OMG SMALL WORLD

So, one of the other things we realized on this trip is that we live in a SMALL world.

Some quick examples:

1. My high school friend's office-mate at Google (who I randomly met during the day before NY Date #2) knew one of the guys we dated in New York. (ok, ok, not so remarkable...wait, there's more.)

2. One of our college friends had previously hooked up with the second guy we dated in New York #2. (getting a little better...)

3. My cousin had hooked up with the ex(?) girlfriend of my jerky Boston date. (hitting a little closer to home now.)

4. A random friend of a friend who read our blog recognized DTMA (New Haven date) solely from the written description of his clothing.

5. My high school friend's ex-girlfriend was a former roommate of my college friend's little sister's boyfriend. (Read that, like, four times.) Neither Danielle nor I had met this linking lady, yet she ended up being the one who set us up on our Montreal dates, because she heard about the blog from two totally different people. (getting a little weirder now, right?)

6. And last but not least, a random OkKillMe dude who kept trying to meet up with me and Danielle on the Jersey Shore just joined my Philadelphia Eagles fan club in Raleigh, NC. Yup. I recognized him from his picture on the Meetup page, which is the same pic as on OkKillMe.

Haha. Well, this is going to be a great story to relay to him at Game 1.

GO BIRDS.

Trip Totals for the Curious Minds...

(written by Hillary, who misses Danielle like whoa.)

So, I went to visit friends tonight for a lovely, weekly tea party (YES, thank g-d I know these people--they make returning to NC much easier), and they were asking for details about our adventure, including some hard quantitative data. I realized that, in the sadness/hastiness (?) of ending our trip, we had forgotten to tally up some trip totals. So, without further ado, here it is*:

States driven through: 22
Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri (F YOU, MISSOURI!!!!), Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Maine

Places that are not states, but should count as states, I mean, c'mon: 2
DC, Montreal

Actual First Dates (We didn't write about all of these dates...sorry, fans! When we get a book deal, we can talk about full disclosure...): 18

Second Dates (which Hillary will write about after this tally...): 3

Asshole Dates: 3.5 (not counting the 300+ assholes we dealt with in Missouri)

Oldest (fake) Date: age 84

Youngest (real) Dates: age 20

Irish Pubs: 10

And I KNOW inquiring minds (read as: hyper-competitive lawyer-faces) want to know who won the contests for Best Dates as well as the contest for the Friend who set us up with the most dates...Danielle and I will be releasing these results shortly, along with other important data that Danielle will most likely add, like "Amount of Dates who Liked Nicholas Cage" and "Amount of Times Hillary tried to pick up the check because she was freaking out."




*DC Date #2 guys, feel free to use this data for any statistical analysis you deem fit.

But in a good way...

Maine Do-Over

[Danielle is gone. I have a week alone before I return to “real life” in North Carolina. Let it be known…I am scared.]

After dropping Danielle off at the airport and spending a couple more dateless days in Boston (due to the asshole who stood me up), I headed up to Maine for one of my closest friend’s wedding. The wedding location was a quaint farm in a small town one hour north of Portland…and one hour south of the man who I had my first post-major-relationship fling with last year.

I should have known better than to call him again. But in this blog’s typical fashion of over-sharing, I was lonely, sex-deprived, and still had lingering feelings for him--even after a mildly disastrous weekend in his cabin last November.

I can’t let go of him for many reasons. He is everything my mother would approve of: read as Jewish and Ivy-League educated. But, more than that, on paper, he is everything (or most things) I would approve of, too… He is an intelligent, red-bearded, highly proficient musician, and a cabinet-maker with an eye for detail. He understands my intense professional baseball and football-fandom, and rides a motorcycle for God’s sake.

So forgetting everything I’ve learned on this trip, mainly “things cannot work out when the guy is not into you,” I texted him (yes, texting is clearly the only way I have communicated with him all year, barring the occasional banter over Words with Friends), and awkwardly asked him if I could come visit again. These text-interactions normally go something like this:

Hillary: Hey, so hi. How r u? I am coming to Maine for a wedding next week.

Him:      That’s cool

(I impatiently wait 5 hours, because that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?)

Hillary: So, would you like to have dinner when I’m up there?

Him: Sure

(Waiting again, struggling with what I can say next)

Hillary: And…can I crash with you?

(This text is then followed by me coming up with some crazy logistical excuse about why I would drive an extra THREE hours to see him, and definitely cannot find another place to stay nearby. I nervously await his response.)

Him: If you want.

“If you want.” I have to stay with this phrase for a bit, because it’s something I struggle with (and I know I shouldn’t.)

Did I really want to stay with him? I honestly don’t know. Did I want it to turn out like last November, where my expectations for the weekend were so high that I ended up crying in his bathroom when the littlest things went differently than I had fantasized? Um, clearly not. Did I still harbor irrational feelings for him that I couldn’t shake? I think so. Had I already told him this via a way-too-forward email last year, and gotten a week-later response that he didn’t feel the same way? Yes and yes. Do I like being an asshole to myself? Apparently, yes.

When I read his answer, “If you want,” all I could think was: I don’t know if I want to stay over. What I WANT is for YOU to want me to stay over and say so.

Sigh. I am too old for these games. I hate games. And let’s be honest, I suck at playing them. (See 2^nd Boston post, if you’ve forgotten this about me.)

But here’s the thing. You know what I hate more than playing games?

Failure.

The last time I saw him was pretty much a failure. And I wanted a do-over. And with his luke-warm, passive text response, I saw the small possibility to do just that.

So I drove 2 hours out of my way and arrived at his beautiful cabin in the woods of rural Maine. At first it seemed like he might be interested in a do-over as well, as he immediately took me on my second motorcycle ride of the year (at least this time, it was WAY warmer than in November...) As I felt the wind blow my hair and I wrapped my arms tighter around his waist, I felt optimistic. I felt free. I felt like myself.

After a 20-minute ride around “town”, the rain started, and we returned to his house. We feasted on boiled lobster and sautéed vegetables from his garden—another do-over from last November.

I opened up a little about my dating adventure, and asked him if this could count as my Maine date. He laughed and said that a motorcycle ride and home-cooked lobster was maybe as date-like as it got. I agreed and stupidly began to have visions of a future of nightly lobster, and motorcycle rides down the coast, and collaborative music-making and…wait. Stop. Just STOP.  

He is fantastic in many ways, but he’s also just not into me. Or, if he is, he doesn’t show it. I mean, to my discredit (?), I must seem desperate. For God’s sake, I am on a dating tour throughout the country, and I drove an extra three hours to see him. I spent the night trying to make him laugh and sporadically touching his arm. I actively wanted to know about his life, so I asked a lot of questions and genuinely cared about the answers. 

But I AM NOT DESPERATE. (That is in capital letters, so I make sure I read it again myself.)

I want to be with someone (whether for one night, or for eternity) that actively wants to be with me and shows me that.

So, when it came to that awkward moment in the late evening, when he told me I could sleep wherever I wanted, his room or the guest room, I knew in my heart that I had to choose the guest room.

Take-away? I cannot keep pining after men who don’t want me…even if they are Jewish lumberjacks who play a mean harmonica.

With this decision made, I climbed into the guest bed and fell into a deep, resigned, proud sleep.

He didn’t wake me up to say goodbye before he left for work in the morning.

Depressing Follow-Up: Boston

The next morning, before dropping Danielle off at the airport (and subsequently crying in the car because of this immense loss), Hillary received a FB friend request from Mall Togo 2.0 (which she stupidly accepted) along with numerous flirtatious texts about their supposed date that evening. She played it relatively cool with the texts back, but was actually pretty bummed when he ended up cancelling their date later that afternoon due to “an unexpected work commitment.” Hillary sent him a nice SUPER NORMAL (I swear) text back, and...he never responded again. Right. OK. Reason #212 why Hillary hates texting.

Hillary summoned her “He’s Just Not That Into You” strength and spent the rest of her time in Boston hanging out with amazing friends and family members, and trying not to look at Mall Togo 2.0’s FB photos where he was consistently posing with a very hot, very young-looking woman.  Fittingly, Hillary later found out that her cousin (who she grabbed a beer with that night, after being stood up by Mall Togo 2.0) had HOOKED UP WITH THE VERY GIRL in Mall Togo 2.0’s couple pics. Amazing. Perfect ending to State #22. Let it ride.

Boston: Last Chance, Last Dance?

We weren’t going to go out.

We were exhausted and smelly. Tired from the drive from Vermont and highly emotional due to the realization that it was the last night of this amazing double-dating journey.

We decided to end our trip in style and treated ourselves to a fancy B&B in Cambridge, MA, so that we wouldn’t bother any Boston-based friends/family with our last night of shenanigans.  What do shenanigans look like, you might ask?  Well, they start by lying on an antique bed, cozy in pajamas, dicking around on Facebook until 10 PM.

But let's be real. We only had one option for the rest of the evening. 

WE HAD TO GO OUT.

I mean…hello?! This was our last night…and we hadn’t had a Massachusetts date yet!

So we rallied…for the last time…threw on make-up and relatively cute clothing, including wedges (this detail will come into play later, so bear with us), and headed to the closest bar.

The bar, a low-key dive that Hillary used to frequent when she lived in Boston, was relatively crowded for a Monday night. We didn’t spy any potential date options as we pushed our way through the somewhat older crowd, so we settled at a small table in the back near the live Blues band, ordered some beer, and started to play dice.

Oh yes, you read correctly. We started to play DICE. Alone.

We began with a game that our college buddies had invented in Vermont a couple days earlier called “Let it Ride.” All you need to know about this ridiculous betting game is that it makes no sense and just leads to poor decision-making (i.e. Hillary: “Danielle, if you lose this toss, you have to text your favorite date from this trip and tell him you’re thinking about him” etc.) It was sort of like Never WOULD I Ever meets MASH meets Truth Or Dare meets WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING meets Yahtzee for drunk 30-year-olds…

Before things got awful re: the random texting/FB messaging of former dates, we were saved (?) by a sighting of a beautiful-looking man at the bar, who resembled Mall Togo (one of the Chicago dates, for the less-careful readers.) Due to this resemblance, Hillary blurted out “Mall Togo?” and the young man turned around, slightly confused. He clearly wasn’t fazed though, because within a minute, he and his work buddy had joined us at our table to learn the complicated dice game. (Maybe this was because Danielle made eye contact and invited them over with her lashes.)

Now, one thing we’ve mentioned before is that Danielle and Hillary RARELY if EVER are attracted to the same type of men, which is the reason this whole double-dating thing has worked out so beautifully. THIS SAID, when the dates consist of one incredibly beautiful, socially-competent dude, and one socially-awkward guy who keeps making finger-banging jokes (for real) and is hard to look at physically…well, then things get complicated.  

Normally, Hillary, the dumb one, will talk to the socially awkward guy, because she has intense Jewish guilt. At this point, Danielle will assume (seriously, Danielle?) that Hillary is into this person and move in for the hot, competent date (as she should, because Danielle is smart.)

Now, Danielle and Hillary had discussed this issue a few states back, and decided that Hillary needed to feel more confident approaching hotter men, so they devised a code-word that could be used during dates to signify, “Hey, I am only staying on this date if we SWITCH men.” Hillary had yet to use this trump card, but tonight was the night, and she casually worked the code word into the conversation. Danielle looked at her, sighed, and like an amazing best friend, resigned herself to talking to the awkward co-worker, who we will obviously name Finger Bang.

Conversation between all four of us actually flowed pretty well as we continued to play dice, and before we knew it, the boys had gotten us another round, and we were closing up the bar. We fessed up about our dating adventure, and they were pretty intrigued. After being kicked out by the bartender, we stood outside the bar for a bit as the men smoked. Hillary thought this was the time to call it a night, but Danielle (again, way better at the dating thing) just waited around silently (“You have to linger”) until Finger Bang asked if we’d like to come back to his apartment to drink more beer and play more dice.

Hillary, slightly panicked, glared at Danielle with the eye signal that we had established to mean, “NO FUCKING WAY WE ARE GOING HOME WITH THESE GUYS.” Danielle looked right back with the eye signal of,  “YES, WE ARE. THIS IS OUR LAST NIGHT OF THE TRIP. BESIDES, I GAVE YOU THE HOT ONE. DON’T FUCK THIS UP.”

Resigned to Danielle’s silent-eye-intimidation, Hillary agreed, and the four of us walked the short distance to Finger Bang’s Apartment. Hillary walked with Mall Togo 2.0, and learned that he is half Jewish (um, hello? For real?), his sister lives in Durham with his nieces (what?????), and that he was in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua and speaks fluent Spanish (oy gevalt…this is not good. Hillary was already looking dreamily into his eyes, yet was still unsure of his real name.)

Danielle walked with Finger Bang, and learned…about local politics. 

When we arrived at the apartment, we learned that they had invited a third guy over (Again? Seriously? And people ask why it's logistically hard to get any action on this trip?), a bouncer who they promised would bring more beer, and also happened to be running for City Council. Red-faced McGee arrived 20 minutes later with PBR tall boys in a paper bag and LOTS of questions about who the hell Danielle and Hillary were. Both he and Finger Bang were VERY Boston, and proceeded to tell us why it was the best city in the nation—and totally not as racist as it comes off.

After Hillary gave the boys a quick Rorschach test (yup, not a joke), there was thankfully still time for more conversation including, but not limited to: Mall Togo 2.0 announcing and then apologizing every time he farted, a beer spilling on Finger Bang’s childhood fruends' obituary, and Danielle breaking her beloved Target wedges and Mall Togo 2.0 fixing them with duct tape. Finally, Hillary looked at her phone and realized it was 3:30 in the morning.

“WE HAVE TO GO,” Hillary announced as she stood, and after some awkward hugging goodbye, Mall Togo 2.0 insisted on walking us back to our hotel, because “You ladies have gone out with a lot of Southern gentlemen…We need to represent the North!”

So we left Red-Faced McGee to bike home and flyer about his upcoming election, and the four of us walked back to our hotel. On the way, Hillary walked with Mall Togo 2.0 again and learned deeper things about his family and his past dating life. Mall Togo 2.0 asked Hillary for her number in order to take her out on an official date the following evening. Score! Danielle’s “date” ended the night by making another finger-banging joke and insisting on taking selfies with us on his iPhone... But he did pick her up off the sidewalk when her duct-taped wedge drifted sideways and she fell so so awkwardly skinning her knee very very seriously. 

Danielle and Hillary finally made it back to our swanky hotel room, laughed about the ridiculousness of our last night, fell asleep around 4 AM, and promptly woke up at 7:30 for no good reason, because that’s how we roll.

Boston Bros?

Um, dates may have fallen through. Who has bean town boyz to connect us to TONIGHT?

New Haven (Haven????)

Before reading this post, please note one important fact: We could have had a reasonably normal date with either of the two men described below. This said, the combination of the two men together was…fascinatingly uncomfortable. We need to thank our host, a friend from college Hillary wants to refer to as Face Face Goggle, for providing us with our most awkward date yet, because, let's be honest, folks, we needed this kind of date to bring us back to the realities of dating. Everything had been going way too smoothly until this point...and we are soon headed back home to the terrors of Oakland and North Carolina dating scenes...so, without further ado:

Let us now provide you with several vignettes that will illustrate this disastrous dating dichotomy:

#1) First impressions..

Doin' Too Much Activist (DTA) emerged from his bumper sticker-clad Volvo in a pink sweatshirt, oversized khaki pants, pink Chuck Taylors, and a pink plaid driving cap. He also wore tiny dangling earth/globe earrings à la Cost Plus World Market that were clearly favorites as the paint was peeling off half the earth. When he later removed his pink sweatshirt to reveal a lime green polo (which matched his frog socks, because, "that's kinda the point"), we noticed a pin that read, "Stop Mountaintop Removal." (We later learned he wears this pin on every layer of clothing.) He was over 6 feet tall, pretty hottish figure, and had wonderfully groomed facial hair in Danielle's opinion. Is this her love?? 

Foppish Yaley (FY) showed up 20 minutes into the date, a bluster of academic energy. He rocked a navy blazer with tailored khaki pants and dress shoes. In his breast pocket he had a pocket square--also striped navy that matched his neck tie. A clump of curls flopped into his face over his unremarkable, wire-rimmed glasses. 

Sidenote: Our seating arrangement was unfortunate for both Hillary and Danielle. Danielle was seated in between the two dates, whereas Hillary was across from them all, next to Face Face Goggle who had set us up with the men (yet, had never met FY) and agreed to chaperone us on the date. 

Although Hillary was sitting across from both men the entire night, as we type this, she realizes that she doesn't remember anything that the men were wearing. That is because Hillary was not really there. She was in Hell. 

Here is an image of what Hillary was probably observing (more real-life awkward end-date photos of DTMA to come, once Danielle recovers her lost iPhone.)

#2) 

Danielle (starting on our list of questions to get the convo going) : So, um, do you guys have any, um, favorite TV shows?

FY: Oh yes! The Big Bang Theory? Or How I Met Your Mother! I like that show!

Danielle: You know, I don't really have the attention span to sort through a plot that covers an entire series. 

Hillary: (says nothing. Slightly rocking in her seat)

DTMA: How I met your mother? I hate that show. Barney is a date rapist. 

#3)

FY: Blah blah blah 'Baby-momma joke'

DTMA: (has a baby's momma)

#4) 

FY: I love to visit New York. It has the best cigar shop, and the Yale Club is superb.

DTMA: New York is the epicenter of oppression.

(This is the point when Danielle and Hillary stupidly asked the men to participate in the question-asking process to relieve some of the tension and empower them/make them feel more comfortable with the direction of the date. Hillary is a therapist, so this should have been simple.) In #5 below, please read their individually chosen questions:

#5.

DTMA: What is your least favorite corporation?
FY: American airlines because the food is bad, they're inefficient, and make flying worse for all of us (#firstworldproblems?)

FY: Where are your earrings from?
Hillary: (silence, more rocking back and forth.)

#6:

DTMA was in his fallow year from drinking, whereas FY suggested we all share a cocktail bowl and then spin it on our heads while singing a song that he then sang to the entire table. No joke. It was a long song, too, and included pounding the table and inserting Hillary's name into the lyrics, like, 8 times. 

#7:

DTMA asked Danielle to taste all the food before he would. Maybe because she was black? Long, serious convo ensued about the “racist” menu between DTMA and Danielle, while on the other side of the table, FY continued to ask questions about Hillary’s earrings.

#8:

As you may have observed, Hillary loves talking about things that she hates, like New York, icebreakers, birds, etc. FY was incredibly uncomfortable with this, and kept changing the conversation, saying we needed to talk about positive things. Hillary hated this so so much. 

#9:

Danielle: What is your favorite sound?
FY: “Cigars burning,” “Genuine Laughter,” “The sound of my Yale jacket rustling”
DTMA: “Flatulence” and “A beer bottle top being popped.”

#10:

Hillary had a mental breakdown after FY suggested continuing the awkward evening by walking to a cookie shop. The breakdown ended with her slamming the table and emphatically repeating “I cannot eat a cookie, I cannot eat a cookie.” (Hillary had tried to therapize herself inwardly throughout most of the dinner, but couldn’t hold it together at the end.)

#11:
The only verbal interaction between the two men was FY stating, “Thank you, Brother” to DTMA at the end of the night. This statement came after FY had led us on a questionable late-night walk through a city park, where DTMA had thanked every REAL brother in New Haven that was sleeping on benches and asking him for money. 

#12: Throughout the entire date, time was going very slowly—even the restaurant staff’s birthday song sounded like a funeral dirge.

And, like a funeral dirge, this dating journey marches on.

Joyful Posts

So we've been chillin with Danielle's family in Albany County NY for a few days (doing laundry, getting an oil change, eating enough to pay for the trip, etc.).

But we didn't wanna leave you out of material. Here's a smattering of some online gems: