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Dating Diary:
The art of being wooed...playa style
Dear Diary,
WHERE WERE WE?
ON A SIDE NOTE
When I was a wee girl (and apparently Scottish), my grandma sat me upon her lap and told me something that would alter the course of my life forever. It was a sad tale, full of tragic loves lost. She admitted that these were, in fact, tales of my ancestors past. She told me that the women in our family were cursed by an ancient Chinese prophecy, which dated back to the 1500's. Being a wee girl, I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me. "I don't even like boys," I said. "They're gross and smelly!" (And some of them still are.) "But one day you will fall in love, and when you do, it will end in heartache and pain. And possibly death. If not death, certainly a long fever that will leave you very, very sick." I said smugly, "I'm never going to fall in love. I will be a free-spirited writer and travel all over the world and have lots of adventures. I won't have time to be in love." "Oh little one," grandma said. "Just be ready for whatever may happen, and remember what I told you. Because of our curse, you will never be happy."Okay, so none of this is even remotely true, except maybe for the part about me having a grandma. But I had to come up with something to explain my horrible luck. Maybe there is a curse my mother neglected to tell me about, but if the other happily married women in my family are any indication, that is probably not the case. People say that it will happen when you least expect it. I haven't been expecting anything for months, and the only thing that has dropped on my lap was a big, fat glob of tomato sauce.
Maybe it's me.
Two fortnights ago, a friend who shall remain anonymous, lest he beat me up for putting his name in my Dating Diary, called me up and invited me out with some of his single friends. Never mind that I had known him for almost a year and never even heard of these friends. I agreed to go.
One of his friends, hmm…let's call him Andrew, was looking kind of cute. Word on the street was that he was single, and he had all his natural teeth (that's a bonus). Word on the street also said that he was somewhat of a playa. Andrew and I bantered for a while, until I got incredibly drunk and forgot my own name. During my alcohol-induced binge, Andrew managed to get my phone number. I'm really surprised I didn't also tell him my address, postal code, and shoe size.
The next day I called up my friend and asked for Andrew's number, intending to apologize for my crazy behaviour the night before. When I called Andrew, we talked for a bit, and he seemed nice enough. We said we'd talk again, but I wasn't so sure about that. After playing phone tag for a while, we made plans to go out. Aha! Christine was going to get her groove on.
The infamous date day started out normally enough. The sun was shining, birds were singing, I had the day off work. At around five, I wondered if Andrew was going to call anytime soon. When seven rolled around, I sat staring at the wall, cursing his name. Eight o'clock rolled by, and I settled down to watch "American Idol." Andrew finally called, and cancelled our plans. What he basically said was, "I don't think I'm going to head down to the club tonight. I'm going to work out now. Let's keep in touch." No apology, no remorse, nothing. I was fuming, and understandably so. I had gotten the big brush off.
I am very prone to "napping," and usually this happens whenever I get a chance. One evening, as I awoke from my nap, I heard the phone ring. I am really not that talkative when I awake from my slumber, so I let the machine pick it up. Curious, I *69ed the caller. I didn't recognize the number, but after a quick peruse through my "phone book" (a scrap piece of paper) I saw that it had been Andrew. Resolute, I didn't return his call. A couple of nights later, as I walked in through the door, my phone rang. I picked it up, and was nonplussed to find it was Andrew. "It's very hard to get a hold of you," he greeted me. I told him that I wasn't returning his calls. He apologized for the way he acted before, and said that when he realized he had been a dick, he didn't know how to approach the situation. I gave him a hard time, but relented in the end (call me a softie or call me a sucker, either way I cry at Hallmark commercials). He invited me to his birthday, which was taking place in a downtown bar.
So off to his birthday I went, accompanied by our mutual friend. I was quite surprised to find one of his friends sitting on his lap. I asked the mutual friend about her, in case I had forgotten that Andrew did have a girlfriend, but the mutual friend assured me it was just a friend (insert your own "Just A Friend" version here). While Andrew and I were not even remotely dating, it was still disturbing that he had invited me to his birthday (remember, at this point I hadn't even known him a month) only to have another girl on his arm the whole night. I took it all in stride.
Until he somehow ended up sitting next to me. Of course, the girl was sitting on his other side. I looked away, and when I looked back she was sitting on his head. When I looked again, she was practically humping his back. It was at this moment that Andrew decided he had to ask me out. If I were in his situation, I would have tactfully waited until the girl dismounted my back, but that's just me. Despite being sober, I laughed, as I found the whole situation funny. Andrew was too drunk to notice, and the table toasted to his birthday.
Later, I saw Andrew by the dance floor, and approached. Of course, the girl was sitting on his lap. I wished him a happy birthday, but really, I was gauging the situation with the other girl. He thanked me for coming. In fact, it was the sixth time he had said that to me that night, and really nothing else. He also said that I had "put him in his place" because I refused to return his phone calls. At this point, the girl got up from his lap, said something to him, and left. I suddenly felt very bad (and I'm not just saying that) because maybe she liked him, and was trying to seal the deal that night. Either way, Andrew was not worth fighting for, and trying to understand the way he was handling things hurt my head. Guy, if you're going to be a playa, then don't invite two playees to the same event.
And on it went that night. Wherever Andrew went, the girl was right on his lap. To make matters worse, she began to look at me strangely, as if I had told her I bite my toenails and eat the remnants. I tried to make small talk with her, but I was denied by the silence that followed. I gave up. Later, as the bar was closing, we convened outside. Andrew came out of nowhere and gave me a rose. Then he crossed the street, where the girl was standing, so she could sit on his lap some more. It couldn't have been more of a mixed signal than if he had told me he was straight, then slept with a man.
The next day, Andrew called, and again asked me out. Then he said that he had to work night shifts. "Why are you asking me out if you can't even make it?" I asked. He feigned forgetfulness (only Michelle is allowed to do that), and proposed we get together when he gets back from his trip to Cancun. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he was going on the trip with the girl from the bar. I was skeptical, and am ashamed to admit that I threatened bodily harm. (And I wonder why I'm single?) I cannot predict what will happen with Andrew, but I know that it will probably involve alcohol, a bat, and a girl on his lap.
So, as I'm typing the last paragraph of my Dating Diary, I have to wonder about the made up curse and whether I believed in it too much, and it became true. In life, you find that people create their own dramas and wallow in their self-produced pity. So I'm not going to do that. I'm going to write the "Singles Manifesto," and it will be something positive and inspirational. And then maybe I'll stare at the wall for a little bit. ¤ C.Ho.
Next month: Christine tries to get Hottie McHottie to look at her. Well, in a way that doesn't say, "I'm going to kill you in your sleep." (Update: Hottie McHottie no longer looks at Christine that way, but unbenownst to him, the title of Hottie McHottie was transferred to someone else.)