Taking a page from “The Bachelorette”

Author: Single. Approachable. Girl.
November 25, 2010


Ali and her men (scratch out Frank)

Ali and her men (scratch out Frank)



I’m not a huge fan of The Bachelor, but I never miss a season of The Bachelorette. I have two reasons for this:


1. It’s entertaining to watch grown men get insanely jealous when the girl they like goes out with other people. (Hi Kettle, I’m Pot. You’re black).

2. This show is a perfect example of a woman being forced to listen to my Grammy’s Dating Advice. By design, she is dating multiple guys at the same time before making the biggest decision of her life.


Let’s be real. adidas messi 2017 In real life, Ali would have met hot Roberto and immediately cancelled her dates with Frank and Chris because she would never want to potentially ruin an opportunity with the seemingly perfect, gorgeous, x-baseball player. Openly dating multiple guys at the same time (and accepting over-night dates with each one in Tahiti) is frowned upon in the real world.


But should it? Are we (ladies) setting ourselves up for failure by clinging to the best available option, shunning all other men and dating exclusively for years until we break down and get married? We might as well get married to these guys after the 4th date. Isn’t it the same thing?


That’s what I love about watching this show. Whether Ali likes it or not (and I tend to believe she does) she is forced to compare and contrast these guys over a total of 3 months to find the best fit for her. The only thing that is that this is a show. They are on camera 24/7 and the only “alone” time they ever have is in that overnight suite. Not the makings for a strong relationship (hello Vienna and Jake).


So maybe I should take a page from The Bachelorette and give this a shot in the real world.


I’ve been thinking about this over the past few days because I came home after work this week to find a CD tucked in the bars of my screen door with a note from Apartment B. louboutin homme The CD was of some music he’d been playing one night that I said sounded good on my way up the stairs. The card was his business card and on the back it said, “Call me or stop in anytime. Love to get a drink with you!”


The idea of dating someone in my apartment building brings up a whole new host of Melrose Place-type issues that we can get into another time.


For now, let’s dive into the fact that I am still hanging out with Hot Shy Guy (HSG) – even though I’ve halted writing about him, at the impassioned request of my more vocal readers. And while we have not talked about being exclusive, I do feel that he might be frustrated if I accept drinks with Apartment B.


That said, I also feel that at 29, I would be doing myself a disservice by dismissing other date requests just because I’ve passed the four-date-mark with HSG.


I think the best thing to do is to mention to HSG that it’s important to me that I don’t get too serious too fast, and then hope for the best. Oy. I’m such a dude.


So. A real life Bachelorette. adidas yeezy I’m sure I can handle it. I mean, I already successfully navigated a “Group Date” when I went 4 for 7 on Valentine’s Day.


“There’s a thin line between rapist and aggressive”

Author: Single. Approachable. Girl.
August 8, 2010

There’s really not much else to say. This is a direct quote from my date with Apartment B.


Happily, I have three locks on my door.


woman-scared



“Is that a mirror in your pants?” would have sufficed

Author: Single. Approachable. Girl.
July 24, 2010

Flattery_Pick_Up_Lines


As you may remember from My Pinkalicious Move, I recently moved apartments.


I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t met many of my neighbors yet, but maybe that’s just the way it is in apartment buildings. Even when I do run into them, we’re merely laundry baskets passing in the night.


But, being a single, approachable girl, I suppose I was bound to meet my single guy neighbor eventually. I just didn’t realize the theatrics that would be involved…


I had two girlfriends staying with me for the weekend and I was thrilled to host them at Chateau S.A.G. I even set-up The S.A.G. Cafe outside my front door with an adorable table and chairs I found at IKEA. Since it was the one and only hot weekend of the summer, we spent a good amount of time at the cafe drinking wine in the early evenings.


So there we are, just three girls chatting away about boys, sex, weddings and birth control when we hear a guy suddenly break into a cappella opera at the top of his lungs. The singing disrupts our gossiping for roughly 10 seconds and then we look each other, shrug our shoulders and continue on.


Just when we start tuning out the singing, one of my girlfriends grabs my arm (looking terrified) and points down the stairs leading up to the cafe. Standing at the bottom of the steps is the mystery opera singer. He’s in his mid-30’s, wearing a green t-shirt and jeans, bracing himself with both bannisters and looking directly at us.


My Karaoke etiquette kicks in and I turn to my friends and say under my breath, “don’t…laugh.” It was a little late for that, but they tried their best to hold it in.


Girlfriend #1 whispers in my ear, “I’m so uncomfortable…I’m starting to sweat.”


In an attempt to wrap up the serenade, I wait for a pause in the song and start clapping. He waves his pointer finger up in the air gesturing that he is not done. I stop clapping immediately and the singing goes on for 15 very long seconds. At the end of his last note, he jumps off the stairs and darts into one of the apartments below.


We wait, but hear nothing but crickets.


Girlfriend #1: Is he coming back?


S.A.G. I don’t know, but I think we just met my single male neighbor. He’s quite good.


Girlfriend #2: He must be on drugs.


In hindsight, it’s pretty remarkable how quickly we were able to carry on with our conversation as if nothing had happened. Apparently we’ve become completely unfazed by druggies and eccentric actor-types in L.A.


It was about 10 minutes later that my friend grabs my arm again. I look down the stars to see the same guy, running toward us wearing a motorcycle helmet. For a moment I was fearful he was going to bash our heads in with the helmet, but he stopped at the top of the stairs, opened the front visor of the helmet and said, “The FBI is after me!”


He then puts down the visor and begins running circles around the apartment complex until he reaches the same downstairs apartment and runs inside. Once again, crickets.


Girlfriend #2: Definitely mushrooms.


S.A.G.: I can’t believe the one single guy in my new apartment building is certifiable. I’m legitimately nervous for what is going to happen next.


We wait for a bit, but nothing happens. We tentatively start chatting again, this time glancing down the stairs every minute or so.


Eventually, we see him walking up the stairs at a normal pace, completely silent and sans props.


With a fake english accent (which goes well with his thick, handlebar mustache) he says he felt it was time he come up and introduce himself to “m’ladies.”


S.A.G.: Hi (cautiously extending my hand for a handshake), I’m [S.A.G.] and I’m your relatively new neighbor.


Odd new neighbor: (Kissing my hand) Lovely to meet you, but I am not your neighbor. I’m an merely visiting my friend who lives in the apartment below.


(phew)


It becomes clear that this guy is harmless and not on heavy drugs. He is, however, a fairly gifted and overly eccentric actor who thought it would be fun to break-the-ice with the girls upstairs with an impromptu showcase.


We engage in conversation with this new-found, odd friend and eventually he calls down to my actual neighbor and invites him up.


I was pleasantly surprised to find that my actual neighbor (we’ll call him Apartment B)  is a funny guy, in his mid-thirties, who is less likely to break into The Three Tenors’ greatest hits.


We ended up spending a good remainder of the evening hanging out with our new friends.


We never did have the heart to tell them that a cheesy pick-up line would have sufficed.