Meat-ing the parents

Four months in, we’re laying around on a lazy Sunday afternoon and SG#1 tells me about a wedding he’s been invited to in Kansas City – his home town.

“So, I’m thinking it would be fun to have a date at the wedding.”

“Oh yeah. Who are you going to take?” [Me being facetious]

“I was thinking of taking you, and, well, my parents live there, in Kansas City, so maybe, umm...”

Oh. My. Goodness.

He wants me to meet his parents.

In Kansas City!!

I was excited and nervous and all kinds of freaked out. Just four months in and a meet-the-parents weekend?! This guy really liked me, and I really liked him and suddenly I had ruby slippers on my feet and I was in Pleasantville with SG#1 and everything was just peachy – which could never happen because big, frizzy, curly hair doesn’t fit the whole Pleasantville look.

Three clicks of my heels later and there I was stepping off of the plane at Kansas City International. SG#1 and his dad picked me up and whisked me away to drinks while we waited for our table at Jack Stack Barbecue (One of Kansas City’s finest BBQ joints). This is the time any girlfriend waits for: embarrassing childhood stories about your significant other’s first girlfriend, pictures of them at their first prom, etc. Instead, SG#1’s dad (who we will refer to as Mr. Dad from now on) started in on a story:

“I remember when I moved to St. Louis and I was looking for a girlfriend…my friends wrote me a list of potential mates to call for a date, one of which was SG#1’s mom.”

The story goes that he actively pursued SG#1’s mom for a couple of months and, after a few unlikely excuses, she finally agreed to a date.

“…six months later we were married. She was 29 and I was 32.” (Smiley, inquisitive look in our direction) “So, how old are you Alani?”

“Well, I’m 29.”

If you haven’t clued in yet, I am 29 and SG#1 is 32 and we had been dating for exactly six months at the time the story was told. I don’t’ think Mr. Dad’s story had an agenda, but after he asked my age the table fell silent…and then erupted in nervous laughter.

Meet-the-dad icebreaker complete.

We paid our tab and walked the yellow brick road to Jack Stack Barbecue for dinner and to meet SG#1’s mom (Mrs. Mom from now on). Dinner was fairly benign. Just the usual childhood stories, questions about what I do – which received an, “Oh interesting, SG#1 has never really been interested in the medical field, at all!”

(I’m pretty sure I already figured that one out after he asked how my first day of internship went and stopped me at the first mucus-laden story). We ate ourselves silly at Jack Stack: a tower of onion rings, barbecue sauce rubbed chicken, pork spare ribs, pulled pork, baked cheesy corn, hickory baked beans a side of meat and a little more meat. I really wanted to try the carrot cake, but I’m not sure I could fit it in – it makes my mouth water just thinking about it. YUM. So far Kansas City was on my top 10 list of best food [read: MEAT] cities and I had successfully lived through meeting the parents. I was excited to hear my official review, but first we moved on to drinks with SG#1’s best friends…

Picture the most dive-y bar you’ve ever seen located just behind a row of over-stocked car dealerships and steaming with young patrons playing betting games and drinking a local IPA. I was starting to fade from a long day of exams, a bumpy plane ride and a release of nervous energy over meeting SG#1’s parents for the first time. I ruffle through my purse for my ID and spot the table of SG#1’s high school friends. They stick out in their button-up shirts with mixed drinks in hand, and as they see SG#1 they all start to smile and cheer.

“You must be Alani. How do you like Kansas City so far?” SG#1’s best friend greets me with a hug.

And before I could answer he motions to the table with a big smile on his face and announces, “We’re all a little fatter, but we’re happy!”

And that’s how the whole weekend went; fun friends, great drinks and more meat than I’ve ever consumed in 36 hours. We went to the most amazing Catholic-Hindu wedding I’ve ever seen (and the first), complete with Hindu tea ceremony, the groom’s grand entrance on a white horse led by traditional Dhol drummers and the entire wedding party dancing and cheering as they processed…you know, just your typical most-awesome-wedding-EVER! It was, however, the longest wedding ever as well and after hour six of drinking and partying, still waiting for the reception to begin, we stopped at the hotel bar for a bite to eat, just a little slider or two. And, much to my surprise it was a mini bun, mini burger patty (inch thick) with more shredded meat piled on top of it – only in Kansas City.

After the festivities drew to a close SG#1, his best friend and I headed to the bars for a drink or two. The best friend and I had a top secret heart to heart, which basically meant him asking me some “really important” questions:

1. So, are you going to marry SG#1?
2. If SG#1 asked you to marry him tomorrow, what would you say?
3. SG#1 seems really happy, how do you feel about him?

Such pointed questions! He did inform me I got an “A” grade (he doesn’t give A+’s), so I was pretty happy about that. And, in terms of the final parental review, as Mr. Dad and Mrs. Mom said their goodbye’s at the wedding (after I had a dance with Mr. Dad), Mrs. Mom said, “Alani, you’re invited to Thanksgiving and Christmas any time you want!”

I think that means they liked me.

Well, this year I’m spending Christmas in Australia, but I might have to take them up on the holiday offer sometime soon. All in all, the meet-the-parents, meet-the-friends, Kansas City weekend was just another chapter in the fairy tale that is dating SG#1 (which totally and completely freaks me out). When will the Wicked Witch of the West whirl onto the scene surrounded by a spiraling tornado of munchkins, lions and tin men? For now, I’ll just click my heels three times and imagine no place like home with SG#1 by my side.

Playing Dress-up

Halloween was just around the corner (I know, I am sooo far behind on posts!). We were invited to the party, my sister was right on her way to recovery from surgery so she could join us and everyone was buzzing with “top secret” costume ideas. There was just one problem: SG#1 and I didn’t have costumes. We had plenty of ideas such as bee and bee-keeper (SG#1 would have to be the bee), fish, mermaid and merman (that one was quickly vetoed)…but nothing seemed to stick.

We went out to breakfast the Saturday before Halloween – T-minus 7 days before costumes were needed – and asked the waiter if he had a costume idea for us. Well, let’s just say he had plenty, but apparently the wait staff at 13 Coins have their minds deep into the gutter. So deep, the costume idea will not be mentioned here.

A week later, T-minus 8 hours before the party, and still no costume. We dragged ourselves over to a temporary Halloween warehouse resurrected in Fremont. Everything on our idea list was represented and more! There was a bee – a sexy bee – with mini-dress and wand (I didn’t know bees had wands), and a fish – a sexy fish – with mini skirt and bikini top, and Alice in Wonderland – again a mini dress with cleavage-revealing bustier – and there was Dorothy and the tin man, the lion, princesses and princes…why did everything have to be the sexy, mini version?! And why were the male counterparts full-body suits with very little skin showing? And you got such a tiny little piece of fire-retardant fabric for $75.

We started to panic.

SG#1 kept circling back to a chicken hat and naughty nurse was starting to look like a good option – YIKES!

And then we cracked. If we were going to a toga party, we would definitely wear togas, so why were we so opposed to the Americanized Halloween idea of being your sexy self? So we decided to take Halloween to its sexed up limit. And where else do Americans fully embrace their inner slut than in Vegas?!

All day long we were asking each other, “Who came up with this holiday anyway?”

Women dressed up as sexy kittens and men in Top Gun flight suits. I looked up the origins of this strange holiday on Wikipedia, the most reputable source of historical information for sure, and there is a mish mash of theories about why spend an evening donning costumes and eating candy. Some believe it comes from the Roman Catholic All Saints Day, a celebration of those who have left us but have not yet reached heaven, but ninja costumes, bobbing for apples and spooky ghost tunes don’t really evoke the sentiment this holy holiday aims to accomplish. One historian, Nicholas Rogers, proposes that the origins of Halloween can be found in multiple celebrations such as, the Roman feast of Pomona, the goddess of fruits and seeds, or in Parentalia, the festival of the dead, and it may be that Halloween is simply a marker of “summer’s end” from the Celtic word and festival, Samhain.

Interesting.

So we’ve come from seemingly benign celebrations of saints, fruits and nuts and the end of summer to slut-fest 2010. Perhaps Freud was right, we are all a little repressed and Halloween is the one night we can let our inhibitions scatter to the wind and embody our inner desires.

Well, SG#1 and I let our inhibitions scatter so far I’m not sure we could find them again if we tried.

Together we were, “What happens in Vegas.”

We embodied the stereotypical Las Vegas couple. They meet in a bar on a Friday night and wake up Saturday morning with a crumpled marriage license, a sparkling wedding ring in the shape of a money sign and a matching set of fresh tattoos.

We arrived at the party and our costume reviews went a little something like this:

“So you’re dressed up as a married couple?!”

Oh.

Wait.

Well, yeah. We dressed up as a married couple. I guess there was nothing to hide. Deep down inside our repressed selves SG#1 and I just wanted to be a slutty Las Vegas married couple. Oops.

Trivia and Tics

I got a message from a guy I’d been emailing with, asking if I’d like to grab a bite to eat at Belltown Pizza. I had eaten there once before (on another date, if I remember correctly) and their slices were somewhat reminiscent of New York Pizza (which I was raised on). So, I agreed, happily.

When I arrived, he was already sitting at the bar, waiting for me. As soon as introductions were done, he informed me that it was trivia night! As someone who loves learning random facts, I’m often on the winning trivia team. This was an exciting change in the normal dinner routine!

We decided to split a pizza and join forces in the intellectual challenge. He seemed to know everyone in the bar, so free drinks were flowing throughout the evening. The first question was posed:

What color does acid turn Litmus paper?

Too easy! Bring on something a bit more challenging!

We stated “red” and, obviously, won the round. I looked at my date, his hands started flailing, and he opened his mouth:

"Hell yea, own it, ooowwwwnnnn it, own it! Hell yea, own it! Own it! Yea, yea, yea!"

Well, that was a bit more excitement than I was expecting for the first question! Oh well, I guess optimism and happiness are good traits.

Soon after, question two was announced:

What is a freshwater lobster called?

As a foodie, the question was also not a problem: Crayfish

Our answer was pronounced correct and my date began exploding with enthusaiasm once again:

“See that!?! Own it, ooowwwnnnn it, own it! That’s right, own it! Own it!”

Uh…ok…

And it continued…and continued…and continued throughout the evening.

We did, indeed, win the trivia competition. By the end, however, I didn’t have much enthusiasm left in me! His tourette-like outburts were draining! Certainly not something I could deal with on a long-term basis!

No, nope, nada, no way, nah, nope, no, no!

Keeping your eyes on the prize

One question I am consistently asked on this dating quest: have you and Looking for a Spark [LFAS] ever dated the same guy? The answer is no…but we’ve certainly talked about it! There is one guy, in particular, who makes me think of this potential situation: the optometrist.

Let’s take it back—

Almost year ago, he invited me to an amazing dinner at a scrumptious restaurant (Ray’s Boathouse). He was good company (despite having told me that something was "off" about my eyes), and we were thinking of going somewhere else afterwards. But messages crossed and it didn’t work out.

Date number two: we met at an Asian place (Indochine) somewhere midway between our respective residences. The food was alright, and, being in a period of transition with his job, he talked much more about his daily stressors than I felt comfortable hearing on the second date! I had had a rough week as well, but I just listened and listened. He never once asked me how things were going (though, truth be told, I don’t know how much I would have divulged on the 2nd date, anyway).

A couple weeks later, it was my birthday, and he insisted on cooking me dinner. Driving all the way out to where he lived, however, quickly convinced me that something long-term would not work out…especially while I was in school! Had we connected more, I might have been willing to take on that sacrifice of distance. At the end of the night, however, I realized that it would be our final date.

And fast-forward—

At the end of each academic quarter, my amazing nursing cohort unites for a celebration of accomplishments and (fleeting) freedom. The last one was at a classmate’s family’s gorgeous lake house. The party was phenomenal, complete with paddleboarding, chocolate fountains, and amazing company. Of course, before long, pictures erupted on facebook, highlighting the good times enjoyed by all.

As there were uncountable pictures of cute girls in bikinis, I have no doubt that they got a lot of facebook traffic. It so happens, however, that the optometrist is still one of my facebook friends. And, so, after not having heard from him in about half a year, I received a facebook message:

Hi,
So, I know things didn’t work out with us, but how about that girl, [LFAS], who I saw pictures of on facebook. Is she single? She’s really cute and it’d be great if you could work something out!
Thanks!

Uh…first of all, no, she wasn’t single. And second of all, is that even allowed?! Can you really ask someone you dated, to hook you up with their friend?? Granted, we never kissed or anything…but still!

While it’s the principle of the matter that bothers me, the truth is that I wouldn’t really mind playing matchmaker for a friend, if I found a guy I thought would be better for her than for me. So, if any single lady-readers decide they have their eyes open for potential dates, I might have an optometrist right up your alley!

Blast from the Past

A couple months ago, I was alerted to an new email on my POF account. When I opened it, I was shocked to see that it was from a guy I had been on several dates with a year prior. He was one of my first blog posts, as it turns out (the "good" of that dating triad). Despite several great dates last year, he had traveled for the holidays and we lost touch after his return to Seattle.

And one year later, I looked at the simple message on my computer screen: "You look good with longer hair." The memories came flooding back.

I've learned from this dating project that, when you loose touch with someone, it's usually for a good reason (no matter how appealing that person may seem after a time lapse). So, I was pretty skeptical. We chatted online for a bit and decided that it wouldn't hurt to meet up again.

He offered to cook me dinner, but wouldn't tell me what he was making (and, to be honest, I wasn't expecting much)! I got to his house and he hadn't started cooking yet--so I offered to help. But, he wouldn't let me touch a thing.

I will admit, it made me a little uncomfortable to sit around with nothing to do! (He sensed the uneasiness and I think he enjoyed getting me outside of my comfort zone.) But, it was probably good for me to not do ANYTHING for half an hour--between working, studying, and volunteering, I'm so used to running around like a chicken with my head cut off!

When he finally called me to the table, I was quite impressed! Laid out artfully on each plate were perfectly seared sesame encrusted Ahi tuna steaks, brown rice, and apple-endive salads! The night continued with good conversation and lovely company. Because we had already gone over all the "boring" details a year ago, we were able to have real conversations. It was so comfortable!

I had clinicals the following day, so I said my "goodbye's" and "thank you's." And, I left in high spirits. But a couple days later, I remembered what it was about him. He was not really dependable. When together, we had a ton of fun! But, then I wouldn't hear from him for a few days or weeks (or almost a year).

Since our reunion, we've met up a handful of times. And I really do enjoy hanging out with him (though we have very little in common). But, am I willing to disregard the unpredictability that is his nature? Hmmm...something to ponder...

In the meantime, it's fun :)

Game Over

You know how people always say that you train your boyfriend for the next girl? Well, I’m not sure I fully believe that’s true, but lately I’ve been wondering if I’m doing just that.

No offense to SG#1 because he has many talents, but he is not a chef. In exchange for lessons about pop culture and music, I’ve been teaching SG#1 how to cook. And, since one must have an egg before they can cook a chicken, we started with lessons on grocery shopping for meals.

I know, I know, you’re already yawning at this blog post. “Poor me, I have a boyfriend that actually wants to learn how to grocery shop and cook.” BUT, as I help SG#1 sharpen his knife skills and ensure he knows how to pick the perfect avocado, am I preparing him to impress a younger, hotter version of me?

We started out at Trader Joe’s, me with my shopping list and reusable shopping bags and him with a look of mixed terror and excitement at the site of endless shelves filled with comestibles. We shared one cart and I quickly pulled my usuals off the shelves and threw them into my side of the cart like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep. SG#1 worked through the store more cautiously, and together we planned meals, committed to (attempting to) cook together at least once a week and filled the cart to the brim.

And then it happened.

My imagination went there.

You know, that place between reality and dreamland where you marry people in your head and picture your life together with 2.5 children and a white picket fence. I had successfully made it through five months of dating SG#1 without fully allowing my brain to take over my single-girl willpower, but there between organic bananas and boxes of quinoa I lost my game, all of it. I’m hoping SG#1 didn’t notice when I finally came-to and blushed, realizing I was making googly-eyed glances at him at the check stand. We loaded our bags into the car and I dropped off him and his groceries at his place. I must admit, there was a part of me wishing we were going home together to unload our groceries into our brushed metal refrigerator and make beautiful meals together – but the other 90 percent of me was completely freaking out, my game was over.

Then, a couple days later, I was counting up my dates and announced I had been on 78 dates. SG#1 got excited I was getting closer to 100, when he realized I meant I had been on 78 dates, not us together. “I don’t like being lumped together with all the other ones,” he exclaimed.

And that’s when I knew my game wasn’t quite over, but SG#1’s game was slowly taking a turn onto maple-lined, picket-fenced, Juniper Lane – and I secretly liked it.

This plane’s circling the runway

Is it just me or does it seem like when you finally get to that point in a relationship when you’re thinking, “yeah, this might actually work out,” little tests start cropping up all over the place.

I realize normal people aren’t broadcasting their dating life over the Internet, but when you are, and when you’re counting your dates to 100, you (as in I) start to hear from men across America that perhaps you came in for a landing a little too soon.

It was a Saturday night a couple weeks ago. It had been about a week since I got to spend quality time with SG#1, and Coqueta and I were spending a quiet night cooking, eating and chatting. She started to tell me a story about a guy she heard from on an online dating site (read the whole story here: It’s a small world Part I: Internet stalkers?). Apparently he knew who she was and claimed to be an avid follower of the blog. He said he found the blog through a friend’s Facebook page, got hooked on the stories and then noticed one of the bloggers (Coqueta) had the same alias on the dating Web site he was surfing. We racked our brains to figure out who it was and it occurred to me that I had met a guy in a bar (sadly, I’m so old that it was 7 years ago now) that fit his description pretty well.

We ended up chatting over the dating Web site’s chat widget and he was shocked to find out I was the other 100 Dates blogger. And then he typed, “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t look me up in your rolodex for one of your hundred dates before settling down.”

Settling down. Had I really settled? Although completely convinced that being SG#1’s girlfriend had nothing to do with settling, and everything to do with miraculously finding someone with whom I was actually looking forward to date #3 (not to mention date #78!)…it still caught me a little off guard.

A week later, I started wondering if SG#1 remembered what I looked like after almost two weeks with nothing more than a quick “hello,” and up cropped test-a-roo number two. I received this text from a friend in Portland:

I’m hanging out with a guy I work with who knows u from your blog

WHAT?!

…he wanted to go on a date with you. He’s our director of analytics.

I had no idea who this guy was. I had never met him, I didn’t know what he looked like and he didn’t even live in the same city as me, but for some reason – maybe the time away from SG#1 or the looming meet-the-parents-weekend up ahead – the text gave me a little twinge: had the landing gear dropped prematurely?

The next night SG#1 had planned a surprise catch-up date. As I was getting ready, I was notably nervous and pulled my typical try-on-every-outfit-in-my-closet move. Finally pulling on an acceptable shirt, I heard SG#1 knocking at the door. I anxiously unlocked the double-lock and pulled open the door and with the first site of SG#1, two weeks’ worth of doubt and senseless fretting melted through the cracks of the front deck.

The evening was absolutely what we needed: a delicious dinner at WANN, a comedy show (Mike Birbiglia at the Moore) that we almost missed from talking too long at dinner, and drinks at Amber. So, sorry to all the men out there just dying to go on a date with me (HA!! Just kidding), but it seems this plane is circling the runway, the landing gear hasn’t dropped, but the flight attendants are preparing the cabin for landing and the city lights below are sparkling with potential.