One Less to Worry About

Oh brother. I’m completely hopeless when if comes to this game of love. I went to the monthly dance in Reading last week to see all my old friends. It was great and I had a lovely time catching up with a bunch of my peeps. I spent most of the time hanging out in the foyer chatting. I loved it. At one point, I was chatting with a group of friends when I was introduced to a new young man. He was nice, but seemed quite young. I didn’t think anything about it, but ended up chatting with him again later in the evening after the dance ended. I thought he was kind of cute and was impressed with his friendliness. But, I’ve met loads of guys at dances and nothing has ever come of it. That’s the only reason I can give to justify what happened next. We were just getting ready to leave and he asked for my phone number. It caught me so off guard that I couldn’t think of anything to do other than give it to him. I had to give him credit for being so bold. Most boys just don’t do that here.

I was excited until I told my friends on the way home. And found out a bit more about him. I had never met him before, but unfortunately for people here, the Church is pretty small and the grapevine is alive and well. If you ever do anything wrong, everyone knows about it and you never live it down. This poor kid is a prime example. Once I told them what his name was, they began spilling the dirt on him. Apparently he was so obsessed with a girl a while back that she had to get a restraining order against him. Yikes. Also, according to reports, he had a huge meltdown at Church one Sunday and was swearing and angry and someone had to remove him from the building. Double yikes. Now what do I do? He’s texted me a couple of time and requested my friendship on facebook. I feel guilty, but I really don’t think I want to take that on. I just wonder why I always get the crazy ones. Why can’t the guys I like ask for my number? I’ve spent my entire life attracting the guys I don’t want and apparently repelling the ones I do. Bleh. My friend Amanda used to say that every failed blind date was just eliminating one more person from the list of possibles. I guess, we'll chalk this one up to another one of those.

You Snooze, You Lose

This is, unfortunately, not a happy update. Crocodile Dundee and I are, apparently, in a holding pattern. I haven’t heard from him in quite a while. We have spoken since my last post, though we did have a good textersation a couple of weeks ago. I was pretty excited about it, since it was totally unexpected and of his own accord. He texted me one morning to inform me that the US was losing badly to the Australian team in the rugby world cup. When Australia won, he mentioned that he would have to come out to High Wycombe to redeem his prize. I pretended I had no idea what he was talking about and he reminded me that I had bet him dinner that Australia would lose. It was a good, flirty conversation.

The problem is that nothing has happened since then. He told me he was going to the States to visit his brother, but I don’t remember when or for how long. I guess I should cut him some slack, but really, I’m losing interest…fast. In retrospect, I probably should have let him know that I’m the type of girl who needs to have sustained contact to maintain interest. I tend to be sort of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ type girl. If we ever go out again, maybe I’ll need to tell him that.

In other news, I have a new crush. He’s in our new ward and when I saw him our first Sunday, I was immediately attracted to him. He had on a pretty flash suit and he looked good. We didn’t actually speak and I had no idea who he was, but did catch him checking me out. I gave him a dazzling smile and that was the extent of our interaction at that point. I didn’t see him the next Sunday and was disappointed not to get the chance to figure out who he was. Then, Monday, I went to FHE and I was overjoyed to discover that my crush was the son of the Relief Society President at whose house we were having FHE. He came in a bit late and, I’m fairly certain, was equally happy to see me.

Over the course of the evening, we got a chance to flirt a little and I worked my magic. We played a game and it quickly became an excuse for me to flirt unashamedly with him by shooting him coy glances and sassy smirks. It was fabulous. I won and he jokingly threw his cards and stormed out of the room. Man, I always go for the cocky ones. That night also revealed the hotness of a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. I love it. I haven’t seen it up close yet, but there’s something about a bad boy that I just love and I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m hot. Last week at FHE, he made a special effort to acknowledge me when we got there and I caught him looking at me a couple of times. He refused to play the game this week and I gave him a good bit of teasing about that. Then today at Church, we arrived at the same time and walked in together. He held the doors for me and was quite solicitous. I ended up conducting the music and caught him making eyes at me from the congregation. Afterward, I saw him in the hall and he asked how I was doing. I answered as I walked past and should have stopped to chat, but chickened out. Hopefully tomorrow’s FHE will see renewed flirting and perhaps a chance to actually get to know each other a bit. No matter what happens, it’s always fun to have someone to look pretty for on Sundays.

To Kiss or Not To Kiss

Croc and I have sorted things out. After his ridiculousness of last week, I decided that I could put in a little more effort and actually initiate a conversation or two. I texted him on Sunday and we had a nice textersation. It was flirty and banter-y and at the end he told me he’d call me this week and we’d figure out a time to get together again. I would have preferred to actually speak on the phone, but he was waiting for his brother to skype. I’ll give him a pass this time.

So, we spoke last night and it was good. I felt comfortable and flirtatious and excited to be speaking to him again. I had begun to wonder if I wanted him to ask me out again just to have a second date with someone, but after speaking to him last night, I determined that I do actually have some interest. He seems keen on getting to know me better as well, so that’s good news.

Anyway, as we spoke he told me he wants to come take me out again, but isn’t sure when. I, somewhat more boldly than intended, volunteered the information that if he wanted to come on a Friday, he was welcome to stay over on the couch! What?!?!?! Although Robyn and I had discussed it and she’s fine with it, I barely know the guy. Surely the invitation is a bit premature. He was surprised, but I assured him that Robyn was fine with it as long as he stayed on the couch and I stayed in my room. Then he joked about sneaking into my room in the middle of the night and I told him Robyn would probably skin him alive.

All this talk got me to thinking more about kissing him. Now, those of you who know me even just a little, know that I have a tendency to kiss boys after having known them for only a short time, hours even on occasion. I realize this isn’t necessarily the best way to begin a real relationship, but I really like kissing and I don’t really know how to not kiss someone when they want to kiss me. I’ve never rejected a kiss. I’m not that kind of girl; I’m just a girl who can’t say ‘no’. So my dilemma is whether or not to let ole Crocodile Dundee kiss me the next time we go out, assuming that he tries. And if I decide not to kiss him, how do I do it without hurting his feelings while simultaneously letting him know that it’s just ‘no’ for now, not ‘no’ forever? If I do resist the temptation, how long should I continue resisting? Is a week long enough?

Let the Drama Begin.

Crocodile Dundee and I have had our first disastrous miscommunication. When we last left our story, he had said that perhaps he could come out to Reading on Saturday. I wasn’t terribly certain that he would, but I thought at least I would hear from him. Wednesday came and went. Thursday came and went. FRIDAY came and went. Not a word was texted. I wasn’t entirely sure what to think. I figured he had decided to go to the concert on Friday that he had previously mentioned. I knew he was coming to the fireside on Saturday so I figured we’d have a chance to chat then.

So after the fireside (at which I looked smokin' hot,) I saw him and, perhaps foolishly, assumed he would come talk to me. I busied myself chatting with a few friends so that it didn’t look like I was just waiting around for him. It ended up taking me ages to make it out of the chapel and in to the cultural hall, and by the time I did, I couldn’t see him anywhere. I was disappointed in his lack of effort and my unwillingness to make the effort myself. But really, it is his job.

On the way home, I sent him a text saying that I had thought I’d seen him and was sorry we hadn’t had a chance to chat. I didn’t hear back from him, though, which I thought was a little weird. He usually answers straight back. I chalked it up to the fact that it had gotten quite late.

Today, on the way home from Church, I got a text. It started a conversation that has me a bit concerned. I’ve decided that in order to do the story justice, I will need to include the texts in their entirety.

Crocodile Dundee: J yeah good job on the flute man! You were awesome! It was a great night, filled with the spirit! I had to leave straight after cause I came with friends who wanted to go! I hadn’t heard from you all week, so I assumed you were not interested in keeping in touch.

Me: (after thinking WTF!) Whatever. You were supposed to call me! I figured you ended up going to the concert.

Croc: Ha whatever! I’m serious! I thought you were not interested in me calling you as you seemed short and distant in your goodbye on Monday. Anyway, I was planning on going to the concert, until Friday when I blew all my cash on tickets to 5 concerts, lol. So how you been?

(Short and distant? Did he expect me to kiss him in the middle of Paddington Station? It’s not that I’m against kissing him, but I’d rather our first kiss not be in public for all to see. I don’t think that equals short and distant.)

Me: I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression. I actually had a really good time with you. I’m doing well. I’m moving tomorrow.

Croc: Ok cool, yeah I enjoyed it too! Well then I’ll have to come out there sometime soon! So the big move is tomorrow hey, glad you got it sorted! How far from Reading is it again?

Me: Yes. I would like you to come out. High Wycombe is about 40 minutes drive from reading. It has a direct train from London.

All I have to say is that it’s a good thing I’m so forgiving, because, seriously, how ridiculous. I had understood that he was going to let me know if he wanted to come out before the fireside. He had texted me on the train home about coming out and I had responded, I think enthusiastically, that I would like him to. I guess he forgot. Anyway, I’m a bit annoyed, but hopefully we’ll be able to talk it through next time we see each other. Bleh. We can’t have both of us being completely insecure. That’s my job.

The First Date

Here’s the story you’ve all been waiting for. Before you get too excited, we haven’t kissed yet. It’s only a matter of time. Don’t worry. I predict that sometime in the very near future, you will be reading all about it.

But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I need to tell you about our first date. The original plan had been for him to take the train out here to Reading. I had grand plans for what we could do, but the plan changed. Crocodile Dundee texted me that the Notting Hill Carnival was on Monday. It sounded amazing and I love London anyway. It sounded like it could be a good first date. So I decided that we could do Reading any old time, but the carnival is only once a year. The plan was hatched, then, that I would go to London Monday morning and we’d go to the Carnival. I was pretty nervous to actually meet him, but also really excited. I was, possibly, overly concerned with what to wear, but let’s be honest, it was pretty important to look hot. Thanks to the advice of friends and family, I chose an outfit that I feel turned out to be a smashing success.

So I arrived at Paddington Station and nearly chickened out when I saw him. I was glad that I saw him before he saw me, so I had a chance to collect myself before speaking to him. He had told me what he was wearing so I could spot him. When I saw him, I was a bit taken aback. He had a long, bleach-blond ponytail. He was wearing a sky blue baseball cap, a green and yellow Australia rugby jersey, and motorcycle boots. Definitely different than what I’m used to. He also wore aviator style sunglasses and headphones. Anyway, he walked past me and I stopped him. He gave me a hug and I was okay with that. I felt very comfortable right away, which was good. He was very friendly and conversational. I found it easy to talk to him and he has an easy laugh. It didn’t take long for me to realize that we were going to have a good time together. Also, he was a perfect gentleman and paid me back for my train ticket. Well played, sir.

After purchasing a tube pass, we headed for Notting Hill. For those of you haven’t been there, it’s not quite like it is in the movie. Portobello Road runs through the area and is still known for selling anything and everything a chap can unload. It’s a quirky neighborhood and quite full of life. The Carnival is put on by the Caribbeans who live in the area. It has to be said, those people know how to party. I thought Mormons threw a good party, but we’ve got nothing on the Jamaicans. The streets were alive with the sounds of reggae, the smells of jerk chicken, and the sights of colorfully dressed people. We wandered the streets soaking in the sights and sounds. After a little perusing, we decided we couldn’t resist any longer and decided to get something to eat. We took our food and sat on the steps of some house and ate. It was nice to sit for a bit and have the chance to chat.

We finished eating and then decided to try to find the parade. It was like no other parade I’ve ever seen. My parade experience consists of the 24^th of July parade in Mapleton where each ward gets to do a float and the highlight is the riding mower club. This parade, however, had steel drum bands, busty women in sparkly costumes, and people madly dancing. We stood and watched the parade for a while and it was awesome. It was really the perfect thing to do for a first date. There was plenty to see and do just in case there was an awkward pause in the conversation, not that there was, but just in case. It was also loud enough that we had to get close to hear each other.

Eventually we decided to walk back to the tube station and head out. The streets were packed and so naturally, I had to hold onto his arm or put my hand on his back so I didn’t get left behind. I don’t think he minded. It was the perfect excuse to initiate a little bit of contact. We made it back to Paddington and decided to get a McFlurry while we waited for my train. It was nice to have a bit more time to just chat. We have a lot in common so it makes it easy to chat. Then came the awkward point at which we had to refer to another date without knowing if the other person wanted one. I bit the bullet and suggested that he come out this weekend and he said he’d like to. We left it that he’d let me know, but that he’d like to come. So now I’m waiting to hear from him. He’ll call. I’m sure of it. And I want him to. I had a good time and I feel like we’d have fun together. I don’t know that it’s a definite love match, but I’m willing to give it a shot.

The Moment We've All Been Waiting For

I’ve been waiting to write any more about Crocodile Dundee until there was something more to write about than just a text or two. When we last left our story, he had sent me a text saying that he wanted to come take me out sometime. I said he sure could, and then the waiting began. He called me that Friday, and we chatted for a little while. He had to get on the Tube so it cut our conversation a little short and we didn’t get around to actually setting up the date. He said he’d call me when he got home but then he didn’t. He sent a text apologizing for not calling. I was disappointed, but he explained himself enough that I gave him a break. He was heading to a music festival that weekend so I knew I wouldn’t hear from him until later. I sent him a text the next day wishing him a good time at the festival.

I heard back from him on Monday, but only via text message. (For someone who said he doesn’t like electronic communication, he hasn’t actually called very much.) We traded a couple of messages and I was pleased that there was at least some communication. After Monday, I thought I’d hear from him soon so we’d be able to set up the date. I waited and waited and waited. When I hadn’t heard from him by Thursday, I figured we wouldn’t be going out this weekend. It is a truth universally acknowledged that it’s Wednesday for Friday and Thursday for Saturday. The problem is that I’m moving soon and next weekend is impossible. There’s a big YSA thing here and I couldn’t have that be the first time I met him. So I was getting worried that it just wasn’t going to happen.

By Friday, I was really concerned that he had just changed his mind or something and didn’t actually want to go out with me anymore. I’m such a weirdo sometimes. I know it’s ridiculous, but I always start to second-guess myself. I had convinced myself that I would text him Saturday and just see what was going on. I was so relieved then on Friday afternoon when he texted me. Bless him. He passed the test. We texted back and forth for a while and then (drum roll, please) he asked if he could come out and see me on Monday. It’s a holiday so he doesn’t have to work, and I don’t have anything to do, so it’s perfect. Finally! We made it. Now I can stop worrying about when he’s going to ask me out and start worrying about what to wear. Yikes.

Pluck of the Irish

The other day, my good friend and I went to dinner and got chatted up by an old, drunk guy. He had about three teeth and reeked of alcohol. Every time he went out to smoke, he insisted on starting a conversation. He asked where I was from and when I told him I was from the States, he said he was glad I wasn’t Australian. I guess he’s had bad luck with them.

As I was reflecting on the fact that I somehow seem able to attract old men, but not young ones, I remembered an experience I’d had in Ireland with my mom and dad. When my parents came, we each decided on one thing we had to do while we were in Ireland. My mom wanted to so to a cathedral, dad wanted a proper roast dinner, and I wanted to get chatted up by an Irishman. I realized it was going to be a tough sell, since I had my mom and dad with me. I’ve found that’s generally a pretty big deterrent when it comes to being chatted up. Unfortunately, through most of the trip, it held true. Not a single cute Irish guy even tried. I’m pretty sure there were loads that wanted to, but we’ll never know. Then, the last night, we decided to go out for some proper Irish music. The place we chose had a restaurant with proper tables and such, along with a proper bar with stools. The restaurant section was full of tourists so we went to the bar section where there were a few stools available. The bar had a doorway through which we could see the stage area where the performers were sitting. There weren’t enough stools for the three of us, so I stood near the doorway. As I was standing there, I could feel that someone was watching me. I couldn’t figure out who it was because there were only old people there. I chanced a glance toward the bar and met the eye of a man who I came to find out was the most delusional man I’ve ever met.

Let me paint you a picture of this man. He had to be fifty-something. He was wearing wellies with his jeans tucked in. He had paired that with a blazer and a flat cap. If I’m honest, he was kind of good-looking. Anyway, I could tell he was looking at me, but I did my best not to encourage it, because really there was nothing that was going to come of it. As the evening progressed, I got the feeling that he was going to come talk to me. I told my mom that if she weren’t standing there right next to me, he’d be chatting me up. She didn’t believe me. To be fair, mom and I haven’t ever been to a bar or club together, so she’s not really familiar with the way things work out there. She thought that because he was an old man, he wouldn’t give it a shot.

So imagine her surprise when later that evening, he did indeed give it a shot. I had moved back to the doorway and mom and dad were hanging back against the wall. It took him about five seconds to make his move. He came over and struck up a conversation. His breath reeked of cigarettes and alcohol and he had horrible teeth, but there was actually something quite charming about him. We chatted a bit about the music and then he wanted to know why I was in Ireland. I was a little bit uncomfortable flirting with my parents standing there watching it all, but it was kind of funny. We were just in the middle of chatting casually when he asked me if I was going clubbing that night. Of all the questions I never would have expected, that probably topped the list. I couldn’t believe he was actually serious. And just what would have happened if I had said I was? Could he seriously be considering coming with me or something? Was he insane? Luckily, I had the excuse of having to leave in the morning. Dodged a bullet there. Then he looked at me and said in his lovely Irish accent, “You’re a gorgeous woman.” I was of course flattered and pretty gutted that my parents were there. Who knows what could have happened if they hadn’t been.