<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459</id><updated>2011-04-21T10:47:39.215-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Desperate But Not Serious</title><subtitle type='html'>My amazingly true post date wrap ups</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-890164150885445057</id><published>2009-02-15T13:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T15:45:56.044-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Not You, It's Me</title><content type='html'>It is with bittersweet sentiment that I have to say that this post will be my swan song to DBNS.  I have really loved doing it, was shocked to discover that I could, and even more shocked to discover that anyone actually wanted to read it.  (I guess all that stuff they say about trying something that scares you really is true!)  But it is time for a new chapter in my singlehood.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The truth is, that while dating and being single certainly can be funny, it is not always a picnic.  On one of those rough nights, I was on the phone with a girlfriend who has been there in the trenches with me for most of my 30's.  I was going on and on about why was it &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so hard&lt;/span&gt; and don't people &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; how hard it is to go through this &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every week&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why wasn't it ever changing?!  &lt;/span&gt;With much wisdom and sensitivity, she pointed out that I have been doing it the same way for quite a while.  Meaning, "dating like it my job" and collecting funny tales about it.  (This has been my M.O. long before it was posted online.)   She suggested that I stop the blog.  At first I was defensive, (I love DBNS! &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;People &lt;/span&gt;love DBNS!) but then I really heard her.  I have painted myself in to a corner.  I am funny dating story girl!  People expect the stories from me, and I deliver.  I manifested it so much that I made it real and gave it a name- Desperate But Not Serious.  But you know what?  I don't want to be desperate anymore, and I don't want my romantic life to be a joke.  She said it best when she texted me the next day "I want your love life to be amazing, not anecdotal!"  Ah, girlfriends- the shrinks you don't have to pay.  &lt;a href="http://www.tvtdb.com/sexandthecity/transcripts/4x01.php"&gt;(And of course, I should have already learned this lesson from my TV girlfriends.)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I am going to reinvent my single self.  Instead of a blogging, online-dating Bridget Jones, I would like to become an alluring, captivating man-magnet, loose on the streets of my new city.  I don't want dating to be a joke or a job- just a pleasure.  I am going to stop running my love life by committee and on my computer, and start behaving like an adult instead of a 16-year old.  And in this age of Facebook and Match and Twitter, I would like to embrace an old-fashioned concept:&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; mystery&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;.  I would like to date people who don't already know everything about me before we've met.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;  I want to be present with men, instead of collecting nuggets for everyone I know.  &lt;/span&gt;I want to relax and let it happen, and open myself up to the man that will be worth the wait.  This will all take some deprogramming, and who knows if I can do it.  But didn't Einstein say the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?  It's time for a new approach.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Cheers and farewell- thanks SO MUCH for all of your support!  I will leave the blog up for the archives, and so I have somewhere to announce my future engagement.  xo! Jane)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-890164150885445057?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/890164150885445057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=890164150885445057' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/890164150885445057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/890164150885445057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/02/its-not-you-its-me.html' title='It&apos;s Not You, It&apos;s Me'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5498217383278973006</id><published>2009-02-04T17:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T17:45:50.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Bad</title><content type='html'>My second date with Woods was last week, and I haven't written about it because I just feel bad.  We had a nice dinner, but there was simply no spark.  He is a sweetheart of a guy, ripe for the picking, but I just can't talk myself into it.  When we came out of the restaurant, we discovered his car had been towed.  (&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know!&lt;/span&gt;  More feeling bad.)  When I was in my cab on the way home, and he was in his on the way to the tow lot, (btw, wouldn't I have gone with him if I liked him?) he texted to say he had a great night and, "I like you, Jane."  Oh dear.  I didn't respond!  He called me after he got his car, and I picked up to confirm that all was well.  And then he IM'd me later.  Again, I didn't respond.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know!  &lt;/span&gt;I am terrible, he is lovely, and deserves someone who is dying to make out with him.  He asked me out via email on Sunday and I am just now going to reply and say that I have been MIA b/c there's an ex back on the scene.  Guess what, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know.  &lt;/span&gt;I just don't want to touch the word chemistry with a ten-foot pole, and my own ego prefers when it's about some mysterious third party instead of me...  But even though I am non-responsive liar, I would like to make it clear to The Universe that this one really is a great guy and he deserves a new love interest ASAP.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you are not single, and find yourself in yoga pants on the couch in front of The Biggest Loser with one ear on the baby monitor, wishing for nights of cocktails and high heels and exciting chemistry with dashing men, please know that you are really not missing a thing.  This is the reality, and sometimes it is distinctly un-fun.  The only thing worse than being rejected is doing it yourself.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5498217383278973006?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5498217383278973006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5498217383278973006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5498217383278973006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5498217383278973006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/02/just-bad.html' title='Just Bad'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-8135086076935861960</id><published>2009-01-26T23:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T08:31:22.817-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Woods</title><content type='html'>That &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/in-other-news.html"&gt;whole funny thing &lt;/a&gt;about being at the same bar 2 nights in a row never happened b/c Red Pants cancelled, and has since disappeared.  Which is odd, considering that he came on pretty strong... but, you know, stranger things have happened.  It's probably for the best, too, since I had a few doubts about him and the fact that we are both overly sensitive girls who just want to be pursued.  And did I mention that when I googled him (natch) I discovered that &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he was lying about his age?&lt;/span&gt;  Yeah, he shaved off 6 years (believe me, buddy, we'd all like to do that, but you just can't!) and changed himself from older than me to slightly younger, which is simply not cool.  On to the next!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next bachelor in question we're going to call Woods, and if you know me, you know why.  Yes, in this Very Special Episode of DBNS, Jane confronts her superficiality and goes on a date with &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a chubby guy.  &lt;/span&gt;(Woods is a code word for overweight, picked up from an old college BF.)  We met for a drink, and while I was expecting maybe "stocky yet attractive" he was 20 lbs.. closer to "oh, that poor guy could be &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so cute!"   &lt;/span&gt;I am embarrassed to admit that when I saw him I kinda wanted to cut and run, but of course I had to make the best of it.  And you know what?  The best of it was kind of... good!  He's pretty cool: former college water polo player/fine artist/musician/worked for a huge rock band for a while/owns his own company/ fun and festive.  The worst part of his bio is that his brother is a pretty well-known (and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; hot) actor.  (Let's just say they have different body types.)  He also has a kid (who doesn't these days??  But I guess if it doesn't bother the "ladies" of &lt;a href="http://abc.go.com/primetime/bachelor/index?pn=about"&gt;the Bach&lt;/a&gt;, who am I to judge?)  Anyway, we had two drinks and some lovely chit chat, and Woods asked me out again during the middle of it.  Of course I had to say yes- there is absolutely no way to to say to say anything else right to someone's face like that.  Then I kept playing a little internal head game, asking myself how this date would be going if he were the same guy, only slimmer.  I think I would have been all over it!  Oh dear.  Will Jane finally learn the error of her ways and put aside physical chemistry in her pursuit of lasting companionship?  Or are things doomed with Woods before they even begin?  Stay tuned...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-8135086076935861960?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8135086076935861960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=8135086076935861960' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/8135086076935861960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/8135086076935861960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/woods.html' title='Woods'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4227754748482991720</id><published>2009-01-21T22:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T23:44:53.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In Other News</title><content type='html'>Some Quick Updates:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had coffee with &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/true-romance.html"&gt;#1&lt;/a&gt; yesterday.  I "hit him up on text" as he requested, even though I didn't really want to.  I'd like to be pursued by an old-fashioned gentleman who sends flowers and can't live without me.  But sometimes I feel like that may be an extinct species, and I convince myself to give these non-committal, modern-mannered texters another shot.  Well, I should have saved myself the trouble.  It was &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; blah.  He is cute!  And has cool interests, and we have things in common.  But for some reason, there was nothing there, for either of us.  I could literally see him losing interest in me.  And that is not a cute feeling.  And I've said it &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/adventures-in-legoland.html"&gt;before&lt;/a&gt;, but I think I need to remind myself that I hate day dating.  Not enough can be said about the virtues of flattering lighting and alcohol.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Date #2 with &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/big-red.html"&gt;Red Pants&lt;/a&gt; was last Thursday.  It was supposed to be on Tuesday, but I got really sick and had to cancel.  I wasn't really operating at 100% on Thursday either, but I was feeling guilty about canceling and decided to go.  Maybe it was the sniffles, but our chemistry wasn't quite what it had been on our first date.  Or perhaps it was the fact that he said "I'm needy"over the salad.  Yup.  I put down my wine glass and asked him to repeat it, because that was a first for me.  He told me that he was needy and affectionate, and really likes to be in constant contact with who he is seeing so he can feel sure that she likes him. Uh-huh.  I think I was on a date with a girl.  Add in the fact that I was forced to lead the conversation, and it's no wonder something was off.  We didn't kiss due to my cold.  My instincts are telling me it was an off night for both of us, and I'm giving it another shot tomorrow night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And in other funny news, I also have a date on Friday night.  This new guy coincidentally chose the same restaurant as RP.  Which also happens to be across the street from my work, so the bartenders kinda know me.  Oh well, I'm happy to entertain...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4227754748482991720?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4227754748482991720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4227754748482991720' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4227754748482991720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4227754748482991720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/in-other-news.html' title='In Other News'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-170585101223241103</id><published>2009-01-21T12:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T23:44:07.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'>OMFG, COL</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SXeROEI5SQI/AAAAAAAAABw/mzBKA6LUKKo/s1600-h/creatureOfLeisure1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SXeROEI5SQI/AAAAAAAAABw/mzBKA6LUKKo/s320/creatureOfLeisure1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293859557812553986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Last week I finally made phone contact with a guy I had been emailing with for weeks. Now, you're probably already worried, because I just said "emailing for weeks".  I am too, because I know that is never a good idea.  I am in this for real-life dates, not pen pals.  But it had been the holidays, and there were illnesses, and friends visiting, and the emails were &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; funny.  Around Christmas, it was established that he was going to have about 2 weeks off from work with nothing to do.  I commented that I wished I could be a creature of leisure as well, and the next thing I knew I got looong satirical novellas about the band he was going to start, Creatures Of Leisure.  He photoshopped pictures of 80's hairbands with the C.O.L. logo on them, wrote about their hit single "Aint Gonna move My Towel", and their tour rider, and their inevitable breakup over creative differences.  Funny stuff, right?  (He has a creative job for one of the big bay area movie studios, so this seemed right in line with all that.)  I did notice that the emails were never about making plans, but I was busy enough not to sweat it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We finally transitioned to the phone, and then the phone tag started.  I caught him last Monday night, in the middle of a very busy Gossip Girl/The Bachelor/laundry schedule.  We chatted; he was witty, sarcastic, and easy to talk to.  Great!  Let's make that date!  But COL was talking about the dentist, and booking travel online, and isn't it funny how we always look at fares but never book them when we should...  I looked at &lt;a href="http://images.ctv.ca/gallery/photo/gg_s01e03_071005/image6.jpg"&gt;Chuck Bass&lt;/a&gt; frozen in paused sleaziness, and was itching to wrap this up.  I cut him off.  I know!  But he was ready to talk for 2 hours.  (Which I thought meant he was digging me, right?)  I told him I had to make another call and get some things done, and that it was great talking to him.  He agreed.  Okaaay...  I just bit the bullet and jokingly asked if we were finally ready to meet in person.  He LITERALLY responded "um...pause...pause...pause...uh..."  I was shocked, and couldn't believe that after all this, the answer to that question might actually be &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;no&lt;/span&gt;!  I had to say "Oh!  Okay, well why don't we just say that you can give me a call if you feel like we should get together..."  I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;knew &lt;/span&gt;he would say "sorry! yeah, let's plan something."  But NO, he said OKAY, we hung up, and I stood there with my mouth open and Chuck smirking openly at me.  Seriously??  Why put all those weeks of effort into it, dude?!  He never called.  I have decided that he must have played D&amp;amp;D in the basement in high school and didn't know what to do with a real live girl on the other end of the line who wanted to actually date him.  Maybe his pictures on match are from 10 years and 50 pounds ago. I guess I'll never know...  Internet dating, it's the best.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-170585101223241103?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/170585101223241103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=170585101223241103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/170585101223241103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/170585101223241103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/omfg-col.html' title='OMFG, COL'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SXeROEI5SQI/AAAAAAAAABw/mzBKA6LUKKo/s72-c/creatureOfLeisure1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-558513032074617689</id><published>2009-01-11T22:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T00:10:19.637-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Red</title><content type='html'>On Friday I ended up having a spontaneous first date!  There was a match guy I had been meaning to call back for about a week, and on Friday I finally gave him a ring.  It turns out we both had the day off and made a plan to meet for happy hour.  What's better than a little late-day drink with a cute boy?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got there first, and spotted him in the mirror when he came in behind me.  For the first time in my long and illustrious blind dating career, my heart dropped and I hoped he somehow wouldn't see me.  How could this have happened?  He seemed so cute online, but now he looked way too hippie granola for my taste.  Oh dear!  I steeled myself for 2 drinks worth of Burning Man talk.   Luckily the dating gods were smiling down that afternoon, because &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;it wasn't him!  &lt;/span&gt;Granola went right past me.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hooray!  I was relieved when my real date spotted me- tall and dashing, with a great black jacket, grey scarf, and red pants.  Yes, red pants (jeans, actually).  But you know how there are those guys- confident, stylish,creative types- who can surprisingly pull something like that off?  And not seem gay/metro?  That was him!  He's new to town, a successful graphic designer with both a son and an ex-wife (interestingly enough, those 2 are not related).  Ah, adult dating- always a little complicated!  Who knows what all that means, but at first glance his baggage appears to be in check.  Anyway, Red Pants and I had chemistry!  It was fun!  And flirty!  He was as cute as &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/true-romance.html"&gt;#1&lt;/a&gt;, but there was a lot more vibe.  I would venture to say that he was into me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I think I'm right.  He linked arms with me as he walked me home, and asked me out again.  The next day RP texted me (of course!) 3 times, and asked me to spontaneously meet him again.  I declined, deciding to utilize the time-honored strategy of playing hard to get.  Our next date is scheduled for Tuesday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-558513032074617689?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/558513032074617689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=558513032074617689' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/558513032074617689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/558513032074617689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/big-red.html' title='Big Red'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-6542774683135809655</id><published>2009-01-09T16:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T22:37:44.683-08:00</updated><title type='text'>True Romance</title><content type='html'>Be a better blogger in 09!  I promise I will try to be quicker with the PDWU's this year.  (Okay, MM?!)  Perhaps I should consider doing them immediately afterwards, when my impressions are fresh and cocktail fueled...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess I'm not quite there yet, because I'm writing now to report on Tuesday's date.  That was Date 1 with &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year-new-men.html"&gt;#1 Match Guy.&lt;/a&gt;  So romantic, this one, that after not hearing from him for a few days, he &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;texted&lt;/span&gt; "can you make tonight or tomorrow?".  (Let me remind you, he also cancelled our first date!)  I chose tomorrow, and literally had to write "same plan, same place?" since he was not including those pesky little details.  To which he replied (he may be quoting Shakespeare here, I'm unsure...) "yep".  Be still, my beating heart!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Indulge me for a minute while I rant about men and texting.  Enabling a non-communicative, non-planning gender with a technology that allows for dates to be made and broken in fewer than five words is simply a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;disaster&lt;/span&gt; for women. And a dream come true for men. They used to have to call, hope to catch you, make five minutes of small talk, have some idea of what night works for them...  No longer.  They seem to think it's appropriate to manage it all with a few non-committal key strokes.  At least with email there was tone!  And greetings!  And sign-offs!  I try not to participate, but once they have your number, you are not safe.  (Perhaps I am still bitter from &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/priorities.html"&gt;being broken up with over text&lt;/a&gt;?)   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, back to my date with #1.  We met after work , and I was so breezy I didn't even bring a change of shoes.  He was there first, looking even cuter than he did at Peet's, with dark frame glasses and a vintage western shirt.  Oh dear, I thought to myself, as I am sucker for both.  He was easy to chat with, comfortable in his own skin, mellow and confident.  He is a biologist, but he also owns a website featuring fine-art photography, and he's also a guitarist, and, oh yeah, some time after attending Cal and living in Europe, he did stonemasonry for a few years.  So, a true renaissance man.  He had a very relaxed vibe, like a surfer.  I liked him.  I wasn't knocked off my feet, but I wasn't &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;either...  (And besides, where did that ever get me?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2 lovely drinks, then I excused myself to the loo.  When I returned, he was chatting with another guy he knew.  He had already closed our tab, but asked if I'd like to stay with him and Buddy Row for another drink.  I decided to leave him wanting more and make my way home.  He walked me out to say a proper goodbye (nice, gentlemanly) and said, in the grand tradition of all true romantics, "hit me up on text any time."  Swoon!  I replied "um, likewise...", and got a kiss on the cheek before my chariot arrived (muni #24) right on cue to whisk me home.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He texted last night to say "coffee tomorrow morn?",  and I wrote back "happen to be off tomorrow" (we work in the same neighborhood, so he means before work) and waited for him to come back with another idea.  Yeah, I'm still waiting... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-6542774683135809655?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6542774683135809655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=6542774683135809655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6542774683135809655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6542774683135809655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/true-romance.html' title='True Romance'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-6103797086272769766</id><published>2009-01-04T20:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T22:15:42.711-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Year, New Men!</title><content type='html'>Appropriately enough, I am presently watching Becoming Jane, while dining on an entire TJ's &lt;a href="http://www.traderjoesfan.com/Trader_Joes/Products/Frozen/Tarte_Alsace/details/"&gt;Tart Alsace&lt;/a&gt;, a piece of chocolate-whiskey cake, and a glass of wine.  (New Year's healthy eating plans start tomorrow- always on a Monday!)  So, yes, I am &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;clearly&lt;/span&gt; still a singleton- no new love interests in the during the holiday season.  But not to worry, the new year looks promising, and I am certain (truly!) that I should have this whole boyfriend thing wrapped up by June.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But what has happened in the past 3 weeks?  Aside from Christmas and the consumption of billions of alcohol and food units, there have been a few sort-of interesting dating updates...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-I continue to get quite a few Match emails every day (thank you, men of SF, for appreciating a gal who is not exactly 22!) but have had just one actual date.  It was so memorable that I literally forgot to do a PDWU.  Circumstances proved fortuitous, however, and he left for town for extended holiday travel.  Hooray!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Right before Christmas I actually ran into my #1 Match Guy in real life.  (Whenever one considers joining Match, one must go on and inspect the talent, and see if it's "worth it".  They all look fine, nothing great, nothing terrible, until you spot The One.  There is always that guy.  Suddenly, having a date with &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that guy&lt;/span&gt; seems worth the -actual- price of admission.)  So anyway, #1 and I had a few emails, but I hadn't heard from him in a few days.  I stopped at Peet's one morning with my co-worker, when, Guess Who was there, alone with laptop and latte.  SUCH a personal victory (and general life lesson)- I just so happened to be looking cute, if I do say so myself.  Ready for work, in a dress, with fresh make-up and perfect &lt;a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTc5NjQ5MjI2Ml5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwMzQ2NDg3._V1._SX266_SY399_.jpg&amp;amp;imgrefurl=http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2603194624/ch0026619&amp;amp;usg=__e612CjXqKpxGMkLDBQ2yqEl8QD4=&amp;amp;h=399&amp;amp;w=266&amp;amp;sz=24&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;start=29&amp;amp;um=1&amp;amp;tbnid=lt5q0UAwerXHiM:&amp;amp;tbnh=124&amp;amp;tbnw=83&amp;amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dserena%2Bvan%2Bder%2Bwoodsen%26start%3D18%26ndsp%3D18%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dsafari%26rls%3Den-us%26sa%3DN"&gt;Serena&lt;/a&gt; waves!  We recognized each other and smiled, and I got an email an hour later telling me how pretty I was (!) and asking me out.  (Another life lesson- real life always trumps the online thing.)  We set up a date for Xmas Eve Eve and I thought I was starring in my own personal romcom.  Until...  he canceled by text a few hours before the date.  Uh-huh.  He was "sick".  Suddenly I remembered the kinds of dramas that I actually do star in (heavy on the comedy, decidedly light on the romantic).  Just heard from him a few days ago, via text (men are such gentlemen these days!) and a plan has yet to be pinned down.  Something tells me I am not the only one who has chosen him for #1...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Keeping with the comedy theme, and the larger theme of I Do Not Make This Stuff Up, an entirely different guy suddenly took ill, hours before our date, on Saturday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-And speaking of themes, I rang in 09 with five other fabulous single ladies, who are so wise they had an official motto for the evening: "New Year, New Men".  Halle-effin-lujah!   I loved that idea so much that I drank one too many margaritas to it.  We also talked about what each of us was going to leave behind in 08.  I silently decided to leave HD obsessions behind, and by 1/1 decided to expand that idea to all the exes.  I guess they all felt the shift, because &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/hot-cad.html"&gt;HD&lt;/a&gt; IM'd me last night, &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/past-in-my-path.html"&gt;this one &lt;/a&gt;ran into my friend and told her to tell me that he was so sorry about not making those coffee plans, (and, btw, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;his wife is pregnant with their third child)&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/makeover-my-heart.html"&gt;this one&lt;/a&gt; sent me a note to say he spotted me on Match and it "made him smile", and &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/meet-mark.html"&gt;this one&lt;/a&gt; keeps emailing me about The Bachelor. &lt;sigh.&gt;  Looks like it will be an interesting year...&lt;/sigh.&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Happy 09!  x. Jane&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-6103797086272769766?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6103797086272769766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=6103797086272769766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6103797086272769766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6103797086272769766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year-new-men.html' title='New Year, New Men!'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1131053763271729357</id><published>2008-12-14T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T23:55:12.138-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating Like It's My Job</title><content type='html'>Match.com is a part-time job.  I know this is not news- everyone always gives this as a reason for not online dating.  They are right!  It has been a while for me, and it has also been a while since I had a regular day-in, day-out, non-freelance work schedule.  It turns out that one almost needs a freelance (or even better, unemployed!) lifestyle to keep up with this stuff!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I am home for the evening, I start the second shift.  The sheer volume of people on Match means that there are suddenly a lot of emails.  Which is great!  But there are also winks.  And other emails about "catching someone's eye" in "the daily five" (don't ask).  So it can be a lot to sift through, with many potential suitors to keep straight.  First, one must delete all the creepy men in their 50's and 60's,  the non-hot dads,  the ones who photograph themselves shirtless in the bathroom mirror, those that crop out the tops of their heads in all of their pictures, and the all the ones with piercings, shiny shirts, and/or spiky/crunchy hair.  So, then, what's left are a lot of average guys who seem exactly the same.  Which one lives my neighborhood, and which one is in the Mission?  Which one works for some sort of non-profit? (Vast majority.)  And who is it that's into cycling and hiking?  (Oh wait, no need to worry about that one- that's 100% of San Francisco men.)  I need an assistant and a spread sheet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I am finding them less than memorable, because, unfortunately, none of these guys are really grabbing me.  And of the maybe 5 that actually do look good on paper, 2 of them have already dropped the ball and abruptly stopped emailing me.  (I'm telling you, I'm a MASTER at finding these guys.  Doesn't even have to be in person anymore!)  So, I guess maybe it &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; time to duty-date some middle-of-the-roaders.  Because I have gone out with many guys who have "wowed" me over the years, but where has that gotten me?  And, no that's &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; settling, it's called &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;reprioritizing &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;being open.  (&lt;/span&gt;Right?  At least that's what I'm going with.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Date 1 with Joe SF Match Guy (average height, average looks, fancy education, tech job, outdoorsy, with photos that include both tevas and polar fleece) tomorrow night.  Let the dating season begin!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1131053763271729357?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1131053763271729357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1131053763271729357' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1131053763271729357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1131053763271729357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/12/dating-like-its-my-job.html' title='Dating Like It&apos;s My Job'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4435611966075123708</id><published>2008-12-04T21:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T22:42:27.261-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Discount Dating</title><content type='html'>Oh dear.  It seems I took a month off.  Plus about 2 weeks.  There's nothing like a move and lack of a love life to push blogging to the back burner.  I have had an apartment to set up, boxes to unpack, and oh yeah, I had a birthday (I am now 279, btw.)  But now that I am sort of settled, I figured it's time to unpack my love life as well.  And if I have to do that, God knows there will be some funny stories to share.  So here I am.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what's a girl who's &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still &lt;/span&gt;obsessing about her late summer fling with no other romantic prospects to do?  That's right, dear reader: Match.com.  Uggh.  I've been there before, and it is rather a grueling undertaking.  In my illustrious dating career, I have had more luck with Nerve.com.  It's linked to The Onion, so it's usually not too hard to find those Onion-y guys (well-educated, funny, politically aware, above-average taste in food, music, and sneakers.)  But the thing is, it's kinda small, and like all boutique establishments, the choices are far fewer.  I was feeling like I had either dated or eliminated everyone within a 10 mile radius and a proper age range.  It was time to turn to the Walmart of dating, with aisle upon aisle of bachelors for the picking.  But just like shopping at at a mass-market discount emporium, the quality is lacking, and I feel sort of bad about giving this kind of company my money.  There are many, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;many&lt;/span&gt; guys who would not know a cool sneaker if it kicked them in the behind. But the good news is this:  3 days in, 18 emails, 5 winks, and 3 pages of favorites!  Dating is a numbers game, right?  Here's hoping there's one worth the trouble.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4435611966075123708?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4435611966075123708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4435611966075123708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4435611966075123708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4435611966075123708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/12/oh-dear.html' title='Discount Dating'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1171960675823252735</id><published>2008-10-22T18:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T22:57:19.028-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jane Jones is Too Busy to Think About It!</title><content type='html'>I'm moving.  So, I have been apartment hunting and working and flying back and forth to L.A. to pack, and I have utterly lost sight of my love life.  Which actually feels okay, because I think that is the first time that has happened in, like, ever.  (A note to The Universe: according to what EVERYONE has been telling me for the past 20 years, this is when I am supposed to meet someone, when I'm "not thinking about it", right?  Oh wait- having a dating blog doesn't really count as "not thinking about it," does it?  Oh well.  And thanks for the cute property manager, btw!)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In addition to having no time to date, keep up with friends or go out, I also went cold turkey on the great time-sucker of our day: Facebook.  What started out as a practical accident became a choice that felt pretty darn good.  I think I know why: there are exes on there!  What used to be such an inexact science ("accidental" run-ins, updates from friends) is now an &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;actual&lt;/span&gt; status update, in black and white, on your home page.  "HD is braising beef cheeks!"  Really?  And not calling me?  "Michelle Whoever posted new photos of HD!"  At a wedding?? Whose?  And wearing &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a cute hat&lt;/span&gt;- how dare he?!  This is terrible.  And it's not just the exes.  There are crushes, changing their relationship status, and guys who like you but you're not into, and guys you went out with three times six months ago, and people from high school and college who know &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;other &lt;/span&gt;people...  It's a minefield.  I tried to go with it, updating my own status in order to seem more fabulous, specifically for HD.  "JJ is making it happen!"  (Seriously.)  I knew it was time for a break when someone wrote "you're going to need to be more specific."  I wish I could write "JJ has a date with a hot doctor who really looks A LOT like Patrick Dempsey" or "JJ just got flowers- again!" but, unfortunately, too many people know the truth.  And what about your "friends" posting unflattering pics of you, or writing private information on your Wall??  I know I don't have to tell you ladies this, but &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;proceed with caution.  &lt;/span&gt;We've entered a new dimension.  (And if it starts to get to you, just turn it off.  It's been liberating.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1171960675823252735?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1171960675823252735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1171960675823252735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1171960675823252735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1171960675823252735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/10/jane-jones-is-too-busy-to-think-about.html' title='Jane Jones is Too Busy to Think About It!'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5690609904997296321</id><published>2008-10-08T20:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T23:29:21.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>7 Things I Will Not Miss About You</title><content type='html'>I know, I lag.  I have not updated recently.  I have been busy working, moving, and, oh yes, waiting by the phone.  It took 10 days or so for HD to follow up his breakup text with an actual phone call.  And surprise, surprise, we officially ended it.  He can't have a relationship when he only has 10% of his time to give, blah blah blah.  Nothing I didn't already know, especially after all that time to obsess about it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The thing is, I miss him.  I really do.  I miss his height and his fantastic thick mop of hair.  I miss the way he says yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (4x, not 3.)  I miss how happy he is, and spastic, and funny and sweet and affectionate. But I have to stop all that- it really does not serve me.  In the spirit of moving on after yet &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;another &lt;/span&gt;disappointing breakup, I'm thinking I need to concentrate on the things that I will be better off without.  So, HD, here are a few things I will NOT miss about you...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  You need some shoes with backs.  I'm really serious.  The very first thing I ever said about you was "yeah, he's cute, but I don't like those mandals."  As far as I know, all of your footwear is some kind of mule.  I know you are pressed for time, but &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;come on&lt;/span&gt;, you don't have 10 seconds to lace up some converse?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I will not miss your child that I never met.  I'm sure he's fantastic and brilliant and adorable, but now I don't have to worry about competing with him, or fucking up his life one day, or even just cleaning up his legos.  This is definitely a weight off my shoulders.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  No more $6 bridge tolls!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Now I won't have to worry about cooking for a chef.  Soo intimidating- thanks!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  Not gonna miss your divorce.  Thank you for never making it my problem, but now I'm thinking that I will only pursue men who are totally free and clear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  I will definitely not mourn the 5 lbs. that I likely would have gained from having all those fabulous future meals with you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  And I will NEVER EVER miss waiting by the phone!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hmmm, I was hoping that might make me feel a little bit better...  maybe just a smidge.  Oh well, on to the next! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5690609904997296321?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5690609904997296321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5690609904997296321' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5690609904997296321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5690609904997296321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/10/7-things-i-will-not-miss-about-you.html' title='7 Things I Will Not Miss About You'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5432264656919062067</id><published>2008-09-24T19:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T22:10:29.313-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Priorities</title><content type='html'>How has it been 10 days with no update?  Terrible!  It probably has to do with this little pastime I've just gotten into: working.  (Something to do between dates!)  Fun, but it has put such a cramp in my free time!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, one thing that &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hasn't&lt;/span&gt; been filling up all my remaining leisure time is hanging out with HD.  I haven't seen him in 10 days either.  Remember &lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/another-kind-of-reunion.html"&gt;that post I wrote&lt;/a&gt; about how he was a different kind of busy guy?  Yeah, not so much.  Apparently that was just HD's &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YE4YLAkWW7g"&gt;representative&lt;/a&gt;.  Because the truth of the matter is that he is increasingly taxed, stressed, and overbooked, and there has been little to no time left for our romance.  Now, I knew this was coming- I could see a mile away that this was the worst possible time for him to start things up with me.  (Have I mentioned that his divorce is not final yet?)  Between that, his kid, the restaurant, planning for a new restaurant, moving into his house, bottling the wine that he makes (seriously), and just being the candle-burning-at-both-ends Mayor of Marin, I have never been quite sure where I was going to fit in.  But I thought if we liked each other enough it would just "work out".  (Famous last words, right?  See, I told you I'm an eternal optimist.)  For whatever reason, it doesn't seem to be working out right now.  After recently expressing my frustration at trying to squeeze my way into an unsqueezable schedule,  I got a text message that was the digital equivalent of &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0698687/quotes"&gt;"I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me." &lt;/a&gt; I am still waiting on the real, adult-style follow-up phone call.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, I am bummed.  I have not felt this comfortable and so &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;myself&lt;/span&gt; with a man in quite a while.  I am even more bummed about how familiar this all feels.  Unfortunately, this is rather well-traveled road for me.  But who knows, the romantic in me is holding out hope that things may sort themselves out with HD.  But I just know that I have to be with someone who puts me on the priority list, and if he can't do it, I've got to find the man that can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5432264656919062067?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5432264656919062067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5432264656919062067' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5432264656919062067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5432264656919062067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/priorities.html' title='Priorities'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1970929791272305340</id><published>2008-09-14T21:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T23:45:15.155-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Past In My Path</title><content type='html'>Last week I ran into, or almost ran over, my ex.  I was driving in a posh pleasantville about 30 minutes from San Francisco when I noticed a hot guy in the crosswalk in front of me.  Tall, fit, dark wavy hair...  First thought: do they have cute guys out here? (I have been single forever- this is how my brain works at this point.)  Second thought: OH MY GOD, THAT IS MY EX!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Backstory: I have 3 major loves of my life, and this was Number One.  I met him when I was 19, and we dated long distance for most of college, until I was lured away by the promise of fraternity date dances and an unencumbered spring break.  But this didn't matter because everyone knew we would end up together, including us.  We were just too young, and that was "someday".  We were always close over the years, dating and traveling together when we were both single.  Things even got particularly dramatic when Ex 1 stepped in and protested an impending engagement to Ex 2 (which, I guess, worked).  But we never got it together to move to the same city (he has always been in SF, btw) and he started dating some french girl.  I was not worried, figuring Frenchie would be a flash in le pan.  That is, until, she got pregnant.  Even though I burst into tears when he broke the news, we managed to fake a "friendship" until they got married about 2 years ago.  He then stopped returning my calls, and we haven't spoken since.  I had heard that there is a baby #2 now.  I have been SO GOOD and have not tried to contact him since my arrival in SF this summer, but have been moving through the city with knowledge that he and his double stroller could be around the next corner. (Remember that one when Carrie runs into Aidan on the street and he says "I had a baby" and she says "I have a date!"...?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, back to the crosswalk.  I was on the phone with a friend at the time and just started screaming in the middle of her story.  As she coached me through it, I turned around when I could and went back to chase him down.  No luck.  I left him a voicemail that went quickly from fake-breezy to over-explaining.  He called back anyway, and we caught up (Baby 2 is already a year!) and we are supposed to meet for coffee soon. (I think Carrie and Aidan said that too, didn't they?)  Who knows if we'll actually end up face to face, but at least I can relax a bit knowing the inevitable has already happened, and my corner has been turned.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1970929791272305340?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1970929791272305340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1970929791272305340' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1970929791272305340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1970929791272305340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/past-in-my-path.html' title='The Past In My Path'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1644312087658251311</id><published>2008-09-08T16:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T17:11:44.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>French Lesson</title><content type='html'>Last week one of my BF's hit the wall, got a major bee in her bonnet, and declared that we needed to go out to meet some boys/guys/men.  And possibly make out with them.  You don't have to ask me twice, so before we knew it, we were out at a local meet market, margaritas in hand.  The pickings were rather slim, until four dashing gents arrived, clad in very well-cut jackets and fancy chapeaus.  Was it a band, direct from a photo shoot?  No, this is San Francisco, not Los Angeles- they were French!  From Paris and everything!  Kicking off their American style road trip that would take them to Vegas and L.A., and points in between.  Adorable, with perfect English and sexy accents, we took them to dive bar and showed them the charming American custom of the "depth charge".  We had each been talking to one for a while, but when we went to the bathroom we negotiated a trade.  It turns out hers was gorgeous but a bit of a dud, and we figured that since I already had a crush (HD), she could have first pick and switch to the guy I was talking to.  After 3 margaritas and a boilermaker, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.  But here is what we learned: &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;you cannot do that&lt;/span&gt;.  And everyone I have mentioned this to has immediately said "I don't think you can just switch like that".  (Yes, you are correct.  And where were you that night?)  They didn't fall for it.  We ended up having an after party that was festive until 4:30 am, complete with giant vodka sodas, party pics, a lost hat, and forcing Parisians into cabs against their will.  But after we introduced our French farce of "who likes who?", neither one of us ended up with a proper makeout.  Quelle horreur!  But all in all a very fun night,  and a good lesson for future soirees.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1644312087658251311?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1644312087658251311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1644312087658251311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1644312087658251311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1644312087658251311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/french-lesson.html' title='French Lesson'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1247162408463118996</id><published>2008-09-08T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T16:13:21.305-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Re: HD</title><content type='html'>The HD wrap-ups might be getting a little boring, because here is the gist of it: I like him, I'm pretty sure he likes me, and we are dating.  We are eating and snuggling and texting and having a lot of fun.  That said, he is also a very busy dad, so it kind of feels like that dating is going to be once or twice a week for now.  I kind of let myself go down the road of "is this my new boyfriend?", until I realized that putting all these expectations on it is a recipe for disappointment.  We all know there is no bigger buzzkill in the early stages of a relationship than "where is this going?".  So, I am going to make an effort to just be here now, enjoy this delicious man when I can, and yes, keep my options open.  If he asks me to go steady anytime soon, I am more than happy to do so, but until that happens, I am a free agent (with a big crush).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1247162408463118996?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1247162408463118996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1247162408463118996' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1247162408463118996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1247162408463118996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/09/re-hd.html' title='Re: HD'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-6512092388269190002</id><published>2008-08-29T19:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T00:21:09.007-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Kind of Reunion...</title><content type='html'>SO happy to have an HD update!  After waiting patiently during his Big Event Prep, we finally were able to get together for lunch Thursday.  Yes, Thursday- the day of said event.  Poor HD was running around like a (local, organic, farm-raised) chicken with his head cut off, but said he really wanted to see me- that it would be a welcome break.  Hooray!  To borrow from one of my dearest, "I have a PhD in" Busy Guy.  Whether it was band practice, all-night sound editing, or, uh, working on his PhD, I am all too familiar with fighting for attention with the demands of my beau's work.  I always wanted to be port in the storm, but unfortunately the storm usually came first.  My lessons of "call me just to say you can't call me" just fell on deaf ears.  But here I was, being squeezed in for a lunch and snuggle, when HD's to-do list was still uncomfortably long.  This was a different breed of Busy Guy!  Perhaps the distinction is that this BG also appears to be Into Me Guy.  So into me, I might add, that he snuck over at 1 am that night, once he had finally wrapped things up.  (And remember, the Golden Gate is between us!)  We also met for lunch AND dinner on Friday!  (Btw, the meals with this one have been insane!)  If I am counting correctly, that makes Dates 5-8 within the span of 2 days!  Things feel romantic, and also increasingly comfortable.  I'm feeling less and less like I am interested in dating other guys.  And I am still doing a good job of keeping my big-picture worries at bay, and just enjoying the moment.  Have I actually pulled off my goal of meeting a great man in SF?  So far, so good...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-6512092388269190002?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6512092388269190002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=6512092388269190002' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6512092388269190002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6512092388269190002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/another-kind-of-reunion.html' title='Another Kind of Reunion...'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5511780820006219146</id><published>2008-08-26T00:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T01:31:06.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HD Update</title><content type='html'>I haven't seen HD since last week.  I know!  But apart from missing him terribly, I think all is well.  He is hosting a major work event later this week, and I had one over the weekend (&lt;a href="http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/revenge-of-nerds.html"&gt;see below&lt;/a&gt;).  We have been in touch quite a bit (he is quite the texter!), and are planning to reconnect after his thing.  I have had a few dark moments of insecurity (spinning out is just a natural part of really liking someone, right?) but I am now back to normal and anticipating our reunion.  Now, if I only had another date to distract me while I'm waiting...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5511780820006219146?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5511780820006219146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5511780820006219146' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5511780820006219146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5511780820006219146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/hd-update.html' title='HD Update'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-2356843592242183869</id><published>2008-08-25T21:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T09:24:42.477-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Revenge of the Nerds?</title><content type='html'>So this weekend was my high school reunion.  I normally never out myself on these kinds of things, but yes, it was 20 years.  20 years!  How did that happen?  I'm definitely feeling more like 10.  And going to a 20 year reunion when you are single, childless, and never-married (did I mention unemployed?) requires a certain amount of preparation, mental and otherwise.  I had to figure out if there were any other single people going, and most importantly, if any of them were guys.  Imagine my shock when I discovered that not only was there an eligible SF bachelor who was going to be attending solo, he was actually a guy I had scoped out on a dating site!  He was totally unrecognizable from his former nerd days, with broad shoulders and wavy dark hair.  Very promising!  I actually started an email relationship with him earlier this summer, under the guise of reunion networking.  He was nice enough, until I asked him to meet for a drink.  He shied away from my invitation, and then never wrote to me again.  Nice!  All the more motivation to look super hot for the big shindig.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And let me tell you, that was not all that hard to pull off next to some of my former classmates. (Sorry, HS brings out the cattiness...)  Those ladies may have rings on their fingers and someone to keep them warm at night, but I have something that may be only a distant memory to them: a pre-baby-weight body, no spanx required.  So I was feeling cute and confident, and certain that Former Nerd would be eating his heart out.  I ran into him early on, during the nervous pre-cocktail moments.  He was as cute as his photos, and friendly.  We agreed to chat more later once we made the rounds.  Despite my hesitations about going, it was really &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;fun.  Unlike high school itself, it was great to talk to everyone, not just my old friends.  And I'm glad I got over myself- I actually never really felt weird being there alone.  After about 50 catch-up convos and maybe half as many drinks, my attentions returned to FN.  Where was he?  Why was he not chatting me up?  Did he not realize that we were both attractive, single urbanites in a sea of suburban married folk?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was a woman on mission.  I infiltrated the nerd ranks and chatted up his friends.  I sent some of mine in to talk to him.  We did connect and talk for a bit (details foggy) but there was no flirty vibe.  Someone's wife, another girl's husband, and a few friends of mine all had the same conclusion: dude seems gay.  Really?  Let's remember, I found this guy on an online dating site!  (And wait, was that why he was suddenly so good looking?)  When I like someone and the feelings are not returned, I often default to "he must be gay", so at least I had backup on that this time.  But really, FN?  Please stop advertising yourself to women and sort out your issues.  After he left, I got over it and on to the task at hand: all night hotel room parties with a motley crew of people I barely knew 20 years ago.  Hooray!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-2356843592242183869?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2356843592242183869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=2356843592242183869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2356843592242183869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2356843592242183869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/revenge-of-nerds.html' title='Revenge of the Nerds?'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4671979266936887828</id><published>2008-08-21T11:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T13:36:12.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Not Sayin, I'm Just Sayin...</title><content type='html'>Guess who decided to drive across the bridge for an impromptu 10pm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;rendezvous&lt;/span&gt; last night?  (And he arrived with 3 kinds of chocolate!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4671979266936887828?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4671979266936887828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4671979266936887828' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4671979266936887828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4671979266936887828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/im-not-sayin-im-just-sayin.html' title='I&apos;m Not Sayin, I&apos;m Just Sayin...'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1755771905286300896</id><published>2008-08-20T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T16:48:05.124-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Man Up</title><content type='html'>Last night I took Hot Dad to a fundraiser/info session that my friend was hosting for the &lt;a href="http://uspublicserviceacademy.org/"&gt;volunteer organization&lt;/a&gt; that she works for.  First of all- let's just consider that.  I never bring a date!  Even when I have had boyfriends, they always seem to be the sort that either can't make it or can't handle it.  But HD was different.  He had no problem with attending, and was a superstar while there.  He was friendly, interested, chatting people up, asking questions... What?  I'm not familiar.  Here's the thing: he is A Man.  He is a full-fledged, fully-cooked grown up, not a Guy (or worse, A Boy) who is too cool for school.  I looked across at him and thought- "huh- somehow, I am here with A Man."  I've always had a thing for younger guys, but after seeing HD in action, I may be rethinking that policy.  If this real adult dating, sign me up.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After the event we went to get a bite and a drink, and then back to his for foosball (he has a table- see, not &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;too&lt;/span&gt; grown up) and some olympics.  We were having such a great time- it's been a while, but this is that thrilling early dating moment when you don't care what you do, you just want to hang out with this person.  (Sitting as closely as possible, of course.)  And it feels so easy!  Such a contrast compared to all the strategy involved with my usual dating- keeping the cards close to the vest, trying not to appear too eager.  Suddenly, when you are really into someone, and it feels mutual, that all just seems to fade away.  I realize that I am probably speaking to soon- this was only Date 3!  I have had big letdowns after Date 7's or Date 10's in the past, so I know that's out there.  But give me a break, I am still on the high of a particularly great evening...  I am nothing if not a hopeless romantic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And speaking of romance, we had a very fun night together that lasted until the wee hours.  I decided to ignore the legos (no &lt;a href="http://shop.lego.com/Product/?p=4683"&gt;cart before horse&lt;/a&gt;!) and concentrate on gorgeous HD.  Can' t wait till next time...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1755771905286300896?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1755771905286300896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1755771905286300896' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1755771905286300896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1755771905286300896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/man-up.html' title='Man Up'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5958591287373841752</id><published>2008-08-19T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T12:43:30.089-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally</title><content type='html'> Date 3 with HD tonight!  He was out of town for a long weekend, so I have been waiting.  And it looks like I am definitely into him, because even though I was quite busy and social during his absence, 4 days seemed like 4 weeks!  (Uh-oh...)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PDWU tomorrow!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5958591287373841752?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5958591287373841752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5958591287373841752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5958591287373841752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5958591287373841752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/finally.html' title='Finally'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-2982660539239056441</id><published>2008-08-13T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T13:59:03.969-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures in Legoland</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was date 2 with Hot Dad.  The plan was for a hike and lunch (so Nor Cal!)  I can work out with the best of them, and I liked the idea of doing something different, so I thought this sounded like a fun idea.  Until I found myself getting ready in the bright sunlight of 9 am, sliding my freshly washed hair back into a headband, and putting on workout clothes and running shoes.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Umm&lt;/span&gt; wait- this is dating??  No flattering lighting, no booty-lifting heels, no eyeliner?  And most importantly, no alcohol??  What had I gotten myself into?  I was certain he was going to take one look at me and wonder what happened to the girl from Friday night.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But happily, not the case.  He was as cute as ever (have I mentioned that he is 6'4"?) and as soon as I saw him, I relaxed.  And he said that I looked "hot." Really dude?  Not sure that I agree, but that takes the edge off- thank you.  Our hike was truly gorgeous, and we were having that fun second date conversation that is a heady mixture of discovery, a tiny bit of familiarity, and a whole lot of flirtation.  And &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;btw&lt;/span&gt;, he is SO not a player- if anything he is sweet and goofy.  Love it!  After a good 2-hour workout, we went on to a delicious outdoor lunch (and a beer- hooray!) on the harbor.  I could get used to this!  After we ate, he asked if I'd like to see his place.  He has recently moved, and said he needed some "design help" with his house.  I took this as code for "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;makeout&lt;/span&gt;" and readily obliged.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then... the house.  Great looking for the outside.  Outdoorsy, sexy, masculine... very fitting of a dashing Nor Cal chef.  But inside: clutter.  And not just regular clutter, but &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;legos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  Tons and tons of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;legos&lt;/span&gt;.  Everywhere.  Suddenly, I realized that I had been focusing on the H in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;HD&lt;/span&gt; too much and ignoring the D.  This man is a dad, with a son that lives with him.  I felt a little overwhelmed, because this is uncharted territory for me.  I tried to push that aside, and be present.  I can't forget that fact, but I don't want to let it freak me out either.  After the house tour and design consultation, we got down to couch time.  Very fun indeed, complete with the "five more minutes, five more minutes" that is the hallmark of snuggling with someone that you are really into.  Ladies, I believe I am smitten.  He &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;texted&lt;/span&gt; last night to say that the day was "super fun", and I couldn't agree more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-2982660539239056441?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2982660539239056441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=2982660539239056441' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2982660539239056441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2982660539239056441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/adventures-in-legoland.html' title='Adventures in Legoland'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-1799527246124418272</id><published>2008-08-11T13:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T15:13:21.545-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot Date with Hot Dad</title><content type='html'>So, Friday was my date with Hot Dad.  Instead of my usual "meet for drinks", he kicked it up a notch by picking me up for dinner.  Lovely!  Once in the car, he just started chatting non-stop - and yes, mostly about himself.  Oh dear, was this going to be a long night of "uh-huhs"?  Before dinner we stopped off at a wine bar- he is thinking of opening one, and wanted to scope out the competition.  Fun- I love playing restaurant critic!  He was still going full speed when I guess he heard himself, took a deep breath, and said "I have ADD".  I laughed and agreed that he must, and I saw him visibly relax.  Suddenly I got it- he wasn't a self absorbed jerk, he was nervous.  I think he's an out-of-practice dater who thought he had to fill up all the silences and try to impress me.  Our date eased into more of a conversation than a monologue, and started to become really fun.  We went on to dinner at a fantastic spot of his choosing (I put him in charge of food and wine selection- love when there's a professional on the team!) and we had a great time.  He was outgoing, fun, and interested, and I felt like we had some chemistry building.  We nixed dessert in favor of a cocktail at a bar in my neighborhood, and I was noticing how easily  things were flowing.  When HD kissed me on the cheek, I knew the sparks were flying because I was dying for the real thing.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We tried to go to 2 more bars (decided against one, one was no loner serving) and ended up back at mine.  At this point I wasn't thinking about his commute home, I was just thinking about what a good time I was having.  We watched the Olympics over giant vodka sodas and just talked and talked.  I eventually got my real kiss (and then some), and the next thing I knew it was 4am.  Now, does having 2 sleepover dates in 2 weeks (with 2 different guys!) make me a slut?  I'm hoping I can squeeze by on the technicality that neither one involved sex, and in both cases I was doing my part to keep drunk drivers off the road.  Still, not exactly ideal, but I'm just gonna go with the fact that any date that lasts 13 hours must be a good one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There have been &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;many&lt;/span&gt; text messages since (16 from him yesterday alone!) and our next date is planned for tomorrow.  Hardly my usual routine of waiting around for a week to hear from someone.  I don't know, I'm just going to say I'm cautiously optimistic...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-1799527246124418272?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1799527246124418272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=1799527246124418272' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1799527246124418272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/1799527246124418272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/hot-date-with-hot-dad.html' title='Hot Date with Hot Dad'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-6508331845704680580</id><published>2008-08-06T15:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T13:18:43.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot Cad?</title><content type='html'>On Saturday I was on the other side of the Golden Gate, so I met my Marin friend for a drink in Sausalito.  We went to essentially the only bar in town, a dive bar filled with half yuppies/half alcoholics, almost all guys.  She immediately spotted a guy that she has seen at the farmer's market (obviously, he's one of the yuppies) and has nicknamed "Hot Dad".  Before we knew it, HD and his friend approached.  He certainly lives up to his nickname, with amazing thick wavy hair and a 7 year old son.  He owns a restaurant (now that I am well into my thirties, chefs are my new musicians- I know better, but can't resist.)  Like every man before him who has ever had women describing him as hot, he was charming and fun, but totally self-absorbed and most likely a cad.  BUT, when talk turned to the upcoming Wilco concert, he insisted that "we should go".  Okay, twist my arm... He gave me his card (I was going to give him my number, but he pushed the card back towards me and said "just email me."  See?)  So I did, halfway not expecting a response.  But he actually replied right away, suggesting dinner this week.  He has been funny and friendly, and totally on it.  Hmm... perhaps less of a rogue than I originally thought?  Here's hoping!  The date is Friday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-6508331845704680580?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6508331845704680580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=6508331845704680580' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6508331845704680580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6508331845704680580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/hot-cad.html' title='Hot Cad?'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-5471332654951861698</id><published>2008-08-06T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T15:19:03.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Napping with Napa</title><content type='html'>Nothing quite as dramatic as "catching" anyone on a date with someone else this week, but time goes on, and happily, so do the dates!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Thursday I had plans with young (former) Water Polo Guy, who I met in a dive bar in Larkspur and lives in Napa.  He was going to be in the city for work (he works for Coppola- that's so Nor Cal sexy, isn't it?) and our plan was to meet for an after-work cocktail.  I was told to be ready and waiting for the call between 5 and 6.  I was running a little late, so I was happy when he called at 6.  Problem was, they were still going, and could we push it to 8?  Aside from being ready, I didn't mind- (back when I used work, I made this call a lot myself!)  Heading out the door at 7:50, I got another call- this time I could literally hear him asking other people when they would be done.  They had decided to do a spontaneous wine photo shoot, and there was no leaving for WP.  Since this date was obviously my plan for the night, I had nothing else going on- I figured the date would either fall apart or I'd still feel up for going out later.  At 10 pm, after many updates, he was finally free.  Now, I knew this was coming... he was so tired form work that he wanted to know if he could just grab a bottle and come over to mine.  I sensed that the combination of late start time + wine + a man who's age starts with the number 2 and is an hour and a half from home would prove to be a dangerous one, but he assured me he would be a gentleman.  I begrudgingly agreed.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He arrived in no time, and was was charming, fun and just as tall and cute as I remembered.  We had a great time talking, and I was thinking that perhaps I had been too leery of WP.  But sure enough, at 12:30, he said "are you really going to make me drive home?".  Way to play it, dude, because can I really turn someone out  to fend for themselves on country roads with half a bottle of wine in them?  I told him I really wasn't planning on a sleepover date, but I would let him stay just because I felt bad kicking him out.  I felt like a collegiate when he promised me we would just "kiss and snuggle", and even more so when he spent the entire night trying to do much more than that.  He left in the wee hours, and I managed to survive the night with my dignity intact and a fondness for Water Polo Guy.  We have had a few text messages since then, but I'm not quite sure that we're ready to embark on a "long distance relationship"...  In any case, he's adorable and it was a fun night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-5471332654951861698?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5471332654951861698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=5471332654951861698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5471332654951861698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/5471332654951861698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/napping-with-napa.html' title='Napping with Napa'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-9103105469179143395</id><published>2008-07-30T19:04:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T13:05:25.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OMG! UPDATE!</title><content type='html'>Ladies, as I have said before, I do not make this stuff up.  I JUST finished writing this at the coffee shop and was walking up the street when WHO should I pass at the ATM, but Mark and a date!!!  Seriously!  Yes, he saw me.  I gave him the "caught ya" smirk. (Well played, if I do say so myself.)  And no, I did not get a good look at her, but she looked cute enough.  Oh well, just as I suspected.  More vaildation from the dating gods that at least this stuff makes for some funny stories...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-9103105469179143395?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/9103105469179143395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=9103105469179143395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/9103105469179143395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/9103105469179143395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/omg-update.html' title='OMG! UPDATE!'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4834465765001221426</id><published>2008-07-30T19:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T13:03:41.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Next!</title><content type='html'>Over the weekend I did somehow manage to pick up a 27-year-old 6'6" former water polo player at a bar out in Marin.  He was pushing hard for an "after party" (SO not in the cards), so I figured it was a one-night-only offer.  Imagine my surprise when he called yesterday!  It's unconfirmed as of now, but the plan looks like drinks tomorrow.  This strapping young man lives in Napa, so I can already predict his "accidental" inability to drive home... I think I will have to be on my toes with this one.  But, if nothing else, at least I will have some material for another wrap-up!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4834465765001221426?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4834465765001221426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4834465765001221426' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4834465765001221426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4834465765001221426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/next.html' title='Next!'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4074699537110225366</id><published>2008-07-30T19:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:57:48.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time Goes By... So Slowly</title><content type='html'>Waiting.  So all I've been doing is waiting- waiting to write this until I had another date to cover.  Waiting for Mark to call me and ask me out on said date.  Waiting for someone new in my inbox, waiting for someone to approach me at the coffee shop or bar...  Arrgh!  Is there anything more tedious or less sexy?  And more importantly, can one even write a fake blog consisting of PDWUs when there are no D's to WU? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after my last date with Mark, I officially declared myself into him, and then took off to L.A. for a few days.  I wanted a "have a great trip!" text, but oh well.  I figured he'd just call me when I got back to town.  That's when the waiting started, and the compulsive checking of email and texts.  I checked and checked and re-checked- nothing.  By Friday, I knew it was over.  My intuition had been telling me all along that this guy was seeing other girls, so I figured one of those girls had snagged her man.  I was bummed, but honestly I knew I was in trouble when I decided I liked him.  Unfortunately, in 99 of 100 cases, I don't like the guys who like me, and the ones I do like are just not that into me.  Apparently I am an eternal optimist, because I have spent my entire singlehood trying to outsmart this formula. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then on Monday, 10 days after he left me swooning at the door of my bachelor pad, he emailed me.  "Hey Jane, I haven't talked to you in a while.  How was L.A.?"  Really?  You haven't talked to me?  Could that be because you haven't CALLED me?  But I didn't say that.  I was that fake-breezy girl that I know oh so well.  Busy! Traveling! Friends!  Job interviews!  Girl on the go, not pathetic inbox waiter.  24 hours later he responded.  Did I ever get the music from my ipod back onto my computer? (That is apparently harder than it sounds, btw.) And also, he was going away on Friday for 10 days.  Hmmm, why did he take so long between emails?  But still hopeful, I now had a time crunch (2 or 3 days) and an excuse for us to get together.  I was enthusiastic- told him I hadn't attempted the music resurrection, and would love his help.  I said I would pay in baked goods. (A euphemism for sexual favors?)  And then guess what- I waited.  30 hours later and 4000 clicks of "check mail" he responded today at 4pm.  Sure, he'd love to help- but it would have to WAIT until after the trip.  WhatEVER, dude.  After the first email lag I asked myself if he had just gotten back in touch with me to blow me off again.  The answer to that question, frustratingly, is yes.  I told him that I would handle the itunes myself and to have a nice trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4074699537110225366?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4074699537110225366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4074699537110225366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4074699537110225366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4074699537110225366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/time-goes-by-so-slowly.html' title='Time Goes By... So Slowly'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-903652069461288791</id><published>2008-07-23T16:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T13:27:23.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Epilogue</title><content type='html'>Remember Nick?  Where we last left off he had texted "miss you" and I did not respond.  Well, I was worried about racking up some bad karma in this town, having already not returned calls to 2 of my other dates.  What if I started running into some of my burned bridges? (At Giants games, undoubtedly!)  My conscience got the best of me, and I did send a "dear nick" email.  I sited his inability to open up, and said things should have been feeling a little more natural after 4 dates.  He killed me with a response that said "this was not the welcome home that I expected" and that this "wasn't the first time" he had heard things like this.  The final turn of the dagger was "I thought I was growing. I guess not."  I felt terrible- this behaving like an adult business is no picnic.  I wrote back, assuring him that he was a great guy, and that he would meet his match right away.  No fun at all, especially because I have been in his position about 2 million times.  Not sure which is tougher- waiting by the inbox or sending breakup emails.  All I know is that it's hard out here for a dater...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-903652069461288791?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/903652069461288791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=903652069461288791' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/903652069461288791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/903652069461288791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/epilogue.html' title='Epilogue'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-6947621415584967473</id><published>2008-07-23T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:47:04.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Game On</title><content type='html'>Since I was already smitten with Mark following Mac Emergency week, I, (of course), spent last week waiting by the phone and going over every tiny detail of our last encounter, trying to determine if we would ever speak again.  By Wednesday I was sweating it, seriously, but forced myself not to send any fake-breezy emails requesting tech support.  I was out enjoying a cappuccino and some wi-fi ("working") when the message came in.  Hallelujah!  The other patrons must have thought I just scored an MJ dress on ebay for $9.99 by the smile on my face.  What was funny that is was an invitation to another Giants game.  13 years in Los Angeles and I think I saw the Dodgers once, and now this was my second baseball date in 3 weeks.  Oh well!  I am happy to consume giant beers and hot dogs, and more than happy to do anything with cute Mark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He picked me up (yay! no public transport!) Friday evening and off we went.  Have I mentioned that he is cute?  Yes, I may be under the influence of cupid's arrow, because I was actually comparing him to David Beckham in my head.  But more importantly, he was talking.  In sharp contrast to my baseball date with quiet Nick, we chatted before, during and after the game.   And apart from a very in-depth conversation about the mascot, none of it was baseball-related.  He was funny and smart, open, analytical and very masculine.  And he laughed at my jokes.  Hooray!  Now this was my kind of sports-related date.  We even got to leave in the 8th inning because it was FREEZING.  Of all the outdoor SF dates I've been on so far, this was the coldest- even the season ticket holders were talking about it. (Please remember, it is July.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to mine for a glass of wine (thank you, parking gods, for that spot in front!)  More chatting, some music, something to drink...  I was suddenly grateful that I live in a pimped out bachelor pad (I am apartment swapping for anyone who may not know.)  I turned on the red lantern mood lighting (and the heat), relaxed into the World's Most Comfortable Couch, and waited for the setting to work it's magic.  I will not doubt the bachelor decorating scheme again, because it did not take too long before he pulled me over.  We had a fantastic (PG rated!) couch makeout.  A good old-fashioned, fully-clothed, sitting-up couch makeout that made me feel like I was 17 and wanted to push my curfew just five more minutes.  (At 37, after seemingly hundreds of dates, that is quite a feat.)  We talked a little more, and I asked him about his broken engagement that he had referenced.  He told me that the was the one who broke it off, that it just wasn't the way he wanted to feel about the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with.  Bonus points for Openness (+50), Being In Touch With Emotions (+100), and General Interest In Marriage (+150!)  Right?  Another knee-weakening kiss at the door, and he left me flustered and giddy.  Oh dear...  I believe I may be in trouble.  Especially because we don't have any concrete plans for the future, and I have not heard from him.  He knew I was heading out of town for a few days, so I am hoping he will be getting in touch soon.  But since I now have an Official Crush, all bets are off...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-6947621415584967473?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6947621415584967473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=6947621415584967473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6947621415584967473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/6947621415584967473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/game-on.html' title='Game On'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-2833668581664457006</id><published>2008-07-15T12:00:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:48:55.718-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mac Daddy</title><content type='html'>I was counting on Mark to install my new hard drive and revive my little baby.  I couldn't do Friday, he couldn't do Saturday.  By Sunday I was very antsy.  I normally would have waited for him to call me, but these were emergency circumstances.  I texted.  He called back, and invited me over for computer repair and hanging out.  Hooray!  Cute apartment, a glass of wine, a little show and tell.  (Including a couple of photos from when he had hair- oh my!)  And I was feeling a little shy, a little nervous... uh oh.  I was smitten!  He performed the surgery, the computer came back to life (my hero!), and I packed up.  We were sitting fairly close together (thank you, computer tutorial!) and I was hoping to get kissed.  There was a little nervous laughter, darting eyes, I could feel myself blushing like crazy.  Here it comes...  And then he says, "are you okay?"  Oh no- am I reading this scene all wrong?  Now I was really flustered.  But then he did kiss me.  And it was great.  But as soon as we parted he threw me out.  He literally said "I hate to throw you out, but I'm beat".  Huh?  Smitten, kissed and kicked out- I didn't know which end was up at this point.  Did he kiss me just to get rid of me?  That's not a real dating strategy, is it?  I made my exit in a flurry of thank you's.  We have had a couple of emails/texts since then, but no concrete plans.  I'm thinking he might be dating other people..?  See, I must like him, because I just can't figure out if he's into me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-2833668581664457006?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2833668581664457006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=2833668581664457006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2833668581664457006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2833668581664457006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/mac-daddy.html' title='Mac Daddy'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-3726846770502232206</id><published>2008-07-15T12:00:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:42:06.691-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And Another Thing...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SKCVdKVwCZI/AAAAAAAAABI/fnI1-1RNAv4/s1600-h/TopModelNicoleGallery7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SKCVdKVwCZI/AAAAAAAAABI/fnI1-1RNAv4/s320/TopModelNicoleGallery7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233347095228844434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I was sitting at Peet's, when a couple that I vaguely recognized walked in.  Then I placed their faces.  The guy was someone I had dated in LA- I really liked him, but he never called me again.  And the girl- I knew her too.  She was literally the WINNER of America's Next Top Model a few seasons ago, Nicole.  She was stunning, prettier in person with giraffe legs in short-shorts.  He gave me the awkward smile of recognition, and then I watched them prance down the block, hand in hand.  Thank you, universe, for a reminder of how tough dating in LA is.  I just can't believe you had them follow me to San Francisco to get the point across!  (I swear, I do not make this stuff up.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No dates on the calendar presently (is this God's way of saying I need to get a job?) but will keep you posted on any developments.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-3726846770502232206?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3726846770502232206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=3726846770502232206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3726846770502232206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3726846770502232206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/and-another-thing.html' title='And Another Thing...'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SKCVdKVwCZI/AAAAAAAAABI/fnI1-1RNAv4/s72-c/TopModelNicoleGallery7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-3433056250258060965</id><published>2008-07-15T12:00:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:33:10.098-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nix Nick?</title><content type='html'>The next night I had dinner with Nick.  We walked from his place to a great sushi place.  The food was fantastic, the conversation less so.  This was our fourth date- shouldn't it be something more than polite conversation?  Why do our dates continue to feel like I'm entertaining an out-of-town cousin?  I'd like to feel past small talk by this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back on the couch at his, I decided it was time to upset the apple cart.  &lt;br /&gt;J: "So Nick, you seem like you are a little hard to get to know."&lt;br /&gt;N: "I'd say that's accurate."&lt;br /&gt;J: "Okaaaay.  Well why is that?"&lt;br /&gt;N: "I don't know- maybe you should ask my shrink."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm out.  He refused to open up, or to enlighten me about his inability to open up.   This conversation also included him questioning my motives for moving to San Francisco- rather suspiciously.  Are you kidding me?  Does he think I am on the lam?  Only someone who has something to hide believes that about others.  After I accidentally made out with him (oops! and it was actually fun- is that bad?) I headed home.  In the light of day, I decided that I had to trust my instincts about Nick and stop seeing him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went out of town for the weekend, and I didn't hear from him before he left.  Maybe our lack of a spark was obvious, and he was feeling the same way.  Was it possible that I was going to get out of this with him just never calling me again?  Not so much.  Over the weekend I got the text that every girl wants... from the right guy.  From the wrong guy, it just inspires dread.  "Miss you :)".  Oh dear.  I didn't respond.  I know!  But I figured the only proper response is "Miss you too", right?  So I did nothing.  I still haven't heard from him.  I feel bad.  Should I email him, or just let sleeping dogs lie?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-3433056250258060965?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3433056250258060965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=3433056250258060965' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3433056250258060965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3433056250258060965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/nix-nick.html' title='Nix Nick?'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-3917503919763113376</id><published>2008-07-15T12:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:24:31.450-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will You Accept This Rose?</title><content type='html'>Two nights later my computer died.  &lt;a href="http://www.codeforfood.com/corbett/SATC/mom02.jpg"&gt;Died&lt;/a&gt;.  Like, one minute everything was fine, and the next minute there was a flashing question mark on the screen.  Before I could place a hysterical call to my own personal tech support, he texted. (Cute, btw!)  I seized the opportunity to set up an emergency computer consultation (date?) for the next night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met for dinner, and when I walked up I thought- cute!  Love it when you find them cuter each time.  Over dinner, I did my best to overcome the death sentence my computer had received from the "genius" bar that day.  Mark asked if I watched reality TV, and while I listed off the less embarrassing answers to that question (project runway, top chef), I suddenly gasped.  I had forgotten that it was Monday night, the finale of the Bachelorette!  Hearing my gasp, he knew.  He admitted that he watched the Bach too!  Umm, what?  This date has just gone from good to great. We finished up and headed back to mine to watch the show.  How fun is that? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours later, Deanna finally chose Jesse (Mark declared them doomed), and I drove him home.  I was hoping for a little kiss, but all I got was a peck that landed somewhere between my mouth and my cheek.  Hmmmm... keeping me on my toes?  We had plans for another computer clinic- my poor sick laptop was still getting me dates!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-3917503919763113376?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3917503919763113376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=3917503919763113376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3917503919763113376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/3917503919763113376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/will-you-accept-this-rose.html' title='Will You Accept This Rose?'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-4804733121762890489</id><published>2008-07-15T12:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:15:02.028-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meet Mark</title><content type='html'>This was the last date in my dating marathon of a couple of weeks ago.  At that point I was worked, toxic, and dare I say it?- almost looking forward to some nights off.  When I missed my bus to the date, I did have a fleeting thought of no-showing.  But I decided to quit my whining, caught the next bus, and arrived just 10 minutes late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad I decided to man up.  Mark was better-looking in person, with that great relaxed-confident vibe.  Bald- not my usual flavor, but that can be rather sexy and masculine, can't it?  He is 38, 6'0", a Mac Specialist for UCSF, from Ohio but has lived in SF for 14 years.  We met at a very dark (always flattering- thank you, Mark!) hole in the wall for a beer, and then walked down the street for another.  Great energy, easy to talk to, cool taste in music, has lots of friends, etc.  Drove me home (bonus points!) and said that I should call if I wanted to join him and his friends for various fun things that weekend.  Verrrry promising...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-4804733121762890489?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4804733121762890489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=4804733121762890489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4804733121762890489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/4804733121762890489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/meet-mark.html' title='Meet Mark'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-2714689820035084386</id><published>2008-07-03T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:02:16.604-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Game At The Game</title><content type='html'>Last night was Date 3 with Nick.  Originally, he had texted and said he wanted to stay in and watch a movie.  As we all know, this is simply code for a hot and heavy makeout.  I thought about how I wasn't ready to start "seeing" this guy (isn't that date idea a little boyfriendy?), and I thought about that weird apartment...  I texted back "what about an activity?  like bowling?".  Seriously.  That is how our date turned into a night at the Giants/Cubs game. (His idea.)  So fun!  I'm no sports fan, but I am new in town and was excited about checking out the ballpark, (not to mention checking out a beer and some garlic fries!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were meeting at his, and I got there a few minutes early (lingering guilt from the tardiness on Date 2).  He was just arriving in the lobby as I was, and I have to say- cute!  Sunglasses on, work bag in hand, somehow he looked great in his natural element.  I thought about how picky I had been about his clothes and apartment, and realized that I am such a superficial snob.  I think 9 out of 10 girls would rate Nick as "very cute."  (And since I am so superficial, thinking that other people might find my date hot is a VERY good thing.)  Off to a great start!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cabbed to the game, chatting away well enough.  Got snacks and beer, settled into our seats, and I kept things going by asking dumb baseball questions. (I know nothing, really.) But a few innings in, the chatter was flowing a little less easily.  Since I am a girl, my ultra-sensitive emotional thermometer started making me wonder if this dude was somehow less into me.  Shouldn't he be holding my hand?  Why was I asking all the questions?  Was the vibe flirty enough?  As anyone who knows me can attest, second to looking cute, being less into me is a surefire way to get me to like you.  Well played, Nick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the game wore on (please note that I am once again outside in freezing climes) he became more and more quiet.  All I could think of was how much material the Bachelorette editors would have for the "things are not going well with Nick" segment.  I found myself asking questions like "what animal are you the most afraid of?" to fill the space.  At one point I laughed and said "am I interviewing you?" and he said "no, you've just lost interest in the game."  Ouch.  I defended my interest, got quiet, and pretended to be engrossed with whatever was happening on the field.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought things would improve after the game, but on the walk home (FREEZING) he was still relatively mute!  And not holding my hand through crowds and crossing streets!  You know I must have been annoyed, because I actually broke the icy (literally) silence with "so, you're awfully quiet tonight, Nick."  To my surprise, this seemed to work- he apologized for being so into the game, said he was sorry if he had been ignoring me.  Conversation returned, but I felt he was still "holding back" (see Date 2).  Didn't he want to know more about me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to his for couch time.  I was actually up for a little smooching, as I was still finding him cute.  Only this time, couch time was... TV time.  Yup, even though we had just returned from 3 hours of being spectators, we were now watching something else...?  Oh well, he's going to make a move any minute, right?  No, he's going to find weird Discovery Channel style snake shows.  A little kiss, a little hand holding, but that was it.  Once I realized that he was more into Snakemaster (snaking out?) than making out, I started yawning really loudly.  When that didn't work, I just asked him to take me home.  This sounds worse than it was- it was really just...odd.  I think I figured out that Nick just has No Game.  Does he not understand what to do with dates?  Is he just out of practice, or is it something more?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He drove me home, (we did kiss a little in the car) and of course asked to see me again right away. He has texted since I have been writing this.  Huh?  I can't figure this one out!  I thought I was starting to like him, but unless he opens up, I can't foresee a future of silent dating!  Stay tuned...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-2714689820035084386?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2714689820035084386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=2714689820035084386' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2714689820035084386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/2714689820035084386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/no-game-at-game.html' title='No Game At The Game'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-8361006719563311939</id><published>2008-07-02T17:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T18:40:51.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Rest For The Weary</title><content type='html'>So here's the thing- I am exhausted.  I didn't realize this until 15 minutes in to my date with Alex last night.  Alex is a 6'4" surfing cameraman for the 49ers.  Sounds sexy, right?  He looked so cute online, that I was willing to overlook the fact that he had a kid (just not my usual thing. Plus, since I am -ahem- not exactly a spring chicken myself, I figured I should be more inclusive, right?)  Anyway, you know that blind date feeling when someone is walking toward you, and you're going "oh wait, really?".  What was tall and muscular online was more like tall and gangly in person.  The super thick blonde hair had been recently cropped way too short.  The smoldering masculinity I was expecting was actually sort a of puppy-dog goofiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met on the roof of a bar that had a truly stunning view of the city.  Gorgeous!  And FREEZING.  What I am learning about San Franciscans is that they need to be outside ALL THE TIME.  They don't care about how cold it is, or how many articles of North Face they have to wear, and they certainly don't care about their hair.  Coming form the land of eternal sunshine, I find this particularly amusing, as Angelenos are never really out of doors (except when waiting for the valet.)  I think I had rooftop drinks in LA exactly once.  Anyway, I digress...  Back to Alex.  He had just come from winning a frisbee golf (!) tournament, and announced that because he won the pool of $40, "the first couple" drinks were on him.  Oh dear.  This was about the time that I realized that slippers and flannel pajamas sounded absolutely heavenly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't really all my date's fault.  This was my 6th date in 12 days.  (Is that a record, btw?)  I have had so many small talk conversations (LA vs. SF!  my family/professional background!  and, without fail: The Weather!) and had gotten dolled up so many times that I was a little bit drained.  I was counting on the adrenaline rush of meeting up with a Scott Speedman lookalike to get me through it.  When that wasn't the case, I suddenly realized that what I needed more than "so, do you have any brothers and sisters?" was a night off.  But I hung in there for a couple of hours and a couple of drinks.  Dennis made some odd remarks about avoiding girls with alcoholic fathers (without knowing one thing about mine), how expensive the bill was, and kept referring to his son as "my boy".  Okay...TTG?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I made it home, I snuggled into those flannels, and did what every girl with 3 sangrias and a mediocre date in her system would:  I put on SATC and texted the ex.  And then I got my much needed rest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(**Not too much rest, though! Tonight is Date 3 w/ Nick and tomorrow is a another first date!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-8361006719563311939?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8361006719563311939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=8361006719563311939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/8361006719563311939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/8361006719563311939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/no-rest-for-weary.html' title='No Rest For The Weary'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1576636024926108459.post-9037207183399665933</id><published>2008-07-01T00:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T18:47:25.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Makeover My Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SJ5INdDl8yI/AAAAAAAAABA/y76eAkl6QIE/s1600-h/tl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SJ5INdDl8yI/AAAAAAAAABA/y76eAkl6QIE/s320/tl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232699213026292514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Last night was Date 2 with Nick from Chicago. He is 39, a financial consultant, 6'0", looks like Jason Bateman (but if JB hadn't updated his wardrobe in the last 10 years. Oh well.) Date 1 was a good one- cute wine bar, romantic walk and swanky drink at the Top of the Mark, little kiss at the cab. He asked me out again at the end of the date, followed up with a text at 10:30 the next morning. On it! Into me! Hmmm... I'm not familiar. What exactly is going on here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner at 8, I was more or less on time, and then... I drove. After spending the week figuring out the optimal SF transportation dating formula (bus to, taxi home, btw) I somehow forgot it all. I got in my car and drove there like the LA girl that I am. I will never, ever make this mistake again. After 25 minutes of looking for parking, I made it in to meet Nick. Cute, not mad, (and still dressed as if it was 1998. Oh well.) Dinner was good, conversation flowed, my honest assessment was that this man was digging my scene. Always a good feeling. I, on the other hand, was still on the fence about him. Like the Bachelorette, I felt that he wasn't "opening up" enough. I just didn't have a good sense of who this guy was. We went for a drink afterwards, he kissed me in the bar- not quite sure. Not bad, but not socks-knocking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drove him home (another hazard of being the one with the car) and he asked me up. I strategically parked in 2 hour parking, just in case he had any other ideas. And then- The Apartment. It was in one of those big character-free buildings- not my favorite, but fine. It was neat enough, and decorated in true bachelor fashion with weird posters and a really big bean bag. Again, nothing I haven't seen before- fine. But on my very short house tour, I immediately spied 2 items that sent off little "Alert!" signals in my head. Number One was a small framed photo of Cary Grant on a book shelf. Seriously. And then, above the (decidedly unsexy) bed, there was Number Two. A great big print of a Warhol Marilyn Monroe. Say what? Now, I'm no homophobe, except when it comes to my dates. I suddenly felt like I knew why this "catch" was single, why he was 'holding back"... My mind was reeling with thoughts of Tom Cruise-style sexual repression. I asked him about CG, and he said it was the photo that was in the frame when he purchased it. He kept it up for.. "a joke"? I'm not sure how funny that joke is. I couldn't bear to ask about Marilyn. Hopefully they are holdovers from an ex (of the female variety.) I tried to put this stuff out of my head and got down to the business of a little make-out. Again, not the best, but not terrible... meh. What was wrong with me? Here was this handsome, successful guy who was clearly into me, and now I was the one holding back. Maybe it was Cary looking on, maybe it was the need for a wardrobe update. But isn't that all just superficial? Is Mike just a makeover away from fantastic?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Date 3 is Wednesday, so I guess i'll know more then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1576636024926108459-9037207183399665933?l=dbnsgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/9037207183399665933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1576636024926108459&amp;postID=9037207183399665933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/9037207183399665933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1576636024926108459/posts/default/9037207183399665933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dbnsgirl.blogspot.com/2008/07/makeover-my-heart.html' title='Makeover My Heart'/><author><name>Jane Jones</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12418591873464811982</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tEwyBhN4NzY/SJ5INdDl8yI/AAAAAAAAABA/y76eAkl6QIE/s72-c/tl.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
