CONFUSION.

This story is something I think is a hilarious typical millennial move.

As I was drinking my morning cup of tea I got a text from “Matt,” saying that we needed to catch up and that he’d love to take me out soon. I realized that we hadn’t seen each other in awhile and figured it would be fun to hear about his recent trip to Asia. We texted back and forth for a bit and finally agreed that we would go out after one of my classes in two weeks.

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That time went by quickly, as my schedule is always packed, and he texted me the day of to confirm the plan. Matt was going to pick me up after my class and take me to dinner near my University. Perfect!

Something dawned on me that day, though. Was I certain this was the Matt I was thinking of? I assumed since there was no last name that it must be the Matt I knew from my childhood, but since I got a new iPhone we didn’t have any chat history so I couldn’t look back on previous conversations to piece the puzzle together. It seemed too late to ask which Matt this was — after all, I had already agreed to go out with him — so I went on with my day without giving it another thought. I surely would have put “Matt OKC” or added a last name if it was someone I didn’t know very well.

He called me after class and we discussed where he would pick me up on campus. I was a little taken off guard as his “phone voice” was quite different than what he usually sounded like, which only furthered my suspicion that this was possibly a different Matt. I began to think it must be the one from my friend circle in undergrad. I didn’t know this Matt very well, but I felt comfortable going out with him still.

I met him by the Starbucks on campus and walked up to the silver Camero he had described… As I opened the door I realized that this was not Matt #1, OR Matt #2, but this was a third Matt! Matt #3 was someone I had actually met pretty recently in graduate school. I played it off like I was expecting to see him, but I was completely taken off guard — thank goodness he was driving so he didn’t notice the surprised look on my face.

We actually had a really nice time, and I ended up making plans to hang out with him and some of our friends again soon. I added his last name to my phone as soon as I got home that night.

Today’s lesson: Always put first and last names in your phone. Especially with common names like “Matt!”

 

The Walk Of Shame

One thing I have mentioned time and time again is how POTS has not only affected the way I feel, but it’s also taken a toll on some of my interpersonal interactions.

For example, I’ve told you about my sweaty palms and the way I can’t help but blush when a boy kisses me — but I failed to tell you about how this happens all the freakin’ time whenever I feel the slightest sense of embarrassment, annoyance, or frustration. The other day I ran into one of my high school crushes at Target. Obviously I have no feelings for him whatsoever anymore, but as soon as he mentioned that he was now married my face turned bright red because I am apparently just programmed to be awkward.

Anyway, I went to New York City last weekend to visit some friends and have a girls’ weekend with my mom. The trip was awesome and I will be sharing a few stories on here about it this week, but the first one is hilariously embarrassing.

Before we went to the DC to New York bus stop I gave Megabus a call to make sure they would be stopping once to stretch and use the restroom. Not only do I have to drink a lot of fluids to keep my symptoms at bay, but I also need to walk around regularly to get my circulation going. The person who assisted me on the phone said this wouldn’t be a problem and that we would definitely stop. Thank goodness! I suddenly felt a lot more comfortable about making the big trip to the city.

Things did not go as planned, though. Our bus was 30 minutes late, so the driver said that we would not be stopping. After shuffling up to the front to talk to him, he kindly told me that he would stop if I needed it — I just needed to reach up and press the giant red emergency “STOP” button above my seat. If I needed it? I definitely will! This is so uncomfortable, I thought to myself. I quietly went back to my seat and waited for the giant Smart Waters I had been throwing back to take their course.

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About three hours into our ride I realized I would definitely need to pee and stretch soon, so reached up to the button — then pulled away. What if it makes a loud buzzing sound and everyone looks over? I really hate being high-maintenance, but that ship sailed when I got sick. You kind of have to be to take care of your chronic illness.

So I closed my eyes, reached up, and shoved my index finger into the giant glowing button as I held my breath. It was quiet. Oh good, I thought. The driver must just get a notification at the front. 

But he didn’t. I waited and waited until I realized he wouldn’t be stopping. That’s when I finally went to the front to see if he had seen my cry for help. He was once again very kind and said he would stop at the next rest area.

This is where the story takes a hilarious turn.

He pulled right up to the front of a gas station and shouted, “Alright darlin’, we’re here! Go do your thing.”

Oh my goodness! He’s just stopping for me! I thought that this would be a rest stop for everyone, but apparently I got to walk the red carpet down the bus aisle to go to the bathroom all by myself. I stood up and realized my balance was a bit off from the long ride — POTS does that to me sometimes. I can sometimes have a hard time keeping my balance on solid ground, but it’s even worse when I’ve been cooped up in a car for several hours. I stumbled down the aisle, bumping into a pretty young twentysomething who was just trying to mind her own business and taking out a guy’s knee on the way. I offered a muffled apology as I turned bright red and scampered down the steps.

I felt everyone’s inquisitive eyes on me as I pranced from the bus into the gas station and wondered what they must think of me. This is humiliating! They’re probably coming up with a billion stories in their own minds of why I had to make this huge emergency stop. 

I hurried inside and was back within two minutes. I didn’t take the time I needed to stretch because I didn’t want any false assumptions from me taking forever.

As I walked onto the bus — my face once again matching the red carpet beneath my feet — I realized no one was really paying attention to me. The twentysomething girl glanced up from her laptop, but for the most part people remained preoccupied with their own activities. It was at this moment that I had an overwhelming realization that no one really cared what I was up to and all eyes were, in fact, not on me.

Today’s lesson: People don’t really care what you are doing — so you should just do you and not worry so much about what others think.

A Surprise Visit From Aunt Flo!

Warning: Contains a very girly period story which might make some feel uncomfortable. Please stop reading and come back next week if you can’t handle it!

This is by far one of my favorite date stories.

One of my good girl friends recently started dating a really awesome guy — seriously, they are adorable together.

I hadn’t heard from her in a few days, so was a bit taken aback when she texted me this,

text

My initial reaction was to feel bad for her, regardless of what the situation was. Feeling embarrassed about anything isn’t fun, and she is one of the sweetest girls I know.

“Why, what’s wrong?” I replied.

“I just got my period early. It’s so messy, is all over the chair, and I am wearing white shorts! I don’t know what to say to Dave* now.”

At this point I just lost it.

Don’t get my wrong, I felt so bad for her — that is a girl’s worst nightmare — but if you knew my friend you would also know how well she handles things like this. She is kind of a rockstar, so I knew she would be fine. The mental picture of this happening was just too much.

“Oh my gosh! Does he know yet?” was my next question.

“Yes he knows; I am wearing white shorts! It is so freakin’ obvious.”

“Ugh, that is the worst. I am so sorry! I’m sure he understands, though.”

“Yeah, he does. He is going to the store to get me tampons now, but I’m still recovering from embarrassment. My face got so red!”

“That’s not the only thing that got red. ;-)”I couldn’t help it; she totally set me up for that one!

I followed up with my friend and found out that her bae not only went to the drugstore to get her feminine products, but he also bought her flowers and chocolate after seeing how embarrassed she was. I think he’s a keeper!

Today’s lesson: You should always keep an entire wardrobe in your purse — you know, just in case.

Have you ever been in a situation like this on either end? What did you do?

*Obviously I changed the name. No one wants this kind of story blasted on the Internet.

Kiss & Tell

One really hilarious thing about having POTS while navigating the dating world is just the way my body reacts to things.

POTS is an autonomic nervous system disorder, meaning it effects basically everything in my body that is supposed to be an “automatic response.” For example, my body temperature is really skewy. I’ve always been pretty cold-natured, but this is to a whole new level. I found out recently, though, that having POTS just makes dating even more interesting.

I had just told a date all about my condition and after he listened closely, he leaned over to kiss me. It was a really sweet first kiss, as I felt like I had just really opened up to him, but after it was over he pulled back and had a devilish grin on his face.

I cocked my head as I looked at him inquisitively.

“I really got you hot and bothered, huh?” He asked slyly.

It took me a few seconds, but then everything clicked and I began to giggle. POTS is such a dead giveaway in situations like this! My hands were sweaty and my heart was still racing. My heart always flutters when I stand up or sit down, but it also does when I feel any sort of emotional charge — apparently kissing included. He could totally feel my pulse going a million beats per minute as I leaned up against him to continue chatting.

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Check out @muradosmann on Instagram for more great photos!

So far I’ve found guys don’t mind holding my sweaty hands or that they’re always freezing cold. POTS showcases such obvious imperfections, but I kind of love that there are people who don’t even look at those as negative things and just accept me the way I am.

Today’s lesson: You can have the best poker face in the world, but if you have an autonomic nervous system disorder you don’t stand a chance keeping your cool in the game of love.

I’m Glad To Know I Look Feverish When I Run.

Everyone seemed to like the last date review so much that I decided to do another one — this time I wanted to add a few goofy surprises to the mix instead of trying to plan the perfect date, though. Here is what my date wrote about our evening together:

A few weeks ago Krista asked if I would review a date that she planned and coordinated and my only job would be to write about it afterwards. I was excited and felt up to the task, so I gave her the go-ahead.

Other than me picking her up, she explained that she wanted to be the one to run the date. So around 6:30 I went to her house and let her take charge. When she got in the car we started talking. She was instructing me on our route without giving any insight into where we were heading. Now, I understand that she was doing her best to make sure I was heading in the right direction, but it wasn’t until six minutes and twenty four seconds into the date that she told me I looked nice. And she only did so after I told her how great she looked. So for the next ten minutes I was obviously self-conscious. Maybe I should have worn a nicer shirt?

After about 10 minutes of driving we turned into a shopping center and parked right in front of Otani Japanese Steak and Seafood restaurant. Otani is a hibachi restaurant that I was always interested in trying out but never had. As we were walking up to the door, Krista feverishly rushed ahead to hold the door open for me.  This is where some confusion set in… Just because she planned it didn’t mean she should have been the “dude” on the date. I guess it was my fault since I made a big deal about the six minute and twenty four second thing earlier.

Krista walked up to the hostess and gave her name for the reservation. They promptly sat us down at our own table. Now, having only had the whole hibachi experience on a vacation in another country, I am certainly no hibachi pro. Krista, knowing this, took full advantage.

When the waitress brought out our salads and soups, I noticed something “off” about the soup. It was essentially chicken broth with one mushroom and two noodles. That was it… Mushroom, noodles, chicken water. I told Krista, and expressed my lack of knowledge and experience as being a factor in me not knowing how to approach eating (drinking?)  that bowl. So she kindly (well, I thought she was being kind), explained to me how to eat the soup. You carefully pick the bowl up with both hands, bring it to your face, and drink it. Thanks, Krista! So I did as she said. Ignoring the large spoon they bring out with the soup that was apparently not supposed to be used to eat it, I brought the bowl up and drank some of it. Krista immediately started laughing. She laughed so loudly that a good majority of the restaurant looked over at me drinking my chicken broth soup. I was fooled!

drink
I managed to snap a photo of the incident.
soup
The culprit.

Finally it was time for our main course. The chef came over, did his impressive tricks with his knives and spatulas, and began cooking the rice. Then the Shrimp. Then the Chicken. Then the Steak and vegetables. My mouth is watering thinking back to it. As he was cooking, he began cutting little pieces of each of the meat.  He was about to toss some to me, and told me I had to catch it in my mouth. I could see the determination in his eyes to give me some difficult tosses, but I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. He asked me if I was ready, and I confidently nodded my head, with an unwavering “yes.” The first shot was high but catch-able. It bounced off my nose, and Krista laughed hysterically as she took a video of the failed attempt. The second throw, also high, went right over my head. I had no chance.

His third toss, though not perfect, I miraculously caught.

Krista was up next. She looked at me and told me she’s never missed in this situation. Ever. I told her that sounds like an impressive streak and that I hope she didn’t jinx herself. She did. The toss bounced right off her face and onto the ground. As did the second toss. However, she caught the third attempt.

chef

The chef completed cooking the entire meal, and Krista and I chatted while we ate. The food was delicious, and I was very impressed with Krista’s choice of restaurant. She certainly earned some points for that.

It was finally time for dessert, which was where the big surprise came in. Out of nowhere the lights in the restaurant dimmed, disco lights began flashing, and I was surrounded by employees who began singing a hibachi version of “Happy Birthday.” My birthday isn’t until the end of March, so I was truly caught off guard. It turned out that a couple hours before we met up Krista brought balloons and cupcakes to the restaurant to hold there for our date.

The cupcakes were delicious, and the whole thing was extremely thoughtful. Though completely unnecessary and probably a little over the top considering it wasn’t even close to my birthday, I appreciated the planning and preparation that went in to this date.

Overall I had an awesome time. Krista knows what she’s doing when she plans a date, and I would certainly recommend anybody taking her up on the offer if it’s ever on the table for you to take. But keep in mind — after this great date, I plan on you having to compete with me. 😉

Ghosted By A Girl

I think I’ve mentioned in the past that I love to play matchmaker; I don’t know why. Part of it is definitely just that I love romance. I am a hopeful romantic, in that I do think that there are beautiful love stories out there, and I would be so happy to help people find one of their own.

The only problem is that I am apparently not very good at it. I don’t know if it’s because I never know the people I am setting up well enough to know their “type,” or if I just don’t have a large enough group of people to pull from. Regardless, I have never helped a match get to a second date.

I recently thought I found the perfect match. I was far more excited than either of the parties involved were, as I thought it might be the start of something great for both of them.

Nope. I was 110% wrong.

They made plans for a date, and went out for brunch. Apparently the guy had a pretty good time, but something went wrong on the other end of things.

Not only did the gentleman I set up get ghosted, but I got ghosted when I asked her how the date went too! Like, how bad of a matchmaker do you have to be to get ghosted by your “clients?”

Today’s lesson: Leave the matchmaking to the professionals. People go to them for a reason… Unless you don’t want to pay anyone, then feel free to ask me to set you up. I’m 0 for 4, but am still totally up for the challenge.

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I Laugh Too Much.

Do you ever laugh so hard you start to cry?

This seems to happen to me a lot. I have absolutely no chill, and when something funny happens I have a hard time collecting myself.

I honestly don’t know if this story is worth a blog post, but I hadn’t laughed this hard in such a long time that I felt like I needed to tell the story.

My date and I decided to play some N64 together last weekend (Sidenote: I can beat any of y’all in Super Smash Brothers. Possibly in Mario Kart as well), so we hopped on the elevator and pushed the button to go to the 13th floor. Another man dressed in some kind of funky costume hurried onto the elevator after us.

He pressed a button as I asked him about his costume, and quickly began to get visibly flustered as the elevator ascended. He frantically pushed another button, and apologized for making us stop twice. He continued to talk about his costume and pressed a third button. Then a forth.

At this point I just lost it.

This guy wasn’t drunk; he was just somehow very confused or terrible at multitasking. It reminded me of the scene in Elf where Buddy pushes all of the elevator buttons because they “look like a Christmas tree.”

We were all able to laugh about it, and my date helped the man figure out how to get to the lobby of the building where he was trying to meet up with his friends.

Today’s lesson: Krista has absolutely no chill when it comes to others embarrassing themselves.

Is it embarrassing to laugh that hard in front of a date? How do you learn to keep your cool in funny situations like that? This might be the only time I will ever say, “I. Just. Can’t.”

Taking A Turn In The Hot Seat

Here is the full review my date wrote about me. I did not edit any of the content, and just added a couple of asterisks to offer a few clarifying comments. Enjoy!

Phase 1: Planning

When setting up a date with Krista, a couple things need to be taken into account.For starters, all of us that have read her blog know that she cannot parallel park (See: “Wrecking my Date”). This would be an issue if she were to come to my neck of the woods in Arlington. So I had three options:

1. Make the drive out to Fairfax and meet her on her home turf (Not likely — the guy should always maintain the upper hand in these situations and keep his date her on her toes).
2. Find an appropriate/easy place for her to park in Arlington.
3. Ignore her concerns, have her parallel park, and poke fun or even take a video of her as she turns red from embarrassment while onlookers laugh at the parking job she is attempting.

Being a half decent guy, I went with option two* and gave her directions to a free parking garage right by the location of the restaurant. Option two was a success (Although I would be lying if I told you I did not seriously consider option 3).

The second thing to consider when planning a date with Krista is that she by all accounts seems to be a pretty good person. Because of this, I am again presented with a couple options. I could (A), show her a nice time, be a gentlemen, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah, or (B), acknowledge that she is looking for stories to write about on her blog, and give her the best worst date story I could possibly come up with. Unfortunately for Krista and her blog, I decided against trashing the date because she is a legitimately good person and I probably would have felt guilty going with option “B.” Although for the record, I was tempted going into this to give her that experience of a lifetime date that she would likely talk about for quite some time… “You’re never going to believe what this guy did on this horrible date I went on” type of stuff.

*Editors note for accuracy: This was not on our first date; we met up in Arlington a different time. I have a policy that the guy has to come to you for the first date. I do not chase after boys.

Phase 2: The Date

The date began smoothly. We talked about the usual first date stuff (i.e. what do you do, tell me about your family, college, etc.). We had spoken about some of this stuff prior to actually meeting up. One of our topics of conversation pre-date was the fact that we both went to George Mason University. We actually spoke quite a bit about this prior to our date. However… Krista got into talking about how she went to George Mason shortly after we sat down. I responded “Yes I remember discussing this.” She nodded her head and continued on about how she used to go to this diner place on campus. I said, “Yes, I know the place, because I used to go there.” She nodded her head and kept talking about certain things about Mason that I already knew about because, again, I went there too. After about 5 minutes of nodding my head and acknowledging a couple times that I knew what she was talking about, because I shared many of the same experiences, she stopped and asked, “Wait, did you go to Mason?!” I, for probably the 6th time, politely responded “Yes!” I wish I could have taken a picture to show you how red her face got.

A few minutes later we were telling each other funny stories about our pasts. I shared a few about pranks that my cousin and I pulled on some people growing up, and I had Krista laughing pretty hard. Then I asked her to share a funny story.

This was one of my favorite parts of the date.

Krista started going into detail about more memories from college (Uh oh, too much George Mason content. She’s starting to sound like the band camp girl from American Pie. This one time, at Mason…**). The problem with her funny story, however, is that Krista apparently likes to laugh when she tells funny stories. She was almost in tears. I’m not even going to get into a lot of detail about the content of the story, which included her and a friend putting some cupcakes (I could only assume chocolate cupcakes) in the toilets of the female bathrooms and then watching the reactions of everybody as they came out of the restroom. That was pretty much the entire story, but it took quite awhile to tell because Krista couldn’t stop laughing the entire time. Her laughing made the story ten times funnier, and it was pretty cute too.

Outside of these hilarious conversations, the date went without any issues. We covered many topics, joked with each other, and had solid conversation. After dinner we walked around outside and continued to talk. Finally the time came to walk her to her car. As we were walking into the dark, fairly empty garage, I recognized how uncomfortable this situation could be for a girl on a first date. To lighten the mood, I looked her in the eyes, remembered the “bun kiss” she experienced a few dates prior, and told her in the most serious tone I could, “Just so you know, I don’t kiss on a first date.”

Despite seeing the look of disappointment in her eyes after I told her that, I stood by my principles, gave her a hug, and watched her drive off.

I cannot write about her drive home, so you’ll have to ask her about that. All I know is that her phone (which is also her GPS) died at the start of her drive and she had to somehow deal with
that issue to navigate back to her house. ***

**I haven’t ever seen that movie, so I don’t get the reference, but figured y’all might still enjoy it.
***I will have to tell this story another day, as it was quite the adventure.

Phase 3: After Action Review

The final phase of the Krista experience is to make sure you complete a full, thorough report of all issues and concerns from the date and annotate them in a format you can clearly present to Krista. For me, that consisted of going back to my apartment and taking about an hour or so to write everything down from the date. A couple things were addressed in this post. Still others were not, but I can promise you that they were presented to Krista for her review. ****

Today’s Lesson: Do not shy away from Krista because of her potential to seriously harm your good name with her blog. Fire it right back at her. Let Krista know that if she acts up or steps out of line, she too will end up on her blog.

****For the record, this is a joke. I did not cut anything!

Turning The Tables: Review Of A Date With Krista

I told you guys I would be getting someone to review me as a date, and this ended up being perfect. A little background on this gentleman without giving away his identity: We met on OK Cupid and I showed him my blog long before we met up. After going out and hearing about some of the things I am planning to work on, he told me that he would like to write a review of our date. This was great because I was able to be myself without feeling like I’d be analyzed later and ended up getting an honest, accurate review.

I didn’t change anything that he wrote, with the exception of a few very small grammatical things. He wrote such a detailed review that this will have to be a small series of posts to make everything fit. So without further ado, here is what he wrote about me:

I have spent some time over the past few weeks reviewing Krista’s blog, “Single in the Suburbs,” and have decided that it is time to give Krista a little taste of her own medicine. She has been searching for somebody to write a post about what it is like to go on a date with her, and I am here to deliver. This is for all the men past, present, and future that have, or surely will, fall victim to her blog.

Note: Please keep in mind that this is not being written by a Journalism or English student, but by a much lesser individual with a different (minimal) skill set. If you have issues with any spelling, grammar, or content, please take it up with the editor.

A Krista date needs to be completed in three phases in order to properly account for the entire Krista experience. These phases include:

1. Planning. A Krista date must be planned accordingly to get the full Krista effect.
2. The Date. Make sure you have appropriate dialogue and do not say anything to
incriminate yourself (see: “Tinder, Take One!”). Krista likes at least some
of the attention, and believes it is awkward if you speak directly to insects. Noted.
3.  A proper after action review of the date is necessary. It is vital to tell Krista everything that she can improve upon. Do not hold anything back. I jotted down almost three pages of notes at the completion of the date.

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Every date must include some sort of large, messy dessert.

I would love to offer commentary about a few of the things he wrote about (Like, explaining that I’m not as weird as he makes me sound in some of the parts), but I’m going to refrain because this is all written from my date’s perspective and I need to respect that.

I will be posting part two tomorrow evening, so come back for the story then!

Victoria’s Secret Ain’t A Secret No More

Well, this tops out at the most embarrassing moment of my life. Alongside falling down an entire flight of stairs in front of the football team in high school, but let’s be real, almost anything embarrasses a high school girl.

I went on a very casual coffee date last week, and was excited to wear jeans and a new flannel shirt I got. I felt pretty darn cute as I was leaving the house, but was running late, so didn’t get a chance to glance in the mirror before I finally left.

Now I have a habit of staying in comfy clothes when I’m lounging at home, and typically do my hair and makeup first, then just throw on whatever outfit I’m going to wear.

As I was saying, this particular day I had to rush, so I grabbed the earrings I wanted to wear to put on in the car, and hurried out the door.

I rushed through the rain into the coffee shop and took off my coat. My date looked a bit surprised to see me, and I immediately felt a little self-conscious, but brushed it off and thought he might just be kind of nervous. The uncomfortable feeling kept coming back, though, because he kept glancing down instead of looking at my face if you catch my drift. Which I thought was funny, because there isn’t much to offer when you are wearing a flannel shirt (Or so I thought…).

Guys, I forgot to button most of my shirt. I think I missed like, four buttons at the top. I was wearing a very pretty pink lacy bra, too, which just made the situation even more uncomfortable.

I’m normally pretty good with dealing with situations like that, so when I got back from the restroom I was just like, “Um. I had no idea my shirt was like that, just FYI. This is really awkward and embarrassing because I feel like I probably gave off a hilariously wrong first impression.” I giggled awkwardly, as he chuckled and I’m sure was thinking about what a goof I was.

He said something along the lines of, “I was a bit confused when you first walked in, but I didn’t want to be rude and offend you.”

Men of the Internet — If you go out with a girl and she looks like she is having a major wardrobe malfunction, please SAY SOMETHING! Or better yet, females of the Internet — if you see a girl in my position please tell her she looks ridiculous! Nobody would do something like that on purpose. Life isn’t a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

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Today’s lesson: always look in a full length mirror right before meeting up with a date.

What is your worst wardrobe malfunction? I think most of us have been here at some point, as I’ve heard stories from as little as needing to examine a zipper to horrifically tucking a skirt into underwear.