Check Yourself, Mate.

Whoo boy am I furious. I don’t actually remember the last time I have said something like that. When was the last time I was furious? I honestly don’t even know.

So let me set the scene.

There’s a guy in the area I’ve been going out with for awhile now.* I went over to play chess with him (Seriously, what is my life? I am beginning to accept the “nerd” label my dates have bestowed upon me) and we got to revisiting some about what our relationship looks like. After telling me things like he liked that I was a wholesome and sweet girl and that he wasn’t sure he could still just be friends, I reiterated I didn’t want to date, but would respect whatever he wanted to do from that point forward. He admitted that I have been very open about my intentions and that he appreciated the honesty, but that his feelings had changed.

We then started talking more about why we work better as friends anyway, his main reason being that we don’t have a lot in common when it comes to activities — fair enough — that, in my opinion, is a great reason to not want to date someone. You need to be able to enjoy going out with one another and bonding over activities.

What he said next, though, completely caught me off guard. This is the way the conversation went:

“Well, I don’t want to sound like a douche…”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t want to be a jerk…”

I sat silently waiting for an explanation, as I wasn’t sure what he could be thinking.

“But maybe we should just put everything on hold until you’re better…”

I was floored.

Was he talking about my POTS? My chronic illness that he has known about for months now?  I sat on my armchair, looking at him as he casually reclined on the couch.

After processing everything he had just said, I realized that was exactly what he was talking about.

Oh. My. Gosh. You sure meant it when you said you would sound like a douche!

Honestly, I totally get it if someone doesn’t want to date me because of POTS. I do believe we all have our own flaws we bring to a relationship, but mine is more confusing than most, and I will never fault someone for wanting something simpler.

But here’s why I think this statement is unbelievably jerky.

He essentially thinks I should work my ass off and shed blood, sweat, and tears (All literally) until I am all better, and then when that day comes this guy — who left me — can have me in all of my fixed glory? Hell no. 

I stared at him blankly until I could come up with the right response to what he just said. I chose my words carefully, as I knew at this point I just wanted to leave and we had absolutely nothing to figure out.

“Okay. That makes this decision really easy now,” I said. “We’re all done here, and I’m going to get going.”

I grabbed my shoes as he said, “I think you’re really mad right now. I think I made you mad.” No shit, Sherlock.

I gathered my things in silence as I marched to the door, knowing fully I would not be coming back.

I honestly didn’t know how to react in a situation like that, but I felt like Beyonce and Taylor were cheering me on as I grabbed my things and left. I can do better than a guy who is going to tell me I’m not good enough for him right now and have the nerve to ask me to come back again later once I’m all fixed. It felt really good standing up for myself and realizing just how much I have grown. It also didn’t hurt that I had smoked him in chess in the very last game we would ever play together. 😉

chess

Do you agree or disagree with my opinion of what this gentleman said to me? Feel free to let me know in the comments!

*Please don’t make assumptions of who it is, as I am dating around right now.

 

A Surprise Visit From Aunt Flo!

Warning: Contains a very girly period story which might make some feel uncomfortable. Please stop reading and come back next week if you can’t handle it!

This is by far one of my favorite date stories.

One of my good girl friends recently started dating a really awesome guy — seriously, they are adorable together.

I hadn’t heard from her in a few days, so was a bit taken aback when she texted me this,

text

My initial reaction was to feel bad for her, regardless of what the situation was. Feeling embarrassed about anything isn’t fun, and she is one of the sweetest girls I know.

“Why, what’s wrong?” I replied.

“I just got my period early. It’s so messy, is all over the chair, and I am wearing white shorts! I don’t know what to say to Dave* now.”

At this point I just lost it.

Don’t get my wrong, I felt so bad for her — that is a girl’s worst nightmare — but if you knew my friend you would also know how well she handles things like this. She is kind of a rockstar, so I knew she would be fine. The mental picture of this happening was just too much.

“Oh my gosh! Does he know yet?” was my next question.

“Yes he knows; I am wearing white shorts! It is so freakin’ obvious.”

“Ugh, that is the worst. I am so sorry! I’m sure he understands, though.”

“Yeah, he does. He is going to the store to get me tampons now, but I’m still recovering from embarrassment. My face got so red!”

“That’s not the only thing that got red. ;-)”I couldn’t help it; she totally set me up for that one!

I followed up with my friend and found out that her bae not only went to the drugstore to get her feminine products, but he also bought her flowers and chocolate after seeing how embarrassed she was. I think he’s a keeper!

Today’s lesson: You should always keep an entire wardrobe in your purse — you know, just in case.

Have you ever been in a situation like this on either end? What did you do?

*Obviously I changed the name. No one wants this kind of story blasted on the Internet.

#TBT

I’m starting a new #TBT segment every few weeks now because I feel like I have a lot of fun stories to tell from my past.

I want to start off with one of my first hilariously awkward experiences with a guy I met in college.

Let me set the scene.

About a month after I was asked to go to New York for the final callback of America’s Next Top Model I got an email inviting me to a pretty exclusive party in Washington DC. It was one of the judges’ birthdays, and they had decided to air it on The Real Housewives of DC. This was a cool opportunity that I didn’t want to miss out on, so I sent in my RSVP saying that I would be attending, despite not knowing anyone there except the guest of honor.

The party was at a swanky bar in the middle of DC and I convinced my dad to drop me off so I wouldn’t have to worry about finding parking in an unfamiliar area of the city. Frankly I was just nervous that I wouldn’t have the guts to walk into the party unless I had someone there to nudge me through the door.

After a 45 minute drive, we pulled up to the front of the bar and my dad stopped to let me out at the front.

“Nice ride,” joked the bouncer as I timidly walked up to the dimly-lit doorway. He was still chuckling as he looked up my name on the list and grazed over my drivers’ license. In hindsight I was really lucky he let me in — I was only eighteen at the time and they had an open bar.

Once I was inside I felt like I needed to settle in somewhere, but was really overwhelmed by all the glitzy people already there. I skimmed the room and saw sequins, martinis, and models, and felt so out of place. I quickly gathered myself, took a deep breath, and decided I just needed to play the part.

I went downstairs and found my friend Paul. I wished him happy birthday and chatted for a bit, then decided to figure out how adulting really works and meet some new people.

paul

This is where the fun really begins.

I sat at the bar with a glass of sparkling water with a lime (Something I thought could pass for a fancy cocktail — I should’ve just gone with a Shirley Temple) and people-watched until a man in a nice suit approached me.

We got to talking and I found out he was in his mid-thirties — quite a bit older than I was at the time — and that he worked for a real estate company in the city. Our conversation was very bland, but I felt relieved to have someone to visit with, so politely listened and nodded along to his stories.

After a good twenty minutes of conversation we finally got up to go gather for some group photos. That’s when it hit me, all at once.

He asked me for my number.

Now that I’m 25, I realize that if I don’t want to give out my number to someone I can politely decline. I don’t owe the person anything, and it saves both of us time and trouble by just being upfront.

My 18-year-old self thought it would be rude to say no, so I went into panic mode. My mind started racing as I tried to think of what I could say, but before my brain could catch up with my mouth I was already spitting out random numbers. I included a “202” area code, along with 7 other numbers I just came up with on the spot.

“202-412-4809,” I said.

“What was that? Sorry — I missed the last few digits.”

Crap.

“Umm, 202-126-8874.” Was that close to what I just said? I can’t remember. Why wasn’t I paying attention to what I was saying earlier? Think, Krista, think!

He looked at me, perplexed.

“I think I must have misheard you the first time. I apologize, but I still don’t have the right number. Could you repeat it for me one last time?”

My mind went blank. I didn’t know what to do or how to recover from this terrible web of phone number lies. So I did what any goofy teenage girl would do and gave the man my best friends’ phone number. It was one of the few I had memorized and I knew if he asked me for it a million times I would continue to get all 7 numbers right.

He gave me a look like I was crazy, typed the number into his phone, and looked at me straight in the eye and said, “Okay, I texted you.”

Both sets of eyes immediately darted to my phone, which was exposed, face-up on the bar. We waited. And waited and waited.

“You sure you gave me the right number this time?” he asked as he looked at me slyly.

“I must just have bad service in here.”

Gosh, I had such lame excuses. I’m ashamed of 18-year-old Krista’s ability to navigate through uncomfortable situations, but I think I have come a long way from there. Then again, I’m sure 7 years from now I will be blogging about some silly situations I get myself into now. Is there ever a point where people stop making rookie mistakes and can just be a pro at life? I guess that wouldn’t make life very interesting, would it?

Today’s lesson: If you are 16 and under, go ahead and just give your best friend’s phone number to any creeps you meet.* If you’re above 16, just politely tell them that you aren’t interested in exchanging contact information, and leave it at that.

*Kidding. Do the same thing the 16+ people do — you’ll be alright!