"Heaven help me."

Wednesday, July 28th. 2010

Units of alcohol over the weekend:
Friday: 2 Bacardi and Diet Cokes (rough week).

Saturday: 4 Guinnesses, 2 Bacardi and Diets (Irish Festival and Rookies).

Calories: Not horrible.  Minus the late night Taco Bell run.  

Weight: I had lost 4 pounds, and I only gained 2 this weekend.  So really I'm still in the negative.

Food consumed today: 

• a cup of coffee
• special K
• tacos (taco night!)
• 2 of those flavored ice things in the plastic that we used to eat when we were little (what are those called?)

Thanks to Mark, who recently said to me, "You should discuss how you recently found out  how credit cards work, and that you have to pay them back," I've decided to add a new section to my blog!

It's entitled: "Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret" or "Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account." Of late, these include:

-Swarvoski Crystal "Cuff":  $270.

-Swarvoski Crystal ring:  $130.

-10 (15?) new dresses, 15 (25?) new tops, 2 pairs of jeans, 4 pairs of shoes, and all the other everyday clothes I'm leaving out, that I have already forgotten about, and shoved in the back of my closet:  $2,000.

-Victoria Secret bathing suit $160.

-A case (12 bottles) of Skinny Girl Margaritas: $175.

So, the other day I'm internet stalking my current crushes on Facebook, and I realize one is missing.

That's interesting, I think to myself. No, couldn't be. Could it?

It takes a minute for the pieces to fall into place. A quick search shows that he's still on Facebook. But he isn't on my friends list. I'm dumbfounded. Have I been unfriended?

The first thought that pops into my head: OMG, my blog! I'd just updated it the night before. And I'd been trying to hide it from prospective suitors (need I say why?), but maybe I messed up?

Yup, I forgot to block him.

Oh. My. God.

He must have read my blog and unfriended me!

Alejandro tries to comfort me, "Uh, Amanda that relationship was on a fast track to nowhere."

So, our relationship went something like this: he "winked" at me (on Match.com) about a month ago.  He seemed intelligent, well traveled, attractive, and funny.  

His first e-mail was as follows: "I was going to address you as Queen Elizabeth, because she has Corgis, and you have a Corgi, but I decided against it."

Right.

Delete.

But then I hear all the voices inside my head (not in a crazy way) of my friends and family, telling me to go against every instinct I have ever had when it comes to men. Because, well, duh.

So I emailed him back. I made some clever jokes, and started planning our wedding (vineyard ceremony and reception, tent, white lights, purple and grey, "Faithfully" by Journey for our first dance).

The email exchange went back and forth for a while, until he suggested that we talk on the phone.  

The part I dread the most.

My last Match.com phone conversation went like this...

Him:  "You talk like a rich girl."

Me:  "What?"

Him:  "I mean, like a valley girl. But you're smart. It's weird."

Me:  "Uh, thanks?"

Right.  So, the phone rings, and I obviously wait 3 rings to answer.

"Hello," I say in my sexiest, non valley girl voice.

"Hi, Amanda. It's Peter, from Match."

Oh, he's got a sexy voice.

The conversation seems to go well, until we hit a bit of a rocky patch.

Me:  "So, how did you get to travel to all these amazing countries that you referenced in your Match.com profile?"

Him:  "Well, it's kind of a long story."

Awkward pause.

Me:  "Okay."

Another awkward pause.

Him:  "Well, I kind of used to be a Catholic missionary."

Really long awkward pause.

Oh, fuck.  What do I say to THAT?!?  What IS a missionary?  Are those the people that go to poor countries, and try to convert everyone?  

Him:  "I was going to be a priest, but I decided it wasn't the path I wanted to follow."

Me:  "Oh, well, that's cool!  I went to a Catholic school, and was confirmed and all that.  I don't really practice though.  It would be nice to go to church, but there are just some things I don't agree with.  Like, you know the whole gay marriage thing?  Well I have a lot of gay friends, and I think if two people love each other, they should be able to get married.  I don't see what the big deal is.  So, anyway, it just kind of bothers me that..."

Him:  "Amanda."

Me:  "...they can't get married."

Him:  "Amanda.  We don't have to talk about this."

Me:  "Oh. Uh, okay!"

Ok.  Kill me.

WHO TALKS ABOUT GAY MARRIAGE ON THEIR FIRST PHONE CONVERSATION?

I awkwardly end the conversation with Father Peter.

Now, don't get my wrong.  I have no problem with religion or church or God. BUT, I'm just not sure that someone who was 40 seconds away from being a priest forever is the best match for me.  Don't they take vows of poverty?  Or is that just the nuns?  Well either way, I'm pretty sure Swarsoki Crystal cuffs don't blend in at 9:30 mass.

However, I have already purchased my Vera Wang dress, so I decide to pursue things further.

Throughout our next conversation I discover that he is an aspiring opera singer (gaydar, anyone?), and that he "doesn't approve of the melonchoy lifestyle in Ireland."

What does that even mean?

Yeah, I know, it was dead on arrival.

But, do you think I can get my Vera Wang wedding gown made into a cocktail dress?

Pray for me.