Ted sweats for 20 minutes

Today I bring you a post from the same pen that wrote the great missed connections spoof that was featured in Craigslist's "Best of" section. He is a funny and kind-hearted 25 year old eligible bachelor who, despite all of his great qualities, fails to bag himself a quality lady.

Ted earned himself that nickname recently when he remarked one day that I'm like Barney from "How I Met Your Mother", without all the sleeping around. I don't watch this show but he explained how I am a great wingman, provide valuable insight into the female psyche and have an acerbic sense of humor. (Sidenote: I'm offering my services to all you single men out there. $25/hour flat rate.) One can only deduce that if I'm Barney, then he's Ted.

It might be easier to provide background this way:




You catch my drift by now, I'm sure. So when I mentioned that I created this blog and offered a guest spot in the content department he took me up on the offer. Enjoy.

The 20 Minute Date

I've been caught off guard quite a few times in my life: Every time
I've been hit in the crotch, "Your sister's pregnant and the wedding
is next month", "Son, we're putting you on Ritalin". None of those
quite tops the 20 minute date. It all happened when going out for a
drink to meet this girl who we shall call....Mildred. I honestly
don't remember her name so I am going to give her the least attractive name possible.

So Mildred and I met on Match.com. She first came to my attention via
that time-tested come hither maneuver, the "wink". I've come to
understand the wink as "I'm too scared/busy/not interested/creative
enough to send you an email but you've got a few nice pictures and
there's a chance you're not a sexual predator." She and I exchanged
emails, small talk mostly about things relating to SF, hiking, and
museums. It seems 90% of people on Match.com love hiking, although
I'd bet most of them consider brown bagging in the park a "backpacking" trip. Not that I'm judging, I love brown bagging as
much as the next degenerate.

After the requisite three emails we mutually agreed upon a meetup spot
for a drink. Fly Bar on Divisadero, normally a great place during the
week but a terrible choice for a Saturday night. I arrived on time,
maybe 5 minutes early. I stepped into the bar from the arctic SF
summer night and was greeted with a blast of heat, humidity, and body
funk. The place was packed, shoulder to shoulder and had become a
bikram yoga studio. I was almost immediately soaked in sweat despite
taking off my jacket and rolling up my shirtsleeves. This isn't a few
beads on the forehead, this was one was one of those full body sweats
that envelopes you beginning your scalp, down your back, over the ass
and ending behind your knees. Nothing says uncomfortable first date
like the "I just ran 15 miles" look.

I ordered a beer and vainly tried to wipe the deluge of sweat from my
forehead as I waited for date to show. A few minutes later I saw the
door open from the corner of my eye, and as I glanced up I saw
Mildred. She squinted and scanned the crowded bar for a few seconds,
and as we made eye contact I saw her make a strange facial expression.

It lasted only a split second, but it looked to be some recoil of
fear/surprise. Think Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction when he
realizes Glenn Close is batshit crazy. Red Flag #1. I don't know
what she was expecting, I'm not Quasimodo or anything and my pictures
do a pretty good job of representing me.

We had the usual introduction and exchanged niceties to start things
off. Then as we were going through the basics, "How long ago did you
move to SF? How do you like living here? What neighborhood do you
live in?" That last one got me a surprise answer, and Red Flag #2.
"Oh, I don't live in SF, I live in Daly City." Now, not that I'm a
snob and look down upon those that live outside of city limits or in
far flung neighborhoods, but is a little honesty really too much to
ask for? Daly City is not SF by any stretch of the imagination,
despite it's proximity. Just suck it up and admit you live there, is
it really that hard? On the bright side, at least you don't live in
Modesto. No one wants to live there, believe me. I have some cousins
who grew up there, and they're going to need years of therapy to get
over it.

The conversation continued with a few periods of awkward silence. At
the time I attributed it to first date jitters; I didn't have much
dating experience and Mildred wasn't exactly helping to facilitate the
conversation. So I ordered a 2nd beer and offered her one, hoping
another drink may help to break the tension. She declined, and after
I'd had a few sips she stood up and asked if I wanted to go outside.
By now we were both sweating due to the room reached a temperature and
humidity level rarely found outside of subtropical rain forests. I
thought she wanted a momentary breath of fresh air, but boy was I in
for a surprise.

We stepped outside, I had left my jacket at the bar along with my
beer, while she brought her purse and coat. I didn't notice. As we
stepped outside she immediately turned to me "I'm not really feeling
the conversation, I'm going to head out." I was stunned. The Daly
City girl who can't carry on a decent conversation is bailing on me?
I was crushed, it was like watching the wheaties commercial they made
a few years ago of Kirk Gibson crushing a home run off the Eck in the
1988 World Series after I'd spent years repressing the memory. It was
the first of many disappointing sports moments I would go on to
experience. Thank you, Bay Area sports franchises.

"Uhh okay, have a good one?" I replied. (Yes I put the question mark
there on purpose). She walked away and I was left with 3/4 of a beer
and a sweat soaked shirt. I finished my beer and met up with some
friends who were just on the other side of Geary. I replayed the
events for them and they sure got a kick out of it. "Twenty minutes,
that's all she gave you?". "Wow man you can't even cut it with Daly
City women." After a few minutes of consummate ball busting, one of
them raised an excellent point: "It sounds like she was a real winner,
20 minutes was enough for you to find that out." I thought about it
for a few minutes and it dawned on me. "Yeah, I got dropped after 20 minutes on the first date but so what?" There was no way in hell
there was going to be a second. She was boring, we had nothing in
common and she lived in Daly City and was in denial about it.
Sometimes, these surprises are for the best even if it's not readily
apparent.

-"Ted"

Background Check Fail

I have attracted some real winners in my dating life. Between the axe-murderer artist, musical loving steakhouse server and the handlebar mustachioed drummer (who was certifiably crazy, as in brought a whole new meaning to the term "a screw loose", but hands down one of the best lays of my life... oh sorry, tangent) I have seen my fair share of B-squad material. And you can't escape them, they will pop up at any inopportune time just waiting to dangle the Potential Boyfriend Carrot in front of you, only to yank it away leaving you to fall flat on your face in a big pile of Reality Shit.

A year and a half ago it happened at work. I was already in the throes of my frustrating unrequited crush on "I'm not Kate" Jack when my company hired Brad. Brad was our new sales manager and working remotely from Arizona, and he was like every other typical ex-frat boy salesman living it up in Scottsdale. In other words, totally hot, not much substance, and potentially questionable morals.

He came out to the Shores during his first week of work to get acclimated with the company and the products and services. Being that I work in marketing and typically that department works closely with sales, Brad came by and visited my cube often with questions, requests, whatever. And... just my cube. I was flattered that he singled me out when he could have asked anyone else. Let's face it, we love it when hot members of the opposite sex pay attention to us.

Admittedly, I tried to sneak a peak at his ring finger. I think most of us do this once you reach a certain age and you're single, check out the available goods. But oddly enough it wasn't as easy as you would think to catch a good look and it took a few days before I was able to determine that he was in fact married. Typical. He WAS originally from Oklahoma after all.

A few weeks later he flew back out to the Bay for our company holiday party. It was a low-key affair being held at the CEO's house and all were invited to an intimate dinner at his Palo Alto home. Yours truly had no date to invite so I brought along my sister, Deens, to be my plus one.

When we arrived the cocktail hour was underway and Brad soon found his way over to me and I introduced him to my sister. And very soon, in the midst of making small talk some very odd conversation ensued. Dare I say... innuendos were being made?? Read and assess, dear readers.

Me: "So will you be coming out often to the Shores?"
Brad: "Oh, maybe every month or so. Why, do you WANT me to come out often?" *wink*

Me: "Where are you staying out here?"
Brad: "Over at the Sofitel. You guys should come back after the party for a nightcap."

Deens, not quite catching on yet that he was an employee: "So how do you guys know each other?"
Me, trying to be funny: "Oh just met him tonight. Picked him up on the side of the road."
Brad: "Then we went back to the hotel and hooked up. And she decided to bring me here."

As I accompanied my sister outside for a smoke, she takes a drag, rolls her eyes and says in an exasperated tone**, "He totally wants you. By the way."
Me: "Dude, he's married. Hello. Ring on finger. And a co-worker."
Deens: "Whatever. He was totally eye-fucking you and practically propositioning you."
**(*Sidenote* I cannot express how funny my sister's tone of voice can be, but try to imagine the most sarcastic and biting Valley girl accent with undertones dripping with "You are so beneath me." If you know her, you know what I mean and it's funny. If you don't know her and met her, she would scare you.)

I scoffed at her ridiculous notions some more and we went back inside. Shortly before we sit down for dinner Deens jabs me in my side and whispers in my ear, "SISTER! You have got to be fucking kidding me. He took off his fucking WEDDING RING! WHAT A LOSER!"

WHAAT? I turn around and he was indeed going commando on his ring finger. Needless to say I was thoroughly disgusted and spent the rest of the evening ignoring him and chatting with our super nerdy yet well meaning QA manager (who is like Rainman, except, not autistic and a walking National Geographic/Encyclopedia/Trivial Pursuit answer guide).

A few weeks later Brad was fired after something unsavory was uncovered during the routine background check that all employees were required to undergo. I never did find out what it was that got him the boot, but I'll let your imaginations run wild as mine did. And with that, I leave you with this:

So I almost dated an axe-murderer

I have met a lot of crazy people and done a lot of stupid shit in my life. I suppose I've always had a carpe diem approach to things, justifying my actions by saying, "Well it seemed like a good idea at the time!"

I don't want to even get into some of the things I've done, lest I be judged, but let it suffice to say that I am shocked that I have never:
- been arrested
- ran off to Mexico with a band of hippies
- ended up comatose in a hospital
- been slipped a roofie and kidnapped
- become a roadie for a rock band
- become a groupie of a rock band
- suffered from long term brain damage
- lost any limbs
- gotten entire sleeves tattooed on myself

Mostly though, I've been pleasantly surprised by how these encounters turn out, they've afforded me great opportunity to get to know some amazing people and have some unique experiences.

The operative word here is "mostly". Like I said, I've met some characters and one particular guy stands out in my mind.

This is another Tucson story. I'm beginning to realize that when I was a senior in college my dating life took on a very laissez-faire approach. Anyway, near my apartment complex was a grocery store called Fry's. This is indeed the same Fry's that owns the Fry's Electronics stores in the Bay Area. I guess they were started by brothers - one went the electronics route while the other went groceries. There was a cute young guy there that caught my eye (surprise fucking surprise). You can judge me all you want but when you're a 21 year old college student who works at a tanning salon (an oxymoron if I've ever heard of one, a tanning salon in Arizona) the fact that you're considering slumming it with the bagger boy is pretty trivial.

For months I would see him whenever I'd go to pick up groceries or toiletries, or as was often the case, a bottle of booze or beer. Sometimes he would be helping me. Other times I'd merely pass him by in the store. We always made eye contact. He always made a point to smile and say hello.

I don't remember how we eventually ended up exchanging numbers but we did, and began texting with each other. And eventually plans were made to hang out. Ok, I'll be honest. Plans were made to do a drug deal over at his house and somehow that constituted hanging out.

Yes, it's true. One of the many stupid things I've done in my life included dabbling in drugs, but I believe that on this particular evening I wasn't making a purchase for myself. I don't think bagger boy, whom I'll refer to as BB henceforth, was even a dealer really - we were merely the middle men between the dealer and my friend who was looking to score a hit. Ok, add that to the list... shocked I never ended up becoming a drug mule in a drug empire that a Mexican cartel was running from Nogales to the States via Tucson. I was a silly fuck, yes I was, but you're pretty much invincible when you're 21, obvi.

So on the appointed evening, I drove over to his house. I went in and we chit-chatted with his roommate while BB weighed out the goods. Ever the gracious host, lines were offered along with a beer. Both were probably accepted. After the exchange was made I hung out for a little while longer, getting to know the kid (by this time I found out he was 19 - this was a problem for obvious reasons).

As we're sitting in his room, checking out his posters, guitar, what the fuck ever, he mentions he's an artist.

"Oh really? What kind of art?"
"Oh, all kinds but I've been sketching a lot lately. Want to see some recent work?"

How dishy. He might be a child, but he's cute and an artist. His stock was beginning to rise in my eyes.

He pulls out several sketchpads. He flips through a couple pages, showing me some still life, a nude, scenes that were drawn, an Asian girl... and then, another Asian girl...

"Huh," I thought, "how funny. That drawing looks oddly like me, but I probably only think that because it's an Asian girl and we all look alike anyway."

As he continued to flip through the pages, more and more sketches of the same Asian girl popped up. I couldn't deny it to myself any longer. That Asian girl in the drawings was me.

I'm sure some girls would have been flattered, even touched, by this gesture. He was obviously entranced enough to sketch me from memory, not once but a good ten times. Well, I am not like most other girls. The alarms went off in my head and I was freaked out. His stock plummeted to negative numbers and I began to panic just a little bit.

I don't even remember what happened right after this, all I know is that the foremost thought in my head was "GET OUT OF HERE." I probably made up some lame excuse and made my exit.

BB followed me out to my car and held me close at the door. He bent forward to kiss me and nuzzle my neck as I braced myself and hoped he would hurry the fuck up and get on with his goodbyes so I could get the hell out of there.

"It's such a nice night. You know there are some amazing views up in the mountains, I would love to take you up there for a drive, we can stargaze and just see the city lights. No one else goes out there - we could be all alone."

If I was creeped out before this pushed me over the edge. My non-romantic/no bullshit/guy's girl/hates chicks flicks/makes fun of sappy girls self screamed inwardly, "OH SWEET JESUS HE'S AN AXE-MURDERER I KNEW IT!!!"

In retrospect I suppose I was being a little melodramatic but dammit I wasn't taking any chances. I may seize life by the seat of the pants but this was too much. Go to a stranger's house to buy drugs? Sure. Go on a romantical date with a sweet tender boy who drew beautiful pictures of me to stargaze in the mountains? I don't think so. I might do some stupid shit but at least I escaped that potential white abduction van scenario where I end up hacked to pieces in the Pima wash four days later. See? I have a little bit of self-preservation in me.

There's no you and me, babycakes

First guest vlog entry from the one and only JC, who gets into as many crazy shenanigans as me.

Um... I'm not Kate

*Names changed to protect the innocent*

Yesterday was like any other work day – it certainly started out just like any other. I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to make my 6 a.m. Bar Method workout. (Why you ask? Why indeed? Because I am vain and want the ass and thighs of steel like my instructors?) I picked up my daily Peet’s. (Total waste of money. I can fall asleep after a cup of coffee.) I drove myself to the Shores where my company resides in a lovely corporate office building that has an IKE’S PLACE on the first floor. (If you’re in the know, you know this is a B.F.D.) I logged in, checked email and all the various news outlets that I simply cannot begin my day without. IM’ed with a few friends. And finally… you know, started working.

This sounds like some boring shit, and I would tend to agree. Little did I know that our mid-afternoon meeting held an unexpected and awkward surprise for me.

In the mid-afternoon our team convened to review the Web copy, layout and UI for a new product we were about to launch. Did I mention I work in marketing? Well, I do, and the marketing team plus our summer interns were all gathered around the table. I was sitting at the very end of the table, next to my co-worker/friend, Jack. We were walking through the new feature sets and testing out the UI of the consumer-facing portions of this site when all of a sudden, I feel Jack’s hand on my back.

Let me back up for a minute to provide a little background information. When I started working at this company two years ago, Jack caught my eye. He is a very witty, sensitive, and smart man that has a very Hugh Grant-esque air about him both in terms of charms and looks. Naturally, I was interested. Apparently the feeling was mutual. For the first six months we flirted like mad and had the most ridiculous sexual tension that you could have cut with a knife. Luckily he had the foresight to realize that dating a co-worker is a bad idea and nothing ever happened, much to my chagrin at the time. Today we are nothing but good friends and we often chat about his relationship with his lovely girlfriend, Kate, while he gives me advice about men. Ok, back to the story.

So, we’re sitting there in the middle of our meeting discussing fascinating topics such as grammar and whether or not that green color will pop better than the orange, when all of a sudden I feel Jack’s hand on my back. And begin to stroke up, and down… and up, and down…

I instantly froze. I was all sorts of confused. I believe the first thing that came to my mind was, “WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

Maybe there was some purpose in him caressing my back? I sneak a peek at him. Hm, no. He’s definitely still going on about the grammar of that one sentence. He isn’t even looking at me. What could this possibly mean? It’s like he isn’t even aware of what he is doing, he is just carrying on as if this is a completely normal part of a marketing meeting. I then sneak a peek around the room. By some grace of God, no one has noticed. Well, if they have, no one is saying anything or reacting. Everyone has looks of serious concentration on their faces, nodding along as Jack continues his analysis and rubs my back. I try to get his attention but he is completely oblivious. The one time he looks over at me and sees my frantic expression on my face, he interprets it as: “That’s a stupid idea, why would we decrease the size of that button?” Jack says, “Well, don’t you agree? Right now we’re really tight on the spacing over there, if we just decrease it a little bit it will give that section some air and then maybe the copy won’t wrap in that awkward way.” Oh, my fucking God there his hand goes down to the small of my back, rubbing. And strokes back up, and down…

Part of me is shocked. Part of me absolutely mortified. And the really immature part of me wants to start laughing out loud. I am simultaneously struggling not to laugh while I turn beet red and look around the room furtively trying to discern whether people have noticed yet. This is now going on a good, oh, minute and a half to two minutes now. Two excruciating minutes.

Finally. Finally for the love of all that is good and holy, I catch his attention and make very pointed sharp glances at his hand on my back. It's his turn to freeze and become all sorts of confused.

"What....? OH. Oh my God. OH, my God. I'm sorry!"

I can't help it, I start snickering and cannot stop. Upon Jack's random outburst and my giggling the entire team's attention is now focused on us. Questioning, wondering, what the fuck are they up to now?

Because he is so flustered, Jack stammers, "Uh, I just, uh I don't know what just happened I was touching her back and didn't know, uh..."

And because I'm still flustered and mortified and amused, all I can manage is, "Um. I'm not Kate!"

Non-plussed, my boss just says, "Ok, I don't know what just happened but anyway...". The meeting continues without further incident.

Jack types out a note on his laptop, and flashes his screen at me: "I'm really sorry. I was up til 4 last night. I don't know what just happened, I'm mortified."

Well, all I can say is that a little unexpected back-rubbing does way more than a cup of coffee to jolt me awake from a mid-afternoon slump.