I hate the limbo.

For all of you who were wondering, I still have a job. Praise Jesus. Our funding is fine. For now.

And yes. Yesterday was my birthday. It was pretty much just like any other day since I celebrated with family and friends in Stillwater this weekend.

And what a fantastic weekend it was.

Friday night I went to see my college-aged friends and we all went out to the bars. I hadn't been to the bars with them since I graduated, so it was certainly fun remembering all of the good drunken times I had in those old dirty saloons. We bar hopped, and finally ended at our favorite: Willie's.

I'd only had a couple of beers, but I was getting sleepy by about 1 a.m. And knowbody wants a Debbie Downer at the par-tay, so I gathered my things and headed for the door.

But that wasn't the end of the night. No siree.

As I am hugging everyone goodbye, my friend LS - who was celebrating her 21st and was understandably very intoxicated - hugged me started swinging me back and forth, hitting this guy beside us. He turned around with a funny look on his face, and I mouthed "I'm so sorry" to him. He laughed, but LS kept doing it. I shouted to him above the red dirt music that it was LS's 21st, and he said, "Well she's probably a little tipsy!" I laughed, finally pulled away from LS, and started heading for the door.

I really just wanted to go home. I mean, he was super cute, but I really wasn't looking to meet anyone.

"He's totally hitting on you! Go for it!" my friend JN said in my ear. "He is?!" I asked, making a face. She nodded.

Sigh. Fine. Okay.

He and I got to talking, flirted a little, and the bottom line? I'm glad I stayed. I guess I was skeptical because I just don't like meeting guys in bars. I mean, they're drunk, they think that you want to go home with them, and they usually act like they're hot shit when they can drink an entire 5 pitches of burrrrrr.

This guy was none of the above. Granted, not really my type with his stereotypical Western belt buckle and cowboy boots, but awfully good lookin' and quite sincere.

It was approaching 1:30 and he and I were still talking. I'd met his friends who were standing around with him - most of which had on cowboy hats. I'm smiling thinking about it. It's just so darn stereotypical in Oklahoma. Just some good ol' farm boys enjoying a brewskie. Anyway, my new friend asked me if I wanted to run down the street to the Copper Penny bar with his friends before it closed.

I took that as a good sign. You know. Rather than him saying "My friends and I are going down to the Penny. Peace out, you crazy hooker."

So. Yeah. He bought me a drink at the Penny. Without me even making a move toward the bar. I guess that's a good sign, too. And he kept saying, "I'm so glad I met you." And he said he'd call me after we exchanged numbers. And he asked to be my Facebook friend - but not like a stalker thing because we joked about something being a quote for the Facebook profile. (Yes, I am on the Facebook. Don't ask.) And he wrote a message through the Facebook about how nice it was to meet me and hoped I was having a great birthday.

I responded with "Thanks! Call me sometime!" Was that too forward? I dunno. I wanted to give him the idea that I was interested.

I assume the above are good signs. I never know if the guy is just being nice and I'm just looking for them to like me or if they really do like me and I'm just blind and don't see it. I can never ever tell. Whatever. He sure was cute, though.

The rest of the weekend was wonderful. My family is from Stillwater, so while I was in town for the bar hopping, I stayed with Mom and spent the weekend with her and my grandparents. Went to the Oklahoma State basketball game - where we won - then out to dinner at the town's Country Club. Sunday brought opening presents. It was marvelous and relaxing.

Happy Birthday to me! Here's to many more!

P.S. And if you're wondering? No. The guy from Friday hasn't called yet. I hope I'm not jinxing this by writing about it.

So here comes the limbo. I hate the limbo.

Oh. And I'm not naming him until he calls. So there.

I hope I have a job on Tuesday.

I love my job.

I work in an office with four people. I work for a tourism association. I do marketing projects for this organization's members. We are government funded.

That being said, our funding was cut last year by 1/3. And they're voting on Monday to cut us again.

I was the last person at this place to be hired. I have been working here for six months. I'm very worried about my job security if this vote swings toward taking our money away.

My boss calls us all into her office to tell us the bad news. She said she probably won't bein the office on Monday because of the vote.

I probably won't sleep well this weekend.

And Monday's my birthday.

Happy Birthday to you, Sandra Dee. Now here's your pink slip.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly, cyberspace.

Most of you who read my blog are anonymous bloggers, just stopping by for a quick hello.

Most of you are bloggers whom I have never met.

And finally, most of you know I just started this blog a few months ago, with the intention of gossiping on and on about my dates.

I know this site is called Sandra Dee Dates. But my life doesn't revolve around my dates (or lack thereof for that matter.) So this blog is turning over a new leaf.

I'm going to stop making this blog all about boys.

You heard me. Don't act so shocked. And close your jaws. It's not polite to stare at me all weird like that.

Okay fine. Maybe it's not such a big deal for you guys. But it is for me.

Why? Because I have another personal Xanga blog that all of my friends read. And I've had that one for about 2 years now. I don't want to abandon all of those friends over there lieu of anonymity with this one. Plus not all of my fabulous friends have a Blogger account.

So do I double post, reiterating the same mundane boring crap on two blogs?

The answer, of course, is yes.

So get ready for a little more insight into my life, anonymous Blogger friends. And get ready for even more fabulous writing from yours truly.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly, cyberspace.

SAVE THE GOOD ONES FOR THE REST OF US!

As I straightened my things up at my desk and got ready to head out the door from work, I remembered I needed to ask my co-worker something before I left. She and our intern were talking, so I waited for a bit until they were finished.

Our intern was talking about how she has been in a long distance relationship with a great Christian guy for two years. She was concerened because there's this other guy who's been chasing after her for a while now, but she didn't want to explore it because of her loyalities to the long distance guy.

"The problem is that they're both wonderful guys and perfect for me," she moaned. "I just can't decide what to do."

I almost threw up. I couldn't stand it. I had to say something.

"What a horrible problem," I said sarcastically, with an eyeroll for added affect.

They both laughed.

"I'm not kidding," I said. "At least you don't have to worry about going on horrible first dates with guys who walk 10 feet ahead of you, don't open your door, and don't pay for your dinner. Welcome to my life!"

"Awwww," she said. "He's out there." Like I needed to be pittied for my being single. Thaaaaanks.

What I really wanted to say to her was: "YOU DON'T GET TO HAVE BOTH! SAVE THE GOOD ONES FOR THE REST OF US!"

If we all could be lucky to just have ONE great man pining after us, let alone TWO.

Silly girl.

I am not too picky.

I really enjoy being single.

And it's a good thing that I have a enough self confidence to say that because it's looking like it might stay that way for a while:

Anchorman. Come on people. Our last date was in 1812. Don't hold any hope for him because I certainly haven't been. We had a few witty e-mail banters, but for the most part, he's history in my books.

And he is too old for me - a year shy of 30. That's pretty much what my sorority sisters and I like to call "old balls." Because after that? You might as well be sporting wrinkly nuts, be in a wheelchair and gumming on jello.

Plus Anchorman's extreeeeeemely athletic - like training-for-a-duathalon athletic - and that makes me rather nauseous and very self conscious with my less-than-bootylicious body.

And I recently found out a serious dealbreaker:

He's not a Christian.

Peace out, Ron Burgandy.

JackRussellChristian. He wanted to know if he could call me after about five e-mail banters. Okay. Cool. I sent him my digits ... nine days ago. I get an e-mail last Friday: "I'm sorry I haven't called. I promise I haven't forgotten. I will have some time tomorrow afternoon if that's okay." I wrote back: "That's perfectly all right, Jack. Just call when you have time." Then I get another on Monday: "I didn't have time this weekend to call you. I'm sorry. How about sometime this week?" I get another e-mail today with just about the same message.

Like I'm supposed to wait by the phone for this punk? Puuuh-leeeeeze. I have a life too, dude. If you call and I'm around, I'll answer. But don't hold your breath.

BlastFromThePast. No report. Seriously - did you really expect anything?

And that's that.

I'm not too picky, though. It's more like what Dating Dummy said:

"You're single because you're refusing to settle for anything less than you deserve."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Who said all the good ones are taken?

My office outsources all of our Web design stuff to a small little Web design firm in town. I'm in charge of all of the marketing and Web projects at work, so I work pretty closely with these Web techies.

And quite frankly, I had been working with nothing but Web techies.

That is until about three weeks ago when angels sang from the heavens and brought a gorgeous young man into my life.

And he shall be called HotWorkBoy. Why? Because he's a very very very very very hot male. And I just began working a lot closer with the dude. Awwww yeaaaaaah.

Now I'm not so superfical to think that looks are the only thing to matter. I'll let you in on a little secret:

I think nerds are sexy.

Not dweebs, who are the antisocial types. But nerds, who, in their own special way, charm and amaze me with their intellect.

And HotWorkBoy fits the bill. Perfectly. Not only is he very very very very very hot, but he knows nerdy things about Web design, is incredibly smart, witty, punctual to our meetings, well-groomed, professional, and as nice as the day is long.

Okay. Fine. So he's shorter than I am? BIG. DEAL. I can look past that. Totally look past that.

And I'm looking so far past it that I'm planning a June wedding.

Yes, yes. I know I'm rushing things a bit, and June is quickly approaching, but I think it would be best since I've fallen madly in love with this man.

Oh.

Wait.

Did I mention he's already married?

I didn't?

Oh.

Well, he is.

So that kinda poses a problem.

V-Day Equals Me Time

An e-mail from The Slacker this morning reminded me that I haven't told you all about my wonderful Valentine's Day.

First, I took a shower.

Then, instead of dinner, I ate a brownie. And it was yummy in my tummy.

Okay, okay! FINE! I ate two! You drug it out of me.

Next, I settled in for another train-wreck episode of American Idol. Then it was time for Sex in the City reruns on TBS and the news.

Oh. I forgot to tell you that before all of this, I read a Valentine's e-card. From my mother. The only one I got, may I add. Oh well.

Finally, I went to bed early.

Taaaaa daaaaa. Yay for me time!

My Prince Charming Missed the Memo

I realize Valentine's Day is tomorrow. I realize that I don't have a date. I realize that I'll probably stay at home in my sweats tomorrow night.

And that's fine with me. I don't really care, okay? I don't. I. Don't. Care.

My Prince Charming missed the memo, anyway.

Why is there so much emphasis placed on whether or not you have a date on Valentine's Day? I mean, why can't we spread the love on another holiday?

Like Easter, for instance. Have that be ... I dunno ... "Make A Date with Jesus" Day or something.

Groundhog Day? "Hug A Fat Furry Rodent" Day.

April Fool's Day?: "Be Nice To Your Roommate For A Change You Bastard And Don't Use His Toothbrush As A Toilet Brush."

Saint Patrick's Day could be "Love You Some Beer" Day.

Oh wait. It's pretty much already called that.

And how about April 15? "Love The IRS And Get Your Shit Together Before This Day." Okay, well you don't have to love the IRS, but you probably should love your life savings enough to still get your shit together before this day.

At any rate, this humor makes me feel better. Thanks. Now I think I'll survive tomorrow. And all you lovely beautiful and handsome single creatures out there will, too.

So send yourself some flowers at work, eat a big 'ol box of chocolates, and then, do as my friend Natalie says:

"Put on your big girl panties and get over it."

Enjoy the single life, boys and girls.

I think I found a keeper.

Head on over to I Liked Your Profile to see the latest.

Ugh. Men!

And this is what I get for being nice.

You may have seen my edit in the last post. I had to send a Dear John e-mail to BoomerSooner. Here's the gist of the e-mail:

"BoomerSooner,

Thanks for your replies. Unfortunately, I just don't think this will be a match. I'm so sorry. While all of the attention was very flattering, I'm afraid you just came on a bit too strong for me. Best of luck in your search! Sandra Dee"

That's not rude, I didn't think. Just honest. Short and to the point. I could have gone into detail about how I was freaked out by his many e-mails. I could have just quit writing him and left him in the dark.

But according to my niceness meter, as well as Velvet, Okie and Wombat, guys shouldn't be left hanging and like it when women give it to them straight. So I went with that.

And what do I get for being nice?:

"Sandra Dee-

I understand if you don't like me. That I can deal with. What I don't really like is being bullshitted. You read it right: bullshitted. If writing a few letters to you and expressing the fact that I happen to like you a lot and that you're a beautiful girl is "coming on too strongly," then either the world has changed a great deal since I learned the ways of dating, or you're bullshitting me. Please spare me the "business-like" dismissal and the contrived reasons for rejecting me. Just spare me, and tell the truth. Put yourself in my shoes. If you really liked someone, what would you have done? Acted like you DIDN'T like them? If that's your philosophy, prepare to live a very lonely existence. Maybe I'm just a little too damn honest for today's "dating games." I just wish you'd have met me in person because you'd have seen what an impressive person you're leaving behind. That's not arrogance, it's true. It's your loss, dear.

BoomerSooner"

I was stunned.

I called my old boyfriend who knows him, and we chatted about it. I felt terrible about my actions, but I thought honesty was the best way to go. The old boyfriend said my e-mail did sound a bit formal and lawyer-like, and he could see how Boomer may have misunderstood it and taken it as bullshit. Although the old flame knew me better than that, he knew Boomer wouldn't.

It's this stuff that makes me want to throw in the towel and say to hell with dating.

I spent part of the evening in tears over this stupid e-mail, people. Why do I let things like this get to me?

A stalker? No. Seriously.

I have a stalker.

No. Seriously.

Okay, so it's an e-mail stalker. But still.

I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved with a Sooner.

Last night, while catching up with Chenelle, my very bestest friend in the whole wide world, she told me about the wonderful boy she has been dating. We chatted about her glorious and perfect love life, and then she asked about mine. I told her it was less that stellar, but it'd been getting interesting.

I got up to read her my long e-mail from BoomerSooner, and proceeded to tell her that the old boyfriend actually knew him.

And in my inbox sat SEVEN additional messages. ALL FROM BOOMERSOONER.

SEVEN people. SE-VEN. NONE of which have I responded to. In fact, I haven't even responded to the first one for heaven's sakes.

Sigh.

Where are all of the normal guys hiding?

Seriously.

::EDIT:: He got a Dear John letter. And he'll probably reply.

Introductions and Updates

My dearest Sandra Dee Dates readers. I am pleased to introduce to you two more men, whose names shall be protected to change the innocent.

Oh wait. Strike that. Reverse. Ten points to whoever can name what movie that quote is from!

I digress.

On with the show...

1. JackRussellChristian: Called such because of his dog and the fact that he is a very strong Christian. He looks quite cute in his pictures. Rides a motorcycle, is very fit and active, loves him some Jesus, football and music.

When you read a profile like his that says: "I want to meet a great Christian girl, someone with a sense of humor, someone who is low-maintenance and loves me for me and not what material gain can give them," it hits home, kiddies. I mean, I'm low maintenance! I'm a great Christian girl! And I've got a dazzling sense of humor!

The catch? He's 5'10", and we all know what that means.

Okay, okay, okay. I'm keeping an open mind.

2. BoomerSooner: Now my momma told me never to get involved with any of those stupid OU Sooners. (Okay, so maybe she never said that. Our family just has strong ties to the other guys.) But I'm making an exception for this one.

He's from my hometown, loves sports, Jesus, and - in a bizarre turn of events - actually went to high school and was very good friends with one of my old boyfriends (whom I am still on good terms with and he has given the stamp of approval).

I'm a bit overwhelmed by his second e-mail though. Long, yes, but more about the part at the end: "You are sooooo beautiful. I'm glad I didn't scare you off with my ugly pictures. lol."

I hope this guy doesn't come on too strong too fast and send me running for the hills.

In other news...

Anchorman: Sent funny e-mail this morning. Something about my poor Pokes losing to the stupid Sooners in basketball last night, and about how the anouncers during the game wouldn't shut up about how wonderful his alma mater, the KU Jayhawks, did against the Huskers. I added that I had fun on Friday, and inserted my signature "How's life?" question.

This was our first form of communication since our date last Friday. No response. I'm not totally sure he's into me, guys. Not gonna lie.

And finally...

BlastFromThePast: Called him last night to tell him that this weekend would be fine. He said he had an out-of-town football clinic that he was going to have to go to.

Whaaaaaaaat?!

"Do you still want to get together or is that your way of blowing me off?" I asked.

"No no no. Of course I still want to get together. How about next weekend?" he asked.

"I'll have to wait and see. I'll get back with you." Like my non-committedness?

This dude could seriously be trouble. And quite frankly, I don't have the time or the energy to put up with his games at this point. I'm not saying he doesn't have a football clinic this weekend, but he was the one who wanted to do this weekend to begin with. I was the one who needeed to check. Why has this clinic crap suddenly come up? Whatever.

The reason I'm being so cynical is that I think he most definitely is a ladies man, no doubt about that. Whatever. Okie reminded me not to settle for this kid. You are so right, kind sir. Thanks.

So that's that. I hope you enjoyed meeting Sandra Dee's new prospects.

Until next time, don't sit too close to the televison and eat your veggies.

BlastFromThePast becomes Date of the Future

A few nights back, while chatting online with the Porchmaster, BlastFromThePast peeked his head in to say hello.

Him: Long time no talk!
Me: Well well well. How goes it?
Him: It goes.

Excellent. He gets my sense of humor. Two points.

What we talked about next absolutely blew me over.

Him: So I have a weird question for you.
Me: I probably have been asked it before, so shoot.
Him: My friends and I were talking today about threesomes. Have you ever been in one?

What. The. Hell. Don't ask me shit like that. I didn't know if he was asking me to participate in one with him or if he was just fishing to see what kind of girl I was. At any rate, I certainly wasn't going to discuss my sexual history with a guy I barely know.

Then again, this guy smelled like trouble. Two can play that game.

Me: Let me get this straight. Your friends and you are wanting to have a threesome?
Him: What guy doesn't?!
Me: Are you talking a two guys and a girl or the other way around?
Him: No no no. Two girls, one guy.
Me: Gotcha.
Him: Soooooo? Have you?

I waited a long time before coming up with something. And as a backgrounder, I have never, will never, and probably don't have any desire to participate in a threesome. So don't go getting any ideas.

Me: I plead the fifth.
Him: Whoa. That's like the biggest turn on. Just so you know.

Ahem. Well, what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right? :)

Me: So tell me how your job's going?
Him: Nice way to change the subject.
Me: Subtle, wasn't it?
Him: Very. Job's good. Hey - what are you doing this weekend?

This was Monday night. Calm down, killer. I think he might have just been horned up from my threesome response. I have a feeling I'm going to have to watch it with this one, folks. Grrrr.

Me: Gosh. I haven't thought that far ahead yet. What did you have in mind?
Him: How about dinner and a movie?
Me: That's a bit stale, don't you think? (Okay, fine. That was bitchy. I'll give you that one. But puuhleez. A movie? On the first date?! We can be more creative than that.)
Him: Well how about dinner and then you pick?
Me: Perfect. I'm in tourism, remember? I'll pick out the hot spots in my great city.
Him: Okay. So what day this weekend?
Me: I'm not sure. It might have to be the weekend after. (With Anchorman entering the picture and everything.) I'll get back to you.
Him: Sounds good.
Me: Do you have my number?
Him: Ohhhhh boy. I get the digits?
Me: Only if I get your's.
Him: Okay. (Enter exchange of phone numbers here.)
Me: I'll let you know about what day works well with my schedule.
Him: Sounds good. Have a good night. We'll talk soon.

Oh. Did I mention he plays the piano, guitar, sings and writes his own music? Oh. And that he loves football and happens to coach it, too? And did I mention that he's a stud and a half?

Oh. Okay. Well he is.

I'm calling him tonight about this weekend. I haven't heard squat from Anchorman all week. And Blast is putting forth an effort.

So bingo. I'll keep everyone posted.

Being a Reeeetard for IraqSoldier

Okay fine. You drug it out of me, blogosphere. I wasn't going to talk with you about it, but you win.

Here goes.

My confessional about a boy you haven't heard about yet.

And I can't stop thinking about him. So sue me.

Meet IraqSolider. Adorable. Smart. Hilarious. Polite. Handsome. Gentlemanly. Tall. Strong Christian - but more importantly, Presbyterian - which is what I am. He also grew up about 40 miles from where I went to high school in South Carolina. He also attended college at one of the schools that I had been looking at attending before I settled on my parents' alma mater. Needless to say we had gobs in common.

We met online about six months ago. We talked quite a bit for several weeks and finally decided to meet in person. And you know how you meet someone on a blind date and the chemistry just isn't there? That's how this was supposed to be. We were supposed to meet, think we were completely wrong for one another, and move on.

Oh. How dumb I was. How dumb I am.

I was stupid to even agree to meeting in the first place. Good Lord. He was going to be shipped overseas to Iraq four weeks after we met. I knew that. I KNEW that. And we STILL MET.

All together: Saaaaaandy - you reeeeeetard!!

But it wasn't supposed to work! It wasn't!

Why am I a retard? (Oh wait. Excuse me. I mean reeeeeeetard....) Because I think I had the best connection with him than anyone I have ever dated or will ever date, and I didn't know if he was going to come back or not. And if he did come back, if he'd even be the same person he was before he left.

We were on the same wavelength with so many things. We shared the same core values. He was aggressive with me without being over the top and pushy. And. Well. Dammit, we looked good together, too. Oh. And he kissed me. Not the other way around. Well, he was a horrible kisser, but I didn't care. It wasn't about that with IraqSoldier. It was deeper. We met a couple of times and spent two weekends together. He wanted to spend a third before he left, but I said no. I didn't want this getting complicated.

Too late, Sandy. Too damn late.

*Slaps forehead* You reeeeeeetard!

I was in too deep. He wanted to write me while he was over there. I said that would be great - I'd love it. I was afraid of it turning into a letters-from-war-romance cliche thingy, but I never told him that. I was afraid of what he might want the writing to become, or how he felt about me. So I just kept quiet.

And I waited for him to write.

And waited.

And he never wrote.

So - stupid me - I went first. I've written IraqSoldier twice now since he went over there in November. And nothing. When I tell people I haven't heard back from him, some ask me if I think he's even alive. But I know he is. He gave me his username so we could chat online, and he's been online several times. I've tried shooting him a couple of IMs through that just to say hi, and? Nothing. He's talking to his family I'm sure, and I don't have any business interrupting that whatsoever.

I know he has a job to do. A very busy and important and stressful and scary ass job to do. I know this.

And you guys probably think I'm making all of this up. I'm not. It could be something from a movie, for God's sake. Yeah. Right. Like a really horrible horror flick where the girl gets her heart smashed in a million and two pieces, and not by the guy, but by something larger and out of her control.

War.

I pray for him and his family every night. I think about him all the time. I wonder if he's sleeping or if he's making lists about real estate or thinking about what kind of car he's going to buy when he gets back or his dog or his new baby nephew or his roommate who's still in the U.S. I think about this. I know. I'm a reeeeeetard.

Well tonight I broke down and wrote him again. Talked about stupid stuff - the weather, the Super Bowl (he loves football), my job, highlights in the news - whatever. Crap that he probably doesn't care two hoots about. I just wanted him to know I was thinking about him.

And praying for his safe return.

But I didn't send it yet. I'm going to wait a while. Like after Valentine's Day. I don't want him thinking that just because I'm spending V-Day alone that that's why I'm missing him. Because it's not. At. All.

Dear Lord. I just miss him.

No strings attached.

::Edit:: If anyone has any advice for me as to how to handle this situation, I'm all ears. Please. Save me from being an even bigger reeeeetard than I've already been. Help a sista out.

Anchorman Redeems Himself

Prepare thyselves for an Anchorman rerun. But this one is a bit more action packed and waaay better.

I got off early at work on Friday and was almost ready when my phone rang. It was Anchorman. I was supposed to call him before I left so he would have a good idea of when I would be arriving in his neck of the woods. (He lives two hours away.)

He made points early when he said: "I was going for a run and didn't want you to call while I was out. Just get here when you get here and I'll see you then." Well aren't you nice. He said he had already picked out the theatre where we'd go, too. Props, kiddo.

Arrived at 8 o'clock, and guess what time the movie started. You guessed it. Eight o'clock. We were going to be late. We raced to the theatre and got there just in time. We missed the first 20 minutes but the first 10 were previews anyway. Whew.

After it was over, we walked out into the parking lot.

And he - gasp - didn't walk on the outside next to the curb. I had to make fun of him kids. Had to.

"You know the rule don't you?" I said.
"What rule?"
"The rule that the man is supposed to walk on the outside, next to the curb."
"Not if I want to push you into oncoming traffic," he said with a grin, and he proceeds to playfully push me off of the curb. Where did this guy come from?, I was asking myself. He certainly wasn't the same jerky guy I'd gone out with last time.

We got to the car and put his hand on my door, getting ready to open it for me. "Well at least you got one thing right," I joked, pointing at the car door. Then he just stood there with his hand on the door, grinning at me. I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but I wasn't sure I wanted to. "Open my door!" I said, and I pushed him out of the way and did it myself. "Aren't you demanding!" he said.

We finally found the bar district, hopped out and were on our way. First we hit a great little place called The Brook for nachos and beer. (Oh. And after my ice cream comment from date #1, I think I spoke too soon. He was the one who wanted the nachos.) We made fun of each other - him of me for using a fork with my nachos, me of him for not finishing his beer fast enough - and the conversation turned to funny stories about our drunken days in college. In the light of the stories, he suggested we grab another round, then he insisted we take a shot - of Jagermeister. I love Jager, but I never dreamed he'd be up for it. Again, I thought: Who is this guy and what have you done with the square, boring asshole I met two weeks ago? Bottom's up it went, cleaned up the nachos, and we were off to another bar.

The next bar was a hole in the wall, with a horrible guitar player in the background, but cheap beer so we stayed. But just for one. Now, I don't know if it was the alcohol or if he was more comfortable with me, but this guy was turning out to be a rather fun date, people. We actually were involved in - brace yourselves - some playful hitting and flirting. I know. Shocker.

And you know the comment he made about being sure I wore something slutty? So I did? I caught him looking down my shirt.

We waltzed over to our final stop, Vintage 1740 Wine Bar. (Very cute. I highly recommend.) We split a glass of Eroica Riesling (which was delish) and by this time, I was incredibly tipsy. I joked with him and said, "You're just trying to get my drunk so you can take advanage of me." "Is that a bad thing?" he asked. I just grinned.

Thirty mintues later we were back at his apartment making out. And he was gooooood, people. Like the I-can-tell-this-guy's-been-with-a-lot-of-women kind of good. But I didn't care.

And he liked to cuddle. Yessssssss.

Oh. And just in case you were wondering, we didn't do anything except kiss and climb into bed to cuddle. Girl next door, remember?

He doesn't give me the butterflies, so I don't particularly care if I've screwed this up by spending the night. But will I go out with him again?

Of course. The guy can kiss, can't he?

Afternoon Delight with Anchorman

Yesterday afternoon, after a few witty e-mails with Anchorman, we solidified our second date:

Movie then drinks.

Our banter was fun, flirty, and ... okay ... down right racy for the middle of the afternoon.

Afterall, he is Anchorman. What's e-mailing with him without a little afternoon delight?

Oh. Humor me. Laugh.

Ahem. Anyway, he mentioned as a P.S. in one e-mail that he liked what I wore on our last date, which was a little revealing for a hockey game. I replied back that I would try to find something a little sluttier for this date.

He said:

"The sluttier the better! (Did I just type that?)"

Whoa!! You sure did, bucko. And I don't wanna be stingy.

So ask and you shall receive. The number I picked out just happens to have a plunging neckline that showcases my beauuuutiful knockers.

Okay. Stop. I know what you're thinking. "But you didn't even like him!" Despite my earlier post about how horrible he was, he couldn't be that bad. Did I tell you that this weekend is his birthday, and he's fitting me in this weekend before he drives to Kansas City to see his friends for some celebration?

I'm taking that as a good sign.

And perhaps he just has a jerk shell and not a jerk core. And frankly I don't know him well enough to know the difference yet.

On this date, I'll get to know him better, all the while figuring out if I'm compatible with him.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of dating.