breathe in, laugh out

Although I’ve tried to branch out from blogging about primarily dating stuff, it seems it’s hard to get away from it.  When you’re 30 and single, dating sort of becomes a necessary hobby.  Well, necessary if you ever want to find a significant other before you’re old and wrinkled with 17 cats.

There was one guy I met last October that I never blogged about.  I suppose it was because I thought there might be some potential, and I didn’t want to jinx it.  It was a football Sunday.  I went out to a boozy brunch with my brother, sister-in-law, and friend Meg at our favorite spot, CK 14.  Afterwards, Chase had to leave to catch a flight out of town for work, so the girls continued on, wandering the streets of NYC in our football jerseys (such big sports fans, I know), until we stumbled upon a big, rowdy sports bar.  We made our way through the crowd, found a spot in the back near a TV, got a couple of pitchers, and made some friends.  At one point, Brittany announced:  “I’m going to find you a husband today.”

“No, Britt, please no.  There’s no one here I’m interested in.”

It was true.  I obviously did a scan of the bar on our way in, and everyone appeared to be douchey frat boys.  I wasn’t in the mood to look for a husband.  I just wanted to drink beer and watch football (maybe I should find a wife).  But when Brittany’s on a mission, Brittany’s on a mission.  And wingman she is.

At one point, she disappeared to “go to the bathroom” and never came back.  About 20 minutes passed when one of the guys we were sitting with said “maybe you should go look for her?”

It was cold out; we all had our coats and bags on the chairs.  Meg was fading and wanted to leave.  After she left I collected all of our things and went looking for Brittany.  Where I found her was in another room at the front of the bar, surrounded by three guys.  She sees me coming and says,

“Oh here she is!  Court, I wanted to introduce you to your future brother-in-law, and your future husband!”

Oh great.  I should have seen this coming.  She had been gone for so long that all three of the guys knew my entire life story, my career path and my dating history.   Brittany briefed me on my new husband’s background, and detailed me on why she specially chose him out of ALL of the guys in the bar (there were A LOT of guys in the bar).

I had a short conversation with my husband before he looked at his watch and walked out to make a phone call.  He had a flight to San Francisco that evening for work, and he tried (unsuccessfully) to get on a later one.  He quickly said his goodbyes and left.  Without my number.

Brittany was DEVASTATED.  Like actually devastated.  She just didn’t understand.  “Britt, this happens.  This is life.  It’s not a big deal.”

“But WHY didn’t he get your number????”

“I guess he just didn’t like me that much!”

Britt tried to give HER number to his friend in case he ASKED for MY number.  She wasn’t ready to give up yet.  He said that made no sense.  She suggested I give him my number.  ladjfa;ldksfja;dlkfj;fjda;lfjads;l f  Fine.  I gave his friend my number.  He texted me several times.  I don’t know why.

A few days later I got a text.  “Hey, it’s [husband].  I was in such a rush I forgot to get your number.  I’m really glad Pat got it for me.”

Mmmmm… okay.  Anyway, the guy travels like crazy.  It seemed he was only in NY for like a day every two months.  It was 4 months until we had our first date.  I liked him.  He was the perfect mix of tall athlete, a hint of hipster, and a touch of cowboy.  If a shoe collection could tell a story, his closet (I now know) is lined with Chuck Taylors, Sperrys and cowboy boots.

The date went well… we had a couple of drinks mid-week back at CK 14, which seems to be our middle-ground between the upper east side and Hoboken.  He was funny.  And charming.  And from the midwest, but had skulls on his belt.  I was digging it.  We said goodbye near the subway, and that we hoped it would be sooner than 4 months before we saw each other again.  Then… nothing.

I got a random text from him a while later, saying he was flying back into town and would be around for the night.  It happened to be the night I dressed like a clown and made balloon hats in the subways with my sister.  I told him “Maybe we can meet you later, but we’re dressed like clowns.”

He said “Okay, let me know when you’re on your way.”

“Carissa, he didn’t even ask why we were dressed like clowns.”

“That’s weird.”

So we met him and his brother and his friends.  Dressed like clowns.  At a bar that was not clown themed.  We had a blast, Carissa gave me the stamp of approval, “I actually don’t hate him,” and that was that.  “Bye!  Hopefully we’ll do this again, in sooner than 4 months.”  After that night…. nothing.  WTF.

He texts me out of the blue on Thursday… 4 months later.  “Happy hour tonight?”

“I can’t, I have a thing from 7-9.”

“Oh… a thing!”

“A Yelp event… I didn’t want to sound nerdy so I tried to get away with ‘a thing.'”

“Nice try.  Super nerdy.”

Turns out he was around all weekend, so Meg and I went to meet up with him after the Yankee game last night (or should I say DURING the Yankee game… we opted to blow that popsicle stand during the rain delay).  He invited us to his place since his friends weren’t going out til later on.  We grabbed some beer and headed over.

We were greeted by a fancy doorman, who actually opened the door for us, and went up to his 11th floor apartment.  Holy freakin’ crap.  It was decorated impeccably in somewhat of a vintage/nautical/California theme and had a gigantic balcony completely furnished.   I’ve noticed lately I tend to fall more in love with people’s apartments than the people who live in them.  But honestly, I’m in love.  With the apartment.  And his shoe collection.

Somehow it came up he is moving to Atlanta for work on the 30th.

“WHAT?!  You can’t move to Georgia!!!”

“You’re moving to California the day before me!  You have no say.”

“Ugh, this is horrible.”

We went out and had an amazing time.  When it was time to say goodbye, I said…. “Well… maybe I’ll see you in 4 months?”

“Actually, most likely we’ll never see each other again.”

“OMG that is a horrible thing to say.”

“I’m just being honest…”

And that’s that.  Farewell, husband… until we meet again (or not).