Through some random google searching on a random topic I stumbled across an interesting blog that I felt compelled to comment on. Then I remembered that I already had a user name and password from my old "Date Stories" blog. I tried a few different passwords and sure enough... I'm signed back into the blogosphere!
I decided to check out my abandoned "Date Stories" blog, and I am overwhelmed with nostalgia! So much has happened in my life since 2005. I had completely forgotten many of these stories/dates. I'm still struggling to remember "who" some of those guys were (I had given them aliases).
I'm contemplating writing some update posts... because I have some pretty hilarious (or awkward) follow up stories about running into some of these horrible dates years later.
Stay tuned.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
A Life Of Its Own
Some of you may have wondered what happened to me. I'm still here... I just needed to take a break from the blog. It isn't that 'nothing' has been happening in my dating life. There is still plenty of drama on a weekly basis (and I promise that eventually I will catch you up).
My reasons for taking a break from my blog are two-fold. 1. On a professional level, I have been searching for a new job and it has consumed much of my spare time. 2. On a personal level, I felt like my blog had taken on a life of its own. I didn't want the blog (or my established rules for writing about my dates) to dictate my dating life.
I'm going to slowly ease back into this... wish me luck!
My reasons for taking a break from my blog are two-fold. 1. On a professional level, I have been searching for a new job and it has consumed much of my spare time. 2. On a personal level, I felt like my blog had taken on a life of its own. I didn't want the blog (or my established rules for writing about my dates) to dictate my dating life.
I'm going to slowly ease back into this... wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
End of the week...
I know you're all wondering whether I dropped off the face of the earth... I have.
I have been extremely busy, but I haven't forgotten about my blog. I will have multiple posts for you all by the end of the weekend!
I promise!
I have been extremely busy, but I haven't forgotten about my blog. I will have multiple posts for you all by the end of the weekend!
I promise!
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Cougar Bait
I got a call last Thursday night from my old roommate Ewan.
“Jane, meet me at Axel’s Bonfire on Grand. I miss you babe… let’s hang out.”
I had worked all day at my full time job and just finished a shift at my part time job. I was worn out and still needed to pack for my road trip to Chicago. (I was leaving right after work the next day.) I wasn’t looking my best and didn’t feel like taking the time to fix myself up.
“Mmmmm, I don’t know, I look like poo.” I hemmed and hawed.
“Awe, come on babe, you always look great.”
I loved it when Ewan lied to me. (We lived together for seven months. He knew flattery would get him everywhere.)
“Well… okay, but you’re buying. I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”
When I arrived at Bonfire, I was delighted to discover that the entertainment for the evening was not the dueling pianos, but instead… it was Karaoke! (I love Karaoke!)
We sat at the bar next to two guys and a girl. (It ends up, that they too were all roommates in some form or fashion.) They shared their songbook with us and we struck up a conversation. (I love meeting strangers at bars.) Between Ewan and I and our new friends (Chris, Jeff and Jennie), we were pretty much the only people singing.
I started things off with my favorite Tracy Chapman song, “Give Me One Reason.” Then Ewan followed with a Dooby Brother’s song that I didn’t really know. I was involved in an intense conversation about politics with Jeff so I didn’t notice that Ewan hadn’t come back from singing his song. In fact, ten minutes had gone by before Ewan reappeared. He tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear.
“Hey Jane, check out the Cougars in the booth over there. They’re seducing me!” Ewan let out his funny little giggle.
I turned around and my eyes got big, “What are you talking about?”
“Those old hot ladies pulled me into their booth after I got off the stage. They told me that they thought I did a great job and wanted to buy me a drink.”
I looked over in the direction that he pointed, “Ewan, those aren’t Cougars… those girls are my age!”
“No no Janie.” He turned my barstool a few inches to the right. “It’s those ladies right there.”
A smile formed across my face. Yep, those were definitely Cougars. The makeup, the clothes, the breasts, the ultra blonde hair and the crow’s feet all fit the profile. They stealthily blended in with this twenty something crowd, but closer examination revealed them to be the oldest women in the bar. (Not a day under 45.)
These women were on the prowl and Ewan was their defenseless prey. Well, not completely defenseless. Ewan had read my post about Cougars a few weeks earlier and he was on to their game.
“Okay Jane, I’m heading back over to the Cougar den. Wish me luck.” Ewan straightened his sports jacket and turned the collar up on his Ralph Lauren dress shirt. He was prime Cougar bait and he loved it!
But, much to the Cougars' chagrin, Ewan didn’t stick around to be eaten alive. After another hour or so we headed across the street to Billy’s with our new friends (Jeff and Jennie). There were other adventures to be had.
“Jane, meet me at Axel’s Bonfire on Grand. I miss you babe… let’s hang out.”
I had worked all day at my full time job and just finished a shift at my part time job. I was worn out and still needed to pack for my road trip to Chicago. (I was leaving right after work the next day.) I wasn’t looking my best and didn’t feel like taking the time to fix myself up.
“Mmmmm, I don’t know, I look like poo.” I hemmed and hawed.
“Awe, come on babe, you always look great.”
I loved it when Ewan lied to me. (We lived together for seven months. He knew flattery would get him everywhere.)
“Well… okay, but you’re buying. I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”
When I arrived at Bonfire, I was delighted to discover that the entertainment for the evening was not the dueling pianos, but instead… it was Karaoke! (I love Karaoke!)
We sat at the bar next to two guys and a girl. (It ends up, that they too were all roommates in some form or fashion.) They shared their songbook with us and we struck up a conversation. (I love meeting strangers at bars.) Between Ewan and I and our new friends (Chris, Jeff and Jennie), we were pretty much the only people singing.
I started things off with my favorite Tracy Chapman song, “Give Me One Reason.” Then Ewan followed with a Dooby Brother’s song that I didn’t really know. I was involved in an intense conversation about politics with Jeff so I didn’t notice that Ewan hadn’t come back from singing his song. In fact, ten minutes had gone by before Ewan reappeared. He tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear.
“Hey Jane, check out the Cougars in the booth over there. They’re seducing me!” Ewan let out his funny little giggle.
I turned around and my eyes got big, “What are you talking about?”
“Those old hot ladies pulled me into their booth after I got off the stage. They told me that they thought I did a great job and wanted to buy me a drink.”
I looked over in the direction that he pointed, “Ewan, those aren’t Cougars… those girls are my age!”
“No no Janie.” He turned my barstool a few inches to the right. “It’s those ladies right there.”
A smile formed across my face. Yep, those were definitely Cougars. The makeup, the clothes, the breasts, the ultra blonde hair and the crow’s feet all fit the profile. They stealthily blended in with this twenty something crowd, but closer examination revealed them to be the oldest women in the bar. (Not a day under 45.)
These women were on the prowl and Ewan was their defenseless prey. Well, not completely defenseless. Ewan had read my post about Cougars a few weeks earlier and he was on to their game.
“Okay Jane, I’m heading back over to the Cougar den. Wish me luck.” Ewan straightened his sports jacket and turned the collar up on his Ralph Lauren dress shirt. He was prime Cougar bait and he loved it!
But, much to the Cougars' chagrin, Ewan didn’t stick around to be eaten alive. After another hour or so we headed across the street to Billy’s with our new friends (Jeff and Jennie). There were other adventures to be had.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Umbrellas And The Ladies Room
At least three times a week I pass by a rack of umbrellas for sale. At least once a week the thought crosses through my mind that ‘I need to buy an umbrella,’ just in case I ever get caught in the rain. But, I always shrug the idea off. I never get caught in the rain. (Knock on wood.)
Last night I drove around the one way streets of Uptown looking for Azia, a restaurant that I’ve never been to. I know Hennepin Avenue and the Lake Calhoun area fairly well, but Nicollet and Lyndale are not my fortes.
I was supposed to be meeting my friend Maximilian for drinks. (Mapquest had failed me again.)
It was drizzling outside. I barely needed my windshield wipers. When I arrived at the intersection where Azia is located, I let out a sigh of relief. (I wasn’t even that late!) The bar was right where Maximilian said it would be. And, how lucky can I get? There was a parking spot on the street only one block away!
Then the inevitable happened. There was a flash and with almost no delay... "BOOM!”
In one fantastic smack, the floodgates of heaven opened and the judgment of God poured down onto the streets of Uptown. (Okay, so it was just a really bad thunderstorm.) I could barely park my car. I couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front or behind me. Sheets of rain came down. (Has anyone ever seen a single sheet of rain?)
I sat in my car and thought about the rack filled with umbrellas. (This stinks!) I waited about five minutes for the rain to let up. It didn’t. So I resolved to make a dash for it. How bad could it be? (I was about to find out…)
For safe measure I rolled my jeans up like Capri pants. (It wouldn’t make a difference, the streets were ankle deep.) By the time I made it inside, my hair and face were dripping wet. My mascara was working its way down one of my cheeks. My jeans were sticking to my skin and my favorite pink leather foe-crocodile heels had water pooling in the toes.
It took some alcohol and a large bowl of wanton soup to warm me up. Max and I had a great time chatting. We discussed the elements of dating from my blog (see ‘Definition of Dating’ from last week) and we determined that our meeting did not meet the required elements of a date. Max psychoanalyzed the blog and my alter ego, ‘Jane.’ It’s extremely interesting to hear another person’s take on it!
I excused myself to use the ladies room and headed to the back of the restaurant. I walked through a doorway and the restaurant opened up into a large room in the back with additional seating, a lounge area and a bar. I wandered around for about thirty seconds looking for the bathroom. It was deserted besides a bartender, a man at the bar (talking to the bartender) and a man dressed in a dirty T-shirt walking in my direction and spilling the drink he held in his hand.
Me, being the friendly gal that I am, asked the man in the dirty T-shirt, “Excuse me, do you know where the ladies room is?”
His eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slightly slurred, (“mumble… mumble… mumble”) I’m wasn’t sure what he said, but then he nodded in the opposite direction. Then I think he said, “Over here…”
So, I followed him. He led me directly to an open area with sinks. It was one of those modern / trendy bathrooms where the men and women have separate facilities, but share the same washroom.
The washroom had better lighting than the bar area and I could now clearly see that this man was severely intoxicated. I asked him, “Which one is the ladies room?” (There were two doors but no signs… I hate that!)
Despite his condition, the drunk man walked to the door on the right and opened it for me. (How polite!) He pushed and held it open while I walked in. (At this point, he was standing in the bathroom with me. There weren’t any women inside thank goodness.) I turned and looked at him, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Thanks so much for your help. I think I can take it from here.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I had just said. So I addressed him again, “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom by myself?”
He nodded yes, mumbled something else and walked all the way into women’s bathroom. I didn’t stick around to see which stall he went in to. I just walked out laughing.
I laughed all the way up to the bartender. “I’m sorry, the bathroom on the right is the ladies room right?”
The bartender turned around, “Yeah, the door to the right of the sinks.”
“Um yeah, there’s a drunk guy going to the bathroom in there.”
The bartender rolled his eyes. “I just kicked him out of here.”
He walked over to the facilities and popped his head in the door. “Are you almost finished? Did you know that you’re in the women’s bathroom?” (I don’t know why he asked, it was clear he didn’t have a clue.)
I stood there while the bartender tried unsuccessfully to coax him out. I was getting a little impatient, “Hey listen, I really have to pee. Can you please watch the door to the men’s room, I’m just going to use their bathroom.”
The bartender seemed a little freaked out that I suggested it. But another woman had arrived on the scene and I talked her into it. He didn’t have a say in the matter. She watched the door for me. (What a doll.)
After I had finished my business, I washed my hands and looked into the mirror. My hair was lumpy and damp and my runny mascara had given me raccoon eyes.
My thoughts went back to the rain and then to the umbrella rack… I really need to buy an umbrella!
Last night I drove around the one way streets of Uptown looking for Azia, a restaurant that I’ve never been to. I know Hennepin Avenue and the Lake Calhoun area fairly well, but Nicollet and Lyndale are not my fortes.
I was supposed to be meeting my friend Maximilian for drinks. (Mapquest had failed me again.)
It was drizzling outside. I barely needed my windshield wipers. When I arrived at the intersection where Azia is located, I let out a sigh of relief. (I wasn’t even that late!) The bar was right where Maximilian said it would be. And, how lucky can I get? There was a parking spot on the street only one block away!
Then the inevitable happened. There was a flash and with almost no delay... "BOOM!”
In one fantastic smack, the floodgates of heaven opened and the judgment of God poured down onto the streets of Uptown. (Okay, so it was just a really bad thunderstorm.) I could barely park my car. I couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front or behind me. Sheets of rain came down. (Has anyone ever seen a single sheet of rain?)
I sat in my car and thought about the rack filled with umbrellas. (This stinks!) I waited about five minutes for the rain to let up. It didn’t. So I resolved to make a dash for it. How bad could it be? (I was about to find out…)
For safe measure I rolled my jeans up like Capri pants. (It wouldn’t make a difference, the streets were ankle deep.) By the time I made it inside, my hair and face were dripping wet. My mascara was working its way down one of my cheeks. My jeans were sticking to my skin and my favorite pink leather foe-crocodile heels had water pooling in the toes.
It took some alcohol and a large bowl of wanton soup to warm me up. Max and I had a great time chatting. We discussed the elements of dating from my blog (see ‘Definition of Dating’ from last week) and we determined that our meeting did not meet the required elements of a date. Max psychoanalyzed the blog and my alter ego, ‘Jane.’ It’s extremely interesting to hear another person’s take on it!
I excused myself to use the ladies room and headed to the back of the restaurant. I walked through a doorway and the restaurant opened up into a large room in the back with additional seating, a lounge area and a bar. I wandered around for about thirty seconds looking for the bathroom. It was deserted besides a bartender, a man at the bar (talking to the bartender) and a man dressed in a dirty T-shirt walking in my direction and spilling the drink he held in his hand.
Me, being the friendly gal that I am, asked the man in the dirty T-shirt, “Excuse me, do you know where the ladies room is?”
His eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slightly slurred, (“mumble… mumble… mumble”) I’m wasn’t sure what he said, but then he nodded in the opposite direction. Then I think he said, “Over here…”
So, I followed him. He led me directly to an open area with sinks. It was one of those modern / trendy bathrooms where the men and women have separate facilities, but share the same washroom.
The washroom had better lighting than the bar area and I could now clearly see that this man was severely intoxicated. I asked him, “Which one is the ladies room?” (There were two doors but no signs… I hate that!)
Despite his condition, the drunk man walked to the door on the right and opened it for me. (How polite!) He pushed and held it open while I walked in. (At this point, he was standing in the bathroom with me. There weren’t any women inside thank goodness.) I turned and looked at him, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Thanks so much for your help. I think I can take it from here.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I had just said. So I addressed him again, “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom by myself?”
He nodded yes, mumbled something else and walked all the way into women’s bathroom. I didn’t stick around to see which stall he went in to. I just walked out laughing.
I laughed all the way up to the bartender. “I’m sorry, the bathroom on the right is the ladies room right?”
The bartender turned around, “Yeah, the door to the right of the sinks.”
“Um yeah, there’s a drunk guy going to the bathroom in there.”
The bartender rolled his eyes. “I just kicked him out of here.”
He walked over to the facilities and popped his head in the door. “Are you almost finished? Did you know that you’re in the women’s bathroom?” (I don’t know why he asked, it was clear he didn’t have a clue.)
I stood there while the bartender tried unsuccessfully to coax him out. I was getting a little impatient, “Hey listen, I really have to pee. Can you please watch the door to the men’s room, I’m just going to use their bathroom.”
The bartender seemed a little freaked out that I suggested it. But another woman had arrived on the scene and I talked her into it. He didn’t have a say in the matter. She watched the door for me. (What a doll.)
After I had finished my business, I washed my hands and looked into the mirror. My hair was lumpy and damp and my runny mascara had given me raccoon eyes.
My thoughts went back to the rain and then to the umbrella rack… I really need to buy an umbrella!
An HBO Production
I’m moving on. I know ‘he’s just not that in to me.’ I’m ready and able to let it all go, and then right when I’m about to let the last pieces of whatever we had slip from my fingers… he calls.
Dutch was right (and I hate admitting that he’s right), if my life were an HBO production, I would be Carrie and ’40 Year Old’ would be Big. Why does he even bother calling? (An email would have been fine.) The conversation ended awkwardly and the knot returned to my stomach. The emotions (that I thought were gone) crept back from whatever cave they had been hibernating in. Life would be so much easier without emotions.
Dutch was right (and I hate admitting that he’s right), if my life were an HBO production, I would be Carrie and ’40 Year Old’ would be Big. Why does he even bother calling? (An email would have been fine.) The conversation ended awkwardly and the knot returned to my stomach. The emotions (that I thought were gone) crept back from whatever cave they had been hibernating in. Life would be so much easier without emotions.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Too Nice
Dutch and I had breakfast the other morning. He accused me of being “too nice to men.”
“Jane, you need to stop striking up conversations with complete strangers. When we go out and you pay any attention to a man, he thinks you’re hitting on him. You’re giving him mixed signals and he thinks he has a chance. It’s a cruel trick… you need to stop.”
I was floored. “Dutch, that is ridiculous! Men do not think I’m flirting with them, just because I’m friendly and nice!”
He shook his head and finished sipping his coffee. “Yes they do.”
I thought about this for a minute while I drank my chocolate milk. There might be something to what he said. It could explain what happened to me at my part time job earlier this week…
It all started a few weeks ago, during the primary elections for mayor in St. Paul. I had rung up a transaction for a gentleman at the register. As he paid for his items, he vaguely mentioned that he was a vote counter for the City of St. Paul. That sounded interesting to me, and I asked him a little bit about his job and what the final results of the election were. He looked a little burned out, but perked up when I expressed interest in what he did. (I can always find something to talk about with a stranger.) We chatted for a few seconds. Then he kept standing in front of my register trying to remember the exact results, but… he couldn’t. (People were starting to line up behind him.) I needed to hurry him along.
“Thanks so much. Have a great evening, and don’t work too hard!”
He moved towards the door, “I’ll find out those results for you.”
I had moved on to the next customer, looked up, smiled and said, “Great!”
Yeah, it was an insignificant moment in my life. But apparently, it meant a little more to him. Two weeks after the election, I was again working at my part time job when I turned around. I was standing face to face with the same gentleman. (It took me a few seconds to place him.)
“Hi Jane!” He looked down at my nametag. (I’m never sure if customers are looking at my nametag or my breasts. I always assume it’s the nametag, because I have a hard time believing my breasts draw much attention.) “I have those election results for you.”
What is this nut talking about? Oh my gosh! He actually came back to the store to tell me the election results he couldn’t remember two weeks ago!
He seemed so proud as he rambled off statistics of the votes counted. I already knew which candidates won… everyone knew. Why was he telling me this?
“Um, wow that’s great. Was there anything else here in the store that you needed help finding?” I tried so hard to muster up some enthusiasm or to sound genuinely interested in what he had to say, but I was really creeped out. (And, I think he sensed it.) This man had tracked me down two weeks later just to tell me something that meant nothing to me.
He shifted on his feet, “Oh yeah, well I was here at the store for something else. I just saw you and thought you’d like to know. So, yeah… have a good day.”
I tried to remove the freaked out and horrified expression from my face and be polite, but it was difficult. “Um, okay, well thanks.”
He quickly scurried off. The meeting had become uncomfortable for both of us. (Eeeek!)
As I sat in the café with Dutch, I realized that maybe he might be right. However, what am I supposed to do? Change my personality? I can’t help that I’m a perky person. I like talking with people. Why… I don’t know!
I pondered a little longer. It’s definitely my parents’ fault. (I blame them completely.) I inherited the ‘friendly/strike up a conversation with a stranger gene’ from my father and my mother drilled it into my conscious and subconscious that I needed to be kind to ‘boys’ when they make an effort to talk to you. I remember her lecture well:
“Janie, it takes a lot of courage for a young man to talk to a young lady, especially when they like you. You should be polite even if you aren’t interested. Girls can be very cruel when they dismiss a boy. Don’t be like that!”
So, I received one message from my mother and now a conflicting one from Dutch. This is so confusing! Arg! (Dutch also informed me that we had missed “National Talk Like A Pirate Day”. So we proceded to make up for it the rest of the morning…)
“Jane, you need to stop striking up conversations with complete strangers. When we go out and you pay any attention to a man, he thinks you’re hitting on him. You’re giving him mixed signals and he thinks he has a chance. It’s a cruel trick… you need to stop.”
I was floored. “Dutch, that is ridiculous! Men do not think I’m flirting with them, just because I’m friendly and nice!”
He shook his head and finished sipping his coffee. “Yes they do.”
I thought about this for a minute while I drank my chocolate milk. There might be something to what he said. It could explain what happened to me at my part time job earlier this week…
It all started a few weeks ago, during the primary elections for mayor in St. Paul. I had rung up a transaction for a gentleman at the register. As he paid for his items, he vaguely mentioned that he was a vote counter for the City of St. Paul. That sounded interesting to me, and I asked him a little bit about his job and what the final results of the election were. He looked a little burned out, but perked up when I expressed interest in what he did. (I can always find something to talk about with a stranger.) We chatted for a few seconds. Then he kept standing in front of my register trying to remember the exact results, but… he couldn’t. (People were starting to line up behind him.) I needed to hurry him along.
“Thanks so much. Have a great evening, and don’t work too hard!”
He moved towards the door, “I’ll find out those results for you.”
I had moved on to the next customer, looked up, smiled and said, “Great!”
Yeah, it was an insignificant moment in my life. But apparently, it meant a little more to him. Two weeks after the election, I was again working at my part time job when I turned around. I was standing face to face with the same gentleman. (It took me a few seconds to place him.)
“Hi Jane!” He looked down at my nametag. (I’m never sure if customers are looking at my nametag or my breasts. I always assume it’s the nametag, because I have a hard time believing my breasts draw much attention.) “I have those election results for you.”
What is this nut talking about? Oh my gosh! He actually came back to the store to tell me the election results he couldn’t remember two weeks ago!
He seemed so proud as he rambled off statistics of the votes counted. I already knew which candidates won… everyone knew. Why was he telling me this?
“Um, wow that’s great. Was there anything else here in the store that you needed help finding?” I tried so hard to muster up some enthusiasm or to sound genuinely interested in what he had to say, but I was really creeped out. (And, I think he sensed it.) This man had tracked me down two weeks later just to tell me something that meant nothing to me.
He shifted on his feet, “Oh yeah, well I was here at the store for something else. I just saw you and thought you’d like to know. So, yeah… have a good day.”
I tried to remove the freaked out and horrified expression from my face and be polite, but it was difficult. “Um, okay, well thanks.”
He quickly scurried off. The meeting had become uncomfortable for both of us. (Eeeek!)
As I sat in the café with Dutch, I realized that maybe he might be right. However, what am I supposed to do? Change my personality? I can’t help that I’m a perky person. I like talking with people. Why… I don’t know!
I pondered a little longer. It’s definitely my parents’ fault. (I blame them completely.) I inherited the ‘friendly/strike up a conversation with a stranger gene’ from my father and my mother drilled it into my conscious and subconscious that I needed to be kind to ‘boys’ when they make an effort to talk to you. I remember her lecture well:
“Janie, it takes a lot of courage for a young man to talk to a young lady, especially when they like you. You should be polite even if you aren’t interested. Girls can be very cruel when they dismiss a boy. Don’t be like that!”
So, I received one message from my mother and now a conflicting one from Dutch. This is so confusing! Arg! (Dutch also informed me that we had missed “National Talk Like A Pirate Day”. So we proceded to make up for it the rest of the morning…)
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Definition of Dating
There has been some discussion (or debate) among my friends and readers as to whether I am actually dating again. I would like to set the record straight. I am still in my “time off” stage. I realize that Josh distracted me somewhat, but I was only phased for a moment and I did not by definition date him. Nor am I currently dating him. Some of you would argue otherwise, but I’m about to prove you wrong!
According to the 2005 Rules of Dating (Jane Dater Edition), Title 1.Rule 2. Subdivision (a). Definition of Dating. The term ‘Date (verb)’ is defined as: all of the elements included in Subdivision (b).
Subdivision (b). Elements.
i. One person invites a second person to an event or activity;
ii. The person who invited the second person to the event or activity, pays for any costs involved in participating in or attending those events and/or activities; and
iii. The person who invited the second person and the invitee partake in mutual and non-obligatory activities of affection, including, but not limited to kissing.
Based upon the above-mentioned definition, I did not ‘Date’ Josh. I only met one of the three necessary elements. I paid for myself (In fact, I insisted on paying for myself). I never kissed him (Marvan, I know you have a hard time believing that). Therefore, I did not date Josh.
According to the 2005 Rules of Dating (Jane Dater Edition), Title 1.Rule 2. Subdivision (a). Definition of Dating. The term ‘Date (verb)’ is defined as: all of the elements included in Subdivision (b).
Subdivision (b). Elements.
i. One person invites a second person to an event or activity;
ii. The person who invited the second person to the event or activity, pays for any costs involved in participating in or attending those events and/or activities; and
iii. The person who invited the second person and the invitee partake in mutual and non-obligatory activities of affection, including, but not limited to kissing.
Based upon the above-mentioned definition, I did not ‘Date’ Josh. I only met one of the three necessary elements. I paid for myself (In fact, I insisted on paying for myself). I never kissed him (Marvan, I know you have a hard time believing that). Therefore, I did not date Josh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)