Tag Archives: dating

A little too vested

9 Jul

Too much suit.

My lack of enthusiastic updates may have already given it away, but I thought I’d make it official.

For all his promise, Vest didn’t make it past the first date. Suffice it to say, his texts should have been a warning that he’s a little too far evolved from his troglodyte ancestors to be exciting.

They do exist!

1 Jul

Ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to present to you proof that the men in Penny’s mind do exist. She and Circe met a vest-wearing specimen this weekend – in a bar of all places.

Exhibit A, texts from Saturday night.

Penny: It was nice meeting you! Thanks for coming to [BAR] with us, despite the lack of DJ.
Vest: It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can get together soon and have a drink.
Penny: Love to! Hope you find your friends… Sorry we had to leave.
Vest: Yea I’m with them now.
Vest: We can discuss game theory over a gin and tonic… or some other intellectual conversation. It’s so rare to find a woman who is attractive but not dull…
Penny: Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the same about men.
Vest: Agreed. The average “modern” man is troglodyte.
Penny: And the women merely Paleolithic?
Vest: No. Just misinformed, I suppose. I can only speak for myself, but I’m into a different type of woman than most guys.
Penny: Good.
Vest and Penny have a date for Tuesday night. We’ll keep you updated!

He does exist. They DO exist! *mutual swooning*


4 Apr


The texts

Circe (SMS): 8pm is fine, the awesome karaoke starts at 9:30 so hope you’re preparing a song.

How I wanted him to respond, without missing a beat:

Nye-al* (SMS): I’m actually taking off the next 2 days of work to practice my falsetto in preparation for my panty-dropping rendition of ‘I Believe a Thing Called Love’.

How he actually responded, 12 hours later:

Nye-al (SMS): Ha. I had already forgotten that it’s a karaoke place. Thanks for the heads up. See you there!

Continue reading

When he won’t stop texting

20 Mar

(Or, apparently Drunk Penny makes quite the impression.)

Strapping Marine (SMS): What’s up Penny? This is Strapping Marine, we met in [CITY] about a month ago. You were awesome, I’m back in town, we should hang out.

Penny: Circeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <<huge breath> eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Circe: Yes, Penny?

Penny: Apparently the ignored texts and unreturned voicemail weren’t enough of a hint. Strapping Marine is back in town. I don’t have to respond, right? This is ridiculous. Wait. Can we go somewhere for the weekend?


Missed Kisses

22 Feb

There are two possible answers to the WHY DIDN’T HE KISS ME? question:

  • It could be me.
  • He could be dumb.

After a quick survey of the P&P crew, we think the answer is pretty universal and definitely obvious.

In Which Polly was Not Meg Ryan and Blonde Beau was Not Tom Hanks

My first kiss was perfect. I was in Disney World for a high school marching band trip (cool kid right here) and a slightly older, british, tenor sax-playing, tennis god (with terrible acne but let’s focus on the positives) seized exactly the right moment and smooched me under the fireworks in EPCOT. It was better than a Mary-Kate and Ashley tween movie.

Well it had to go downhill from there, right?

This is exactly what we didn't look like.A year later I was a senior and courting a very blonde fellow from the nearby all-boys private school. We made adorable plans to skip half a day of school and take a train into the city. Our time was spent exploring an art museum, enjoying a park picnic, feeding the ducks, attending a musical, and eventually finding ourselves at the top of the city’s tallest building looking out at the sparkling lights during the observation deck’s closing hour. There was oodles of hand holding and longing stares and hinting words but not. a. peck.

Of course longing stares take time and we missed all the trains back home. Blonde Beau’s dad had to pick us up from a seedier part of town. So instead of the observation deck (OR the museum, OR the park, OR the theater) he kissed me in the school parking lot where his dad had to drop me off at my car. Slick.

Circe’s Country Song Gone Wrong

This kiss wasn’t missed in the end, but it probably should have been.

So it wasn’t exactly our first kiss…just the first one we both fully remembered (flashback to 3 days earlier, drunkenly making out at a bar). It was a warm spring evening and we had gone to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Aeaea. Croquet Playing Hipster paid: +5 points. Then he suggested taking a walk around the harbor and getting ice cream +100 points (ok, so I really like ice cream…). We walked down by the docks hand This but scarier. With ice cream.in hand for a while, until we decided to sit on a bench overlooking the water. That’s when things started getting awkward.

Conversation became strained as we both tried to determine how close/far we should be sitting from each other, should he put his arm around me, should I lean into him to let him know that would be just fine with me, does my breath smell? (In retrospect, garlic fries may have been a bad first date choice, but if we both ate them, that makes it ok, right?). I felt like I was giving all of the proper signals, and the setting could not have been more perfect.
After sitting there in awkward semi-silence for what felt like an eternity and a half, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I blurted out: “So are you gonna kiss me or what?” Now in my head, this sounded like that cute, playful country song by Thompson Square. In reality, it came off as way too aggressive and accusatory, and I think he was so taken aback/frightened that he finally kissed me so I wouldn’t hurt him.

Penny’s Cuddleless Night

(To be fair: THANK ZEUS NO CUDDLES. I like my space.)

Wayyyy back before MMF and I started actually admitting that we maybe sorta wanted to try seeing each other I accompanied him to a cocktail attire work holiday party and… spent the night.

MMF: Ok, well, here’s the bed and the bathroom is there; I’ll take the couch, obviously.
Penny: You do not have to sleep on the couch. Continue reading

Because giving out your number always goes as planned

31 Jan

The following two scenarios will be unfolding in parallel universes this evening. Unfortunately one of them typically only exists in my imagination, but maybe my endorphin high will help me to find some gumption.

Gumptionless, Typical Penny Thursday:

New apartment –> Fitness Center –> No gym membership needed –> Canceling gym membership tonight –> Goodbye forever, Gym God <<wipes sad tear>>


Gumptionful Meet Cute, Atypical Penny Thursday:

New apartment –> Fitness Center –> No gym membership needed –> Canceling gym membership tonight –> Low-risk opportunity to proposition Gym God

Call me, maybe?

Call me, maybe?

I should just do it, right? Only four salient facts lie between myself and a RomCom-worthy Meet Cute: 1. he is beautiful, 2. he likely has a beautiful lover, 3. I am the most awkward ever, 4. the gym is never a convenient place in which to pick up a potential date.

But, we have this blog and I’ve been boring lately… (Blogs are an AWESOME excuse to do shit you’d never do otherwise, btw.)

Therefore, this evening will find me with a slip of paper, on which is written my name and number*, in my pocket. Should the opportunity present itself, I will slip this paper to Gym God and walk away to resume my workout.

Laters, baby. I’m off to find some gumption. (I should download this song for my iPod, obviously.)

*Last time I gave a guy my number he ended up being a fantastic friend**, so this can’t end too badly, right?

**Who quickly became annoying because he wanted to hang out all the time and wouldn’t take a hint***.

***Still getting random invites, six months later…

Dream dates

6 Dec

Or, what is not going to happen to Penny on Sunday.

Also, probably why Penny cannot get past the third date.

The game was on. Staying at home hadn’t been an option – local rivalry playing out in a kind of  twisted synecdoche on her living room couch – so she shrugged off her jacket and threw it over a stool before leaning against the bar. Better to be among shouting strangers with a cold draught.

“‘If you ain’t a [FOOTBALL TEAM] fan, you ain’t shit’ …what does that make me?” asked a smooth Baritone near her ear.

She turned, wondering if the face would match the voice.

It did.

The well-modulated Baritone was sporting a comfortably worn t-shirt, obviously a game day favorite, proclaiming his loyalty to the opposing team as it stretched across shoulders more at home on the field than watching from the bar. Continue reading

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