Thirty-five

I struck up a conversation with Thirty-five when his friend left him standing next to my group while we were out listening to a loud band; I’m sure I was making the best impression as I jumped around singing Ramones songs at the top of my lungs.  During the band’s break, I learned that Thirty-five had just moved to the Bay Area from Canada, makes video games, rides his bike to work, and enjoys karaoke.  I honestly don’t remember what all we talked about, but by the time his friend reappeared we had hit it off.  He fit right in with my friends, especially when he offered to buy them a round of drinks.  We continued to talk until the band started playing and I commenced acting like a fool again. 

When the band finally finished, Thirty-five was still there seemingly happy to talk to me.  I decided this was a good sign, so I asked him on a scale of 1-10 how drunk he was to which he replied 4.  “I have an idea.  I’m going to give you my number and if tomorrow you remember me I want you to call me and we’ll make plans to go out.”  He agreed to this, and to prove that he would remember me he said, “Penelope, from Indiana, loves karaoke, doesn’t drink much.”  After having some more deep conversations about things like how he tries very hard not to say “eh” too much, I finally told him good night.  Within an hour he texted me “Thirty-five (from Toronto)…6.5 and climbing.”  I had a great feeling about this one. 

Apparently my feelings aren't always right.

A few days later I texted Thirty-five and told him we should do something soon.

35: Hey, yeah, I had fun the other night.  Hope I wasn't too obnoxious, eh.  Let me know next time you're heading out.

Me: I'm actually going out tomorrow night.

No response.  Really?  Don't encourage me and then just drop the ball.  You know I'm all about 2nd and 3rd chances, so I tried again the following week.

Me: Plans this evening?

35: Ya I'm painting my new apartment in Berkeley.

Me: Good news!  I'm actually heading to the East Bay.  Do you want to take a break for a drink or maybe meet up with me later and show my friends your dance moves.

35: Gonna pass. Once I finish here I'm going to head to work for a while.

Strike two.

I tried one last time two weeks later and invited him out, but I didn't get any response.  

Obvious conclusion: Thirty-five was in the witness protection program and his handlers were getting nervous about the attention I was giving him.

Thirty-four

I met Thirty-four when I was in Nashville.  He was with a group of guys that I declared as my new friends, and I found out he lives in SF, too.  I told him that it was obviously kismet that we met and that we should exchange numbers.  He asked if I had any friends in the Marina (which is a SF neighborhood with the stereotype of inhabitants being obnoxious fraternity and sorority people along with snobbish rich people), I said no but that I’m always looking for new friends no matter where they live.  After a minute of hesitation he gave me his number, and I told him it was his best decision of the weekend.  As fate would have it the next day he and his friends ended up at the same place I was having lunch, so I told him all the signs were in our favor.

A few days after I returned to SF, I called Thirty-four and left him a voicemail: “Hey there, it’s Penelope from Nashville.  I wanted to know if you were available this week to do something.  Maybe we could get some ice cream or pizza or watch a baseball game…unless you hate dairy products and baseball in which case we can do something else.  Okay, call me and let me know.”  Amazingly, I didn't hear back.  However, I'm a realist and know that some people never check their voicemails, so the following week I sent him a text inviting him out.  Still nothing, but I gave it one more shot and a couple weeks later texted him with another invitation.  Unresponsive.  I mentioned it to one of his buddies on Facebook who responded, "He's a tough nut to crack, but stick with it."  Rather than take the advice of the friend, I'm calling it quits because I'm not in the mood for a restraining order.

Thirty-three

Dear single people, here is a simple equation to keep in mind: procrastination + excuses = fail.  For example, I was recently in Ireland for ten days and kept putting off asking someone out until almost the last night.  The excuses I used were "I have 9 (then 8, then 7, then 6...) more days." "I'm only in Dublin for two days, I'll wait until I get to Adare." "I don't to get see these people very often, and I don't want to waste my time on a date." "My parents are standing right next to me."  I'm pretty sure that last one is a very valid excuse, though.  My point is, seize the day!  If that day doesn't exist, create it and then seize it!

I was in Ireland for the wedding of two friends.  The couple had a band play at their reception and asked me if I would sing a song with the band.  I told them that I would and hoped that I wouldn't botch up "Walking on Sunshine."  The guy in the band that accompanied me fit some of my important, superficial standards: young, attractive, longer hair, and in a band.  Since I only had one day left he seemed like the most viable option, so when the band was packing up I made my move.  I thanked thirty-three (or better known in Ireland as turty-tree) for helping me out with my song and then made a joke about when the next band practice was and if I needed to be there.  Then I asked if he lived nearby and would be around to go for a drink the next night.  In a charming Irish accent (every man sounds more charming if there's an accent involved, right?) he told me that he lived in the next town over but that he wasn't available to meet me.  Lesson learned: when I procrastinate, I end up asking out a guy that has fingernails longer than mine (maybe he uses them as guitar picks, but they still creeped me out) and run out of time to go on a date with any Irishman.

For the record, earlier in the day I had my sights on a guy.  Then I found out he was the priest.  True story.  In my defense when I first saw him he was wearing a track suit; attractive, charming priests should always be required to wear their collar or some visible identification.