BLOGGER HAS IRRATIONAL FEAR OF BEING SUNG TO

Perhaps not the traditional post, but it does have to do with dating, and the blog needed an update.

At the food court of a fancy outdoor mall today, I was enjoying some Greek food in the sunlight when I noticed there was a guitar player instead of recorded music. I didn't think much of it until he began walking around the eating area, stopping for short periods at peoples' tables and playing. Quickly I became absorbed in shoveling food in my mouth in hopes he would pass me by instead of awkwardly drawing attention to me eating alone at 2pm on a Saturday.

I succeeded, but an unfortunate couple who looked as though they hadn't been dating long got bombarded with what this guitarist probably thought was a "romantic gesture." I watched in horror as the couple stopped eating, felt the need to stare at the guitarist, and sat in awkward silence for MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES as the guy kept playing. At one point, the girl thought he might be waiting for a tip, so she got out her wallet and was thumbing through some cash. I felt terrible for them, as such an incident is my ultimate dating fear.

My intense fear of "musical displays of affection" started very early, and not even in a dating context. I remember probably 20 years ago my grandparents had come to visit us in Texas and we had taken them to a Mexican restaurant on the Riverwalk. I think it was my grandfather's birthday (or someone's), and our large group tipped off the mariachi band that perhaps there was an event. All I remember is that once they found out there WAS a birthday, they proceeded to play about 50 songs at our table, drawing attention to us from every person in the restaurant. Not only that, but they were taking up valuable eating time.

Here's the question - what's the appropriate response when someone sings to you? This could be a professional musician, a mariachi band, your significant other thinking he's doing something romantic when in fact he's slowly killing you with humiliation even if you're in the comfort of your own home. Do you drop everything and stare at them? Do you continue eating or whatever you were doing as not to awkwardly stare at them? Is not looking at them continuously considered "rude" or "not paying attention"? Do you have to tip them for them to go away? How do you GET THEM to go away? Are you supposed to clap and shower them with praise when they're finished, thereby encouraging them to play more? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!

The last thing I want to hear from someone I'm dating is "I play guitar." While my first boyfriend played and never played FOR me (thank god), but my second actually sang TO me some song he was making up as he went along. I almost died, threw up, and exploded with horror all in the same moment. When I met my third boyfriend, I was thrilled to find out he had no musical talent at all.

My worst fear is that someone I date will use their "musical talent" to write some sort of romantic love song for me and sing it at an inappropriate place and time (which to me is ANY time and ANY place). So in fact, if a potential date says to me "I play guitar" all I hear is "I have herpes."

It's like I draw these kind of people to me. Mariachis always sing at my table, the opera singers at Macaroni Grill would come over to us more than I cared for, and I even got song-bombed by a frumpy transvestite at a grocery store in Dallas. And she was singing a Christmas carol, in February, to JUST ME. WHYYYYYY??

*GUEST BLOG* YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU WEAR SWEATPANTS ON A DATE

**Ok, THIS is why I don't internet date anymore. I can't even believe this person exists. Thanks to my guest blogger for taking one for the team for this story!**


I had just joined the Internet dating world 3 months prior when I pimped myself out on a free dating site. Why would I want to pay money for something I could do for free? I should've been tipped off when the site had "Do you own a car?" as one of their standard questions. As well as "Do you use drugs?" The number of contacts I received from men with unmentionable advances significantly outnumbered the few decent once in my inbox. I was somewhat creeped out by this so I joined the site that states that they've had more marriages than any other dating site. I figured that if I had to pay for this, surely it has to have a better crop of men to choose from. Right?!

My first actual date from this site was Bachelor #1. Bachelor #1 was a couple of years younger than me, an investment banker, and seemed to have goals. We chatted back and forth for a couple of days. After the 3rd or 4th day he asked if I wanted to go out. I stalled. He then asked would it hurt to meet for a drink? I was hesitant to date someone younger but I quickly decided that maybe I wouldn't find my soul mate if I didn't explore this opportunity. I agreed to meet him. He wanted to go NOW. Stupid me, I called up my mom and asked her if she could watch my kiddo so I could go on a date with random Mr. Sweatpants from the Internet. Mom said yes. (Thanks Mom.)

I drive to meet my dating game contestant at a local bar. I go inside, look around, and am greeted by a guy who stands up from the table in SWEATPANTS. Who wears sweatpants on a first date?! Did I end up on MadTV's Lowered Expectations? Should I have worn Pajama Jeans? Clearly I was overdressed by wearing regular jeans. Remind you, I'd only been back in the dating world for 3 months so I decided to roll with it and sat down.

I ordered my beer and proceeded to listen to this guy talk on and on about himself. He was an investment banker, had the blue Audi parked right out front, was part landlord to the bar, just got the blue Audi parked out front, had originally gone to theology school but changed to business, and, oh, did I see the blue Audi out front?! As soon as I was about to say that I could give a rat's ass about that blue Audi Mr. Sweatpants informed me he was only buying me my first drink. Uh, okay. Awkward. I was planning to pay for myself anyway.

We start to talk about experiences with dating people from the site. I asked how many dates he'd been on. "Oh, probably at least a hundred." Looking back, I don't know why I didn't run then.

Less than an hour into this date, I am bluntly informed that Mr. Sweatpants does not believe in having sex until at least six or seven months into the relationship. How the conversation got to this point I don't know. I had just started another beer at this moment and decide not to come up for air. He took that as a sign to continue and rambled on. Apparently sex before six or seven months is too much of an emotional thing for him. He also didn't want to have an unplanned pregnancy. BUT, and he continues to talk while I continue to drink, "the Bible says we can pleasure our partners so how do you feel about oral?" As if it is going to seal the deal he rambles "by the way I like to give." WTF?!!

The moments after that are a bit blurry not because of my beer but because I was mentally scarred by what had just happened. I mumbled something about the time of the month, said I needed to go get my kid, please don't contact me, and paid my bill. I called my friends and listened to them laugh hysterically about what just happened to me. Maybe the sweatpants were "easy access" for something casual and worn for a reason. Barf.