the cheek as I tried to gracefully unwrap a pound of ground hamburger meat. There was nothing graceful about it though, and I accepted my fate. My hands were covered in raw meat as I mixed the ingredients together and flattened out patties between my palms, but he didn't seem to notice. He was still smiling at me.

When he finally did quit looking in my direction, it was to open the fridge and pull out a package of fresh turkey deli meat.

Before I had time to question his choice (did he not like my burgers already? I hadn't even put them on the grill yet!), he held a piece of turkey close to the ground.

"How about a treat? You want a treat?"

Oh. My. God. He was a natural. My dogs scampered over to him as quickly as possible and wolfed down the two slices of turkey. He pet them both on the head and then started smiling at me again.

I didn't want to let him know how much I had enjoyed seeing him do that. You win over my dogs, you win me over, too. I had to be smart about this. I had to play coy. But inside, my heart was grinning.

I finished crafting the hamburger patties and put them on a plate to transfer them to the grill. I made my way over to the sink to wash my filthy hands. I applied loads of soap and rinsed them clean. Before I knew it, he was behind me.

With a paper towel. Already torn. For me. He was always one step ahead of me. But in a good way.

I'm not sure why that made such a heavy impact on me. As I was recalling that scene to my (happily married) sister a day later, she picked up on its sensitivity and considerateness, but was quick to bring me back down to reality.

"Hun, I'm so glad he did that for you. I'm just so saddened that's the kind of thing that blows you away. A paper towel! You should have someone do that kind of thing for you and more -- every day."

She had a point. I had to raise the bar if I was going to find someone and take this seriously --  to take me seriously.

I had to raise my Bounty (Quicker Picker Upper) bar.