The Candy Count

The title of this post would have made so much more sense if I'd posted it on Monday, right after Halloween, like I'd planned, but life got in the way (I can't wait to share more about some new directions I'm heading in!), and I'm just now getting to it.

I left you all hanging after Day 6 of The Match Project, but never fear, just because I cancelled my subscription on Day 7 doesn't mean the fun was cancelled with it. Oh no, friends, there's been more. Much more. And not just in online dating. In real life too... cuhrazy, I know.

You know after a long night of trick-or-treating you'd come home, empty your pumpkin and inventory each and every piece of sugary goodness you'd received (and try to trade the sub par pieces for something more appealing)? Let's do empty my pumpkin and see what's been dropped in over the last couple of weeks.

The Joker: I mentioned The Joker in a few of my Match Project posts. Appropriately named for his love of the funnies, he seemed to be the best prospect to come from my cyber venture. When I cancelled my subscription, I gave my real email address to my top 3 candidates, and The Joker was the top of the totem pole. We ended up trading numbers, and our ensuing banter proved that the kid could keep me laughing - my favorite part? He wasn't afraid to be sarcastic and even a little biting. We agreed to meet for lunch, and we decided upon a delicious little Thai spot in town on Monday. Now, let me say that I had basically zero expectations for the date (actually I texted Lobster on my way and told her I didn't want to go). I assumed that his humor would translate into obnoxiousness in person, and while his pictures online were cute, I knew that he'd be less attractive than the photos. Oh. My. Word. was I wrong on all counts. He was much more subdued in person, which was refreshing, and he was noticeably nervous, which was endearing. And lastly... boy was about 10 times more good looking in person than his photos. I was floored. We had a great (albeit a smidge awkward since, you know, we met online) lunch and have been texting ever since trying to plan a second outing.

The Yankee: On Saturday night, Lobster, He Lobster and I donned our best Halloween garb and traipsed Uptown to see Ke$ha play and do a little costumed partying. By the time we'd arrived, Her Royal Garbageness had fled the premises, but we weren't deterred. As you know, I loathe Halloween, so I didn't put much planning into my costume. Sparkly heels, tutu skirt, corset/slutty thing, hair in a bun = Slutty Ballerina/Fairy Princess/Sex And The City Someone? Clearly, I wasn't the only one unsure of what I was dressed as since quickly after getting a drink in hand and hugging a free space of the cramped bar I heard a voice from overhead ask, "Soooo what are you?" My answer, truthfully, "A slutty fill-in-the-blank." "You seriously don't know?" He inquired. "Well," I explained, "Halloween is just a chance for girls to get away with dressing like sluts, so I figured, why not just own that instead of trying to be clever about it?" He was clearly blown away by my sharp wit and sensible logic, and we spent the next half hour or so engaging in delightful conversation. The Yankee was noticeably cute and very, very, very tall. Originally from Long Island, he's been in the South since his college days at Elon, and he zero plans to head back to the tundra. Thumbs up. As he left he grabbed my number and promised to call me soon. I doubted it, but whatever. One Monday night my phone chimed its grating ring, an unknown number popped up on my screen. It was The Yankee! He was calling to see if I'd be interested in grabbing some drinks later in the week. He promised to have a full set of teeth and clothing without bloodstains on it (he was dressed as some character from The Hangover, but since I've never seen the movie, I had no idea). I told him that I promised to wear more clothes, but he assured me he would be fine if I chose not to. Clever. And mega points for the call versus the more convenient text. We met at a local watering hole on Thursday night and immediately fell into fun, comfortable, easy conversation. Three and a half hours later we realized we should probably call it a night. Thumbs up.

The Banana: Once The Yankee vacated our Halloween Haunt, Lobster, He Lobster and I decided to make our way around the bar a bit (actually, someone's noxious gas forced us to give up our corner). We got trapped in a traffic jam and decided that the best way to cope would be to dance. We had a fun little group jam sesh, when I looked up and saw a fellow in a legit banana costume staring me down. I don't mean just a little above average eye contact. I'm talking LASER BEAM EYES. He was clearly intent to grind against my slutty self, but thankfully I had the best body shields ever in Lobster and He Lobster, and as The Produce circled, so did they, keeping themselves between us. After making the lap a few times, The Banana changed strategies by walking away for a few minutes and returning with the hood of his costume properly in place. You know, just in case the costume adjustment would adjust my feeling on the situation. Around and around again we went like a well choreographed synchronized swimming posse. Eventually BananaMan gave up, "peeled" himself away (har har) and tried his luck with some one else whose slutty outfit wasn't quite the costume that mine was.

The Penguin: I'd made less sketchy eye contact with a neighboring penguin during the dancing-go-round with The Banana. He seemed cute enough, so I decided a dance wouldn't be terrible. He introduced himself as Chaz, and while I try to steer clear of real names on the blog, I just had to share, because there are very few names that repel me quite like Chaz. Ick. Anyway, I decided in the spirit of Halloween I would try to withhold judgement. Bad idea. Penguin Chaz was much more intoxicated than originally deemed, and he was also battling an extreme case of halitosis. I frantically searched for the best exit strategy since Lobster and He Lobster had ducked out for some air (apparently He Lobster's chicken suit was much steamier than my suit of, well, nothing). Whether he was mistakenly reading that I was interested or sensing that I was trying to duck out, The Penguin began whispering sweet nothings in my ear, which really meant slurring questionable things loudly at my face. When I told him I needed to go he begged me to let him drive me home. In the morning. He emphasized "morning" with a wink. Or a facial spasm. Hard to say. I told him I really needed to be up early for church in the morning. I clearly offended his feathered heart at the mention of church, and he brusquely urged me to have a nice life. I probably will.

The Enthusiast: When I left Match, The Enthusiast was one of the fellas I shared my contact information with. He immediately emailed me and friended me on Facebook. Not too bad, really, and we shared emails back and forth for a few days before I mistakenly shared my cellular digits. He became over eager with the texts. I mean OVER EAGER, texting several times a day regardless of whether I responded or not. I finally thought he took the hint when I hadn't heard from him in several days. On my way to meet The Yankee on Thursday my phone rang with an unknown number on the screen. Once I share with you about the madness that's been going on, you'll understand why I answered, but for now, let's just go with, I answered. "Welllll heeey there, sexy lady!" a high pitched, nasal, thick Southern accented squealed down the line. "Ummm, hello?" I replied in fright. "You don't know who this is do you??" "No." "It's your favorite guy from Match Dawt Cawm!" he enthused. Well, I knew it wasn't The Joker, so that basically left The Enthusiast. "Oh. Hi." I replied, hoping that my curt tone would keep this conversation short. It didn't. "I was just riding over to see my brother who just caught MRSA." "Ummm, your brother has MRSA?!?! That's not good!" I was genuinely concerned. Side note: I have quite the phobia of MRSA, and the paranichea currently residing on my left pinky is currently suggesting to me that I may, in fact, be infected. "No, it's not. He may not make it, but I wondered if you wanted to come over later because I may need someone to comfort me," he rattled on clearly unconcerned by his brother's precarious predicament." "Oooh, um, I can't, but thanks." "I just love a good shoulder." .......... I didn't even know what that meant. Shoulder fetish? Shoulder to cry on? A different word morphed into "shoulder" by the accent? I really don't want clarification. "Yeah, well, listen I have to go, but thanks for calling." "I know I'll be hearing from you soon, hottie." Yeah. That'll happen. I hung up and immediately saved into my phone: DO NOT ANSWER MATCH STALKER.

And that, my friends, is my current candy count.