From the guy who can't forget me (Grammar Guy)...

... to the guy who doesn't even REMEMBER me (Amnesia Guy).

A few weeks ago, I got a Facebook friend request from a guy I briefly hung out with a couple of years ago. He and I had met at the Winking Lizard in Lakewood while we were both there watching a Cavs game.

That nite, he gave up his bar stool for me, we chatted all nite and then exchanged numbers (and a kiss) at the nite's end.

In the ensuing weeks, we hung out at each others' houses a few times, watching Cavs games and movies. We texted a lot, though we only occasionally talked on the phone. (Go figure.)

I even still have his number in my phone. (Remember my rule about not deleting numbers?)

Fast forward to the past couple of weeks.

I thought it was a little odd that he added me as a Facebook friend, but we did know a couple of people in common so I didn't think it was all that weird.

Until I got this message a day or so after I accepted his friend request:

Hi AAB,

i recently ran into someone that said that you and i went on a date that i cant rmember. You are a beautiful girl and im sure i wouldnt forget that. if we did go on a date please refresh my memory and let me know when and where and please forgive me.

I hope all is well.

Amnesia Guy

(AAB sidenote: I've gotta believe the person who told him that was The Banker, since they knew each other from growing up, which The Banker and I discovered when we were talking one day.)

For mother effin' real? How do you not remember hanging out with someone on a NUMBER of occasions? I mean, I get it if someone's name doesn't necessarily ring a bell. Or if you only saw the person one time. But c'mon.

The kicker is that we hung out no fewer than four times. And, I actually think there were a couple of other times that we ran into each other when we were out with our own groups of friends. But there were at least four times when it was JUST US.

So, I politely wrote him back, told him I was glad that I was so memorable, outlined in great detail the instances we hung out and thought that was the end of it.

Until he wrote back.

And asked me to call him. (His exact message was: call me xxx-xxx-xxxx.)

I didn't. (Eff you. If you can't even remember me, why would I bother?)

So then he wrote back again a couple of days later asking me to please call him because this has been driving him crazy and he just wants to make sure I was right. (His exact words, BTW.)

Um, I was definitely right, Amnesia Guy. When I broke it off with you years ago. Eeeew.

P.S. In case you're wondering, I responded to that last message from him with a big fat eff you. (Actually, I didn't say eff you per se. But I did tell him that I had no interest in rehashing the times we hung out when he couldn't even remember who I was. After, of course, I described in detail what his living room looked like so he knew that I wasn't making shit up. Bitchy? Probably. Necessary? Definitely.)

i don't want 2 git wit u

During the revelry that was the all-girls bachelor party for our friend Brian a couple of weekends ago, I gave my number to a guy who was hanging out near us at the Velvet Dog.

What a mistake.

(And I wasn't even drunk.)

(OK, I wasn't even that drunk.)

Anyhow, he called three times the day after we met (but did not leave a message), then sent me a text the following day:

Hello AAB this Grammar Guy from the roof top saturday night. How u do n what's up wit u

Ummm... that is just all kinds of wrong. (Especially b/c anyone who knows me in real life calls me the Grammar Queen. Even though I take a lot of grammatical liberties when it comes to my blog. Like that past non-sentence, for example.)

Anyhow, I immediately knew I was not interested. But I didn't want to be a complete bitch, so I politely wrote back (with correct grammar) and told him that I had a long day at work and was heading to a meeting for the rest of the nite.

Below is the series of follow-up texts that I received from him (none of which I responded to):

• Jus takin it easy. Call me when your done I want to talk to u. What type if (sic) work u do (sent late last Monday)


• Goodmorning AAB. Hope u have a wonderful day today. When u get a minute give me a call or text. ***Grammar Guy*** (sent last Tuesday morning before 7am -- and, yes, he did sign his name with three stars on either side of it)


• Hi AAB. Give me a call when u get this message. (sent later that same day around 5pm)

He then proceeded to call me TWICE that nite. The last time he called, he left a message and said he wasn't going to call again if I didn't call him back.

(And, P.S., he talks just like he texts.)

I didn't call or text back. So I thought the saga was over. Until I got this doozy on Thursday:

Hi, Always a Bridesmaid. Jus wanted to know if I could meet u somewhere or take u out this weekend.

Now don't get me wrong. I realize that not everyone was an English major in college... but I also can not ever imagine dating someone who talks and/or texts like 50 Cent. I mean, the word "just" has a "t" on the end of it, FYI.

Man, I obviously needed Jorge as a wingman the nite I met the Grammar Guy... to "jus" keep me AWAY from him!

***Always a Bridesmaid***

Once again proving...

... that men and women think TOTALLY differently.

While emailing with a male friend today to finalize our lunch plans for next week, he mentioned that he finally got around to reading my blog after months of teasing me about it.

His response to my recent prayer card post? (You know, the one that is all sweet and talks about being pure and finding a life companion and other virginal stuff? Yeah, that one.) This is what he had to say about it:

do you think there is a prayer card that will help me meet slutty women?

Nice, Doug. And male reader Narm commented on that same post:

Whoa - there is a prayer that also involves 50 days of indulgence? AND it comes with dessert??? What church do YOU belong to.

Sounds like both boys are looking for some sort of dessert (both figurative and real). And come to think of it, I guess I am too... but mine would be in the form of cake. Beefcake.

Praying for my love life... again (again)

I've written before about my religious (but not in a psycho holy roller on the loose kinda way) family sometimes getting extra Catholic on me to help me find a husband.

Well, it appears that blogaunt has taken "Just Date Me for Jesus Christ's Sake June" quite literally and sought some divine dating intervention for me from the big guy upstairs this month.

On Father's Day, blogaunt stopped over with some prayer cards for me and my sissies.

(Interestingly enough, she also brought three desserts over as well... which sort of qualifies as more devilish than angelic three weeks before a beach vacation, doesn't it?)

Anyhow, the prayer card she brought for me was to (what else?) help me find a hubs. And in my attempt to be all sweet and holy, I'll share the prayer with all of you single ladies too.

A GIRL SWEETHEART'S DAILY PRAYER

O Mary, Model of pure love, and therefore of sweethearts, I beseech Thee to direct me in my choice of a future husband. Grant me especially wisdom and deliberation in this choice. Make both my friendship and courtship chaste, unselfish, prudent, thrifty and cheerful. Be my companion in single as well as in wedded life.

Then it says "50 day's Indulgence" at the bottom of the card. What do you suppose that means? That I should say this for 50 days and on day 51 *poof* I have a BF?

(If that's the case, check back here the week of August 10 and let's see what's going on.)

So, I'm going to say this little ditty for the next 50 days and see what happens.

And while I'm at it, I'm gonna try to find the prayer to patron saint of vacation-worthy abs and thighs too...

A (Mc)sizzlin' Saturday

One of my favorite parts about having all my friends get married is the pre-wedding bachelorette bash. I mean, who doesn't love a nice confection in the shape of male genitalia, right?

Well, this past weekend was a first for me in celebrating a friend's pending nuptials. My girlfriends and I actually threw an all-girls bachelor party for our friend Brian (the groom-to-be of the bride we celebrated for last weekend).

Brian has always been like one of the girls (he's the kind of guy who makes you take your shoes off when you walk into his impeccable house), and we've all been friends with him since 'N Sync was cool.

(OK, maybe 'N Sync was never really "cool"... but work with me here...)

Anyhow, we decided to throw a bachelor party for Bri to help him celebrate his last weeks of singledom with his best girl friends (even though we all know deep down that he'll be waaaaaaay better off once he gets hitched).

We hit up Sushi Rock for dinner, gave him some questionable gifts (can you say gay section at Ambiance?) and then surprised him with tickets to see Artie Lange at the Improv (he's a huge Howard Stern fan).

After that, we took the party to (where else?) the roof of the Velvet Dog. Like last weekend, it turned out to be a crazy nite. Lots and LOTS of random conversations. And shots.

When the bar closed, we decided to head to Panini's for a piece (or three) of 'za. And guess who we saw there when we arrived, ladies and gentlemen?

McSizzle.

Yep, he was there with one of the friends whom we had met with him the weekend earlier. The friend immediately recognized us and came over to chat (while McSizzle was otherwise occupied by a blonde in a heinous red satin shorts jumpsuit... I mean, really... where do you even BUY something like that?!?!?).

Once McSizzle said goodbye to the slutty Mrs. Claus wannabe, he came over and chatted with us too. The boys agreed that we should exchange numbers so we could help show them around town. And during the course of that conversation, we also discovered... wait for it... that McSizzle has a long-distance girlfriend.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand there you have the story of my love life.

But at least now I'll never wonder about the "what if" with him, right?

Now if only I could retract that Facebook message... ;)

Who's your daddy?

This Father's Day weekend, I wanted to take some time to recognize the only man in my life right now... blogdad, of course!

It's worth noting that the crazy dance-off blogdad participated in at my friend Michele's wedding a few weeks ago is partly to blame for the fact that he is now hobbling around in a giant plastic cast for the next 6 weeks.

Yep, that's right.

Blogdad has a severe tendon injury (partly) from ass-slapping my friends on the dance floor at a wedding.

Aaaaaaand you wonder where I get it from.

Anyhow, here's hoping this weekend brings me a (sugar)daddy of my own!

(Speaking of potential sugardaddies... no, I have not heard from McSizzle. Don't worry -- you will be the first to know if he emails me back!)

I just had to check my underwear...

... to make sure I didn't grow a set of balls.

(All clear.)

So, I guess that means I've simply grown a set of metaphorical cajones instead.

Why?

Well, after discovering McSizzle's identity (thanks again for the assist, Piper!), I bucked up, (slightly) freaked out and just effing went for it.

I sent McSizzle a message through Stalkbook. (I mean, Facebook.)

I'm really not expecting a response. A few reasons for this:

• I am just some crazy chic who quasi-stalked him after hanging out at a bar for less time than a episode of Real Housewives of NJ lasts.


• I'm not entiiiiiiiiiiirely sure I emailed the right guy. I mean, I'm 97% sure based on his (pretty unusual) name and college, but his FB profile was private so I couldn't check for sure.


• If I did email the right guy, maybe he doesn't have computer access yet, in which case he won't know that I emailed him. I mean, he did just move here last week. And he's probably got more important things to do. Like... oh, I don't know... start his residency.


• And even if I did email the right guy and he does have computer access, I have no idea how often he goes on/checks his FB account. He didn't have a profile pic, which leads me to believe it may not be all that often.


• And even if I did email the right guy and he did get the message... he might just not be interested. (Dummy.)

That said, I do have some hope for why he just miiiiiiiiight respond:

• I'm not gonna lie... my FB profile pic right now (which he will obvs see) is pretty darn cute. I even look like I have cleavage! (Thanks, Vic!)


• He told me that he couldn't wait to make new friends in Cleveland because he doesn't really like to hang out with people from work. (Which is all he knows right now.) Ahem. I'm friendly! (But not in that way, blogdad... don't worry.)


• Maybe he'd think it's flattering that some random chic tracked him down and emailed him. And, the message wasn't all creepy-stalkerish either. No "I could really see you fathering my children" type of messages here. Nope. Just played it cool and simply suggested that my friends and I would be happy to serve as the welcome wagon for him and his friends if they're trying to find fun/cool places to go in C-town (thinking it would be less creepy if I made it sound more like a group/casual thing).

Regardless, I honestly can't believe that I did it. Am I crazy? Or just really ballsy? Or both?

Jorge may have been replaced already...

... by Piper.

(While I don't know Piper in real life, you may remember that she shared a dating story with us about a month or so back.)

Anyhow, Piper would make blogmom so proud with her Cyber MacGyver stalking skills. A true virtual wingman, my friends.

Let's just say that she may have helped me find McSizzle.

(And, by "may have," I mean "99% did.")

Now I just need to figure out what to do with this information...

Stay tuned, guys!

Meet my new wingman

His name is Jorge. Jorge's original job was as the cake topper at the bachelorette party. But once the cake was served, the bride-to-be removed him from the cake, licked off the icing, handed him to me and told me that I'd be taking at least one guy home that nite.

And I'll tell you what... even though he was the only man who came home with me, this little guy proved very useful in starting conversations with many boys during Saturday nite's bachelorette festivities.

And what festivities they were.

The real party started around midnite when we left the Mercury Lounge and headed to the rooftop deck at The Velvet Dog. It was packed up there, the weather was awesome and everyone was feeling just tipsy enough to really get the party rolling.

The bride-to-be and many of her college friends were on a mission to find me a man.

And that's when we all saw him.

(Being 6'6", he was sorta hard to miss.)

So, with a few gin & tonics in my system and Jorge to back me up, I literally just walked right over and backed that thang up into the hottie. He was amenable (phew!), and we started chatting right away. Early on in our conversation, I learned that he had just moved to Cleveland last week from Chicago because he's starting his 3-year residency here.

And so was born McSizzle. (Even hotter than McSteamy or McDreamy.)

McSizzle and I chatted for quite a bit (at least, in tipsy/bar terms it was a while). But then I actually felt sorta bad ditching the party (even though everyone was watching the whole conversation from afar anyhow), so when I had to use the little girls' room I decided that I'd head straight back to the bachelorette group after I did. But as I did so, McSizzle grabbed my arm and pulled me over to talk to him again. Hmm... a definite sign of interest, no?

He was funny, cute, smart and outgoing. Tall, athletic build. Nice hands and teeth. Cool name. Told me I was the first Cleveland friend that he had made (he was there with other residents who were from out of town too), and suggested that he'd like to hang out again.

But as McSizzle and I talked, an honest-to-goodness So You Think You Can Dance-esque dance-off started, and our attention quickly turned to the craziness that ensued. I can honestly say I have never seen something like that in my life.

(And that's saying something, considering I have seen blogdad dirty dance with every single one of my friends.)

Let me try to paint the scene for you. Do you know the scene in the movie The Ten Commandements when Moses parts the Red Sea? Yeah, it was kinda like that, except in this scene, the "sea" was actually spilled beers and Jack & Cokes, and the "parting" was actually the formation of a giant dance circle, where various men entered trying to one-up the previous guy's moves in an effort to win the affections of our dear bachelorette.

There was the "jumping up and down" guy. (Actually, there were several.)

And the "pull my shirt over my head" guy.

Then "the worm" guy.

And "the breakdancer" guy.

Even McSizzle got in on the action at one point. (And, man. That boy could move.)

(Somewhere in there was also a 10-second boob flash from one of our party attendants. But I'm trying to erase that from my memory.)

So here's the problem... somewhere in the craziness of the 10-minute SYTYCD ridiculousness, I lost sight of McSizzle. Before I had a chance to pull the business card trick on him.

Eff.

So now I'm left to wonder... should I "accidentally on purpose" hurt myself and head to the ER in the hopes of seeing him again... or just trust that Jorge has other plans in mind for me and see what's waiting in the second half of JDMFJCS June?

You know you've been in a lot of weddings when...

... someone comes up and tells you that they saw a picture of you in a florist's "look book" when they were checking out vendors for their wedding.

True story. (It just happened to me yesterday.)

Speaking of pictures, have you heard about this new contest that the Cleveland Museum of Art is doing to promote its Summer Solstice bash? They're going to be posting pictures every day of different places around Cleveland as seen through the eye of a pool noodle. If you comment on a pic, you are entered to win Solstice tickets and a free CMA membership.

This, of course, got me thinking. What if my readers emailed me pictures of places they think I should go to meet boys? I mean, I do tend to frequent a lot of the same places time and again... which also means I see the same (often married or taken) boys time and again.

Maybe I need to venture out a bit more?

(For example... I recently went to the Starbucks at 271 and Chagrin -- a rare visit for this West Side chic -- for a business meeting and the place was FILLED with cute boys. Unfortch, I was with my CEO at the time so I couldn't exactly pull out my mackin' moves.)

So consider this your charge, guys. Email me a picture of a place in Cleveland that you think I should go to meet some new potentials for JDMFJCS June. Contest ends... well... at the end of June. (Duh.) The prize is the finders' fee (provided I end up with a dude that I met at your suggested locale) and me writing about your brilliant suggestion on the blog.

If all goes well, maybe I'll even have a date to take to that Summer Solstice party...

Lame-o lunch

Hi, guys. It's lunchtime on Tuesday. You know, the same time that I was supposed to be having a soiree with The Ram.

But I got an email from him late last nite saying that he had to postpone our lunch -- again -- due to work. (And this time, he didn't reschedule with me.)

Which is interesting, considering that I just mentioned in my last post how I had a weird feeling about this whole scenario anyhow. I must have ESP! (I definitely have PMS.)

Listen, I am the first person to understand when stuff needs to be rescheduled because of work. It happens to me all the time.

(It may surprise you to learn that my professional life is actually really quite good... you know... the exact opposite of my love life right now.)

That said, I am also smart enough to know that if you are even the slightest bit interested in someone, you usually make every effort to try to see them... especially after rescheduling once already.

Blogdad didn't raise no dummy.

This guy ain't interested.

End. Of. Story.

As they say on MTV... NEXT!!!!

(AAB sidenote: Speaking of cheesy MTV shows and blogdad... he once told me that he wanted us to go on that Parental Control show where the mom and dad each get to pick a date for their daughter/son. I told him that I was pretty sure I wasn't eligible since I am almost twice the age of most of the contestants.)

JDMFJCS June!!!!

Garnering 61% of the vote, this month's dating adventures will hereby be deemed Just Date Me for Jesus Christ's Sake June!

(Or, JDMFJCS June for short. Apologies to any holy rollers who might find that name offensive. It's all in good fun, I promise.)

Here's hoping it works.

Because I've got a busy week ahead. Which will either lead to a lot of interesting boy interactions or a lot of disappointing ones:

• Tuesday: rescheduled lunch soiree with The Ram. When we initially made these plans weeks ago (after we had run into each other about a hundred times in two weeks), I was really excited. But the more time has gone on (and we haven't seen each other), the more I've got a weird feeling about it. But sometimes gut instincts are wrong, right?


• Thursday: a political fundraiser with my aunt, who is hellbent on fixing me up with some guy that she knows is going to be at this thing. I am not sure how I feel about this potential set-up, seeing as a.) the last guy she wanted to fix me up with 110% looked like David Crosby and b.) she is not good at taking "no" for an answer. (From me.)


• Saturday: bachelorette party!!!! And you know what shows up when there is a gaggle of girls around? That's right: a gaggle of guys.

I also had a couple of other random boy interactions this weekend, but nothing worth writing about. (At least, not yet.) However, I WILL say that the two guys who expressed interest were 11 years apart in age. Whoa, Always a Bridesmaid. Way to pick an age demo and stick with it. ;)

So what do you think? Are you betting on Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday for the best boy story? Any of you have a gut feeling?

No Jorts June (working title)

Crap. I just realized it's already June. Which means two things: 1. Mr. May-be was a bust (as were April Adventures and Manhunt March) and 2. I need a name for June's dating adventures.

And, so as not to get your hopes up, you should also probably know that my lunch soiree with The Ram got pushed back to next week. (Work stuff for both of us.) Pooh.

Crap and pooh. *Awesome* use of the English language, Always a Bridesmaid.

Since I can't seem to find the right words right now... wanna help me name this month's dating adventures? All I can think of is "No Jorts June" (as in, I won't go out with any man who wears jean shorts), but I've got to believe there are better options than that. Ideas?

(Sidenote: for some reason, I'm now singing that Nair commercial jingle that you probably all know, but in my warped little mind I've changed the words to "Who wears short jorts?" instead... God, what is wrong with me?)