Tag Archives: Un-Cute Meet Cute

An Un-Cute Meet Cute: My Driveway

9 Jun

Dear Future Hubby,

I wouldn’t normally consider my driveway a place to meet guys. It’s not like a hopping Saturday night spot with a line around the block. It’s my driveway. But if you think that you can find some way to turn my driveway into a romantic place to meet, than by all means go for it, as this past Saturday gave me hope that even the most mundane places could be potential Future Hubby meeting ground.

My driveway has now become a historical site as it is the place that has provided the most meet cute worthy “un-cute meet cute” yet. Move over, Barista boy and Ireland driver. You just got knocked down on the podium. We have a new contender for meet cute potential while still being…an absolute un-cute meet cute.

NOT how my un-cute meet cute ended - part 1

Saturday morning, at 3 AM, a car alarm started going off outside our apartment. After the disastrous Double Threat ambush I had a few hours earlier the last thing I needed was to lose sleep over a damn car alarm. But seeing as I got my windshield shattered and my car keyed in college, I’m very paranoid about car alarms. I got up to make sure it wasn’t my little Honda, only to find out it was a white truck parked in front of our building. Ugh, ok, back to sleep I went and the alarm eventually went off.

I got up the next morning with a plan to hit up Costco AND Starbuck’s all in an hour and a half. A fete that, if you’ve ever been to Costco, is next to impossible. But I did it and I was quite proud of myself. I didn’t even run over any small children with my cart. When I got home, I began unloaded the bulk toilet paper, paper towels and ramen that I had purchase. I still love the fact that I can buy a 48 pack of ramen for 7 bucks. Score one for me. As I was carting stuff to and from the house, I heard someone approach me on the driveway. I turned around to find a ridiculously hot guy I had never met before. Um, was he some sort of prize for making it through Costco while avoiding all the sample stations cause if so…I need to go to Costco more often.

He wasn’t though. He was the owner of the white truck out front that unfortunately, had it’s window smash in at 3 AM, causing the alarm to go off. I told him the details, the time, but unfortunately by the time I had looked out the front window, I didn’t see anyone, nor had I noticed the window smashed. I apologized, pissed that I couldn’t be of more help to him, especially since he was totally adorable. And what does he say? “Oh no, I’m sorry that the alarm woke you up.” Excuse me while I swoon momentarily. Are you serious? You just got your window smashed in and YOU’RE sorry? We chatted for a few more minutes about contacting his insurance company, how we had parking behind our building so we weren’t parked on the street, etc. He finally ventured off and I sat there kicking myself for not asking if he lived in the neighborhood, if he needed any help cleaning up the glass, if he had a girlfriend, you know the general questions you ask when you’re approached by a hot guy in your driveway. I vowed that in the coming days I would try and see if ever saw the truck again in the neighborhood to confirm if he lived around me.

NOT how my un-cute meet cute ended - part 2

In all of my “Oh, I may have a cute neighbor/dude just chatted me up in my driveway” excitement, I failed to realize that it was probably best if I never saw him again. I quickly realized what I had been wearing during the whole interaction Track shoes, a Friday Night Light t-shirt, spandex work out pants, and a greasy ponytail. Plus I was holding a 48 pack of ramen. First impression fail. My lack of fashion sense for a Saturday morning had just turned my potential meet cute into an un-cute meet cute.

So FH, if you ever feel the need to approach me in my driveway, can you make sure I’m dressed like a normal person that looks like she’s actually taken a shower and put some thought into my appearance? For the record, I had taken a shower before the Costco run. Next time I hear an alarm going off outside my house, I should make sure to be wearing a ball gown the next morning on the off chance that a hot guy approaches me in my driveway to inquire about a busted window.

Xo,
Your Future Wife

An Un-Cute Meet Cute: Wineries

10 May

Dear Future Hubby,

You are not my wine pourer.

Team BearCat hits wine country

Well, you could have been, but honestly, I wasn’t mentally prepared to meet you while having a girl’s day of wine tasting up in the Santa Ynez Valley.  This is not the sequel to Sideways.

Britt, Titfield and I headed up there on Saturday to taste away and surprise the crap out of Britt. She didn’t want a bridal shower, so instead we choose to kidnap her for a “celebration of everything going on in your life since you got engaged shower.” It was an all around kick ass-balls out kind of day that included wine and jackass photo shoots at every winery with ridiculous props. I don’t thinking meeting you while I’m being told to straddle a wine barrel while wearing a bearcat necklace is the right first impression I want to make.  Definitely an Uncute Meet Cute right there.

However, it wasn’t till I got to our first winery that I thought, shit, some of these wine pourers are hot. Insert wheels in my head starting spin. Do any of these boys of the bottle have Future Hubby potential? Can they look past the bearcat necklace or army helmet?

Winery Number 1: Our wine pourer was Jeff who was no joke, everything I look for in a guy physically. Tall, scruffy, looks good in plaid. His hair was a little bit too longer, but that’s not a deal breaker.  He also had extreme knowledge of wine. Seeing as wine and me are besties, this had potential to be a match made in heaven.  He laughed at our jokes and actually paid more attention to us than the slutty, annoying drunk girl at the other end of the table. Point for Jeff. However, the winery had pour stoppers on the bottles, which limited the amount of wine that made it into our glass though he let us sample some of them twice, which was quite nice of him.  However, he didn’t say goodbye to us when we left the table. Sadly, not Future Hubby material. Maybe he knew I was about to go wear a bearcat necklace. Score: 3.5 out of 5.

The view from our picnic

Winery Number 2: Aaron was our wine pourer who hooked us up with the red wines.  I forced Britt and Titfield to stand at the counter with a Bachelorette party so we could make sure to have him serve us and  the girls came through in the clutch.  We got his attention, his name, and began to drink it up.  Aaron wasn’t as knowledgeable about the wines as Jeff was, but he was a littler more personable. Plus, he wasn’t afraid to call himself a Ginger, which he was. Cool points right there. This winery also didn’t have stoppers so by the time we had come inside from drinking the whites, we were sufficiently buzzed. Add healthy amounts of red wine to that and you’ve got yourself a party. However, the reds sucked overall, plus Aaron was rushing us through them. Hey Aaron, you’ve got hot girls in front of you. Stop trying to get rid of us.  Plus, when he found out we didn’t want to buy anything, he peace’d the f out. Not cute at all. Clearly not worthy of my time of day even if he did know that I did do a photo shoot in an army helmet. Score: 2 out of 5.

Paying homage to MJ @ Neverland

At winery three, we didn’t do an official tasting, instead opting to buy a bottle and have a picnic while watching kids take prom pictures on the lawn and critiquing the girls dresses. However, the entire day got me to thinking. There are many more wineries up there. I’m not limited to Jeff or Aaron or even the security guard at Neverland Ranch who threatened us with a $1200 fine for going to pay homage to MJ at the end of the day.

Something tells me there is another weekend in store searching for Future Hubby amongst the vineyards. It has oddles of meet cute potential, not just with tastings, but with winery tours as well. It’s just trying to find the perfect combination: Cute wine pourer with a personality AND wine knowledge, wine bottles without pour stoppers and no bachelorette parties overrunning the tasting table.  If you can meet all of the above requirements, we might just have ourselves an excellent meet cute.

Xo,

Your Future Wife.

An Un-Cute Meet Cute: The Freeway

15 Apr

Dear Future Hubby,

I’m not opposed to meeting you on the freeway. Or expressway or highway or autobahn or whatever you call it in your part of the world. I would totally be lying too if I said I didn’t check out cute guys on the freeway. This is Long Angeles. I’m pretty positive I spend more time in my car than I do in my own bed. Where am I supposed to meet someone if my life consists of work and driving to and from work? You know you’ve done this too. Actually, every single person out there would be lying if they said they didn’t see someone attractive while driving in their car and go “Hey, how the hell can I meet him/her?”

NOT Future Hubby

However, this morning’s commute provided me a ridiculously Un-Cute Meet Cute on the 405. I was stuck in some traffic, not highly unusual seeing as I live in Los Angeles, when this total junker pulls in front of me. I honestly wouldn’t think anything of it except said junker had two stickers on the back: An “Ireland” sticker and an Irish flag sticker. It was like the little Irish leprechaun gods we’re like “Hey, you should check this guy out!”

I tried to do that sly thing where you look in their rear-view mirror and their side mirror to try and get a glance at him. I could tell him wasn’t some old guy so that’s the first major plus. I’m also willing to forgive the ugly, red, two door Oldsmobile that’s rusting for the sole fact that there are Ireland stickers on it. Clearly, anything Ireland related is the way to my heart.

After a few more minutes of driving, I decide that I can’t really get a good look unless I pass him and thanks to a sudden break up of traffic, I was able to move over to the fast lane. So here I am, coasting at 70 mp, thinking I’m about to pass by my future hubby. I mean, what other signs do I need? Irish stickers are clearly a sign that we’re meant to me. The anticipation is building and as I zoom past him, I look over to discover he is anything but my future hubby. He’s just merely some awkward looking guy who could pass for probably both 15 and 40 at the same time, while wearing some fake knock off Oakley’s as if those are still in style. My sad little Irish heart was let down and I just kept on driving.

Honestly, had he been like a dreamboat and actually looked over at me too, what the hell would I have done? Rolled down my window while going 70 MPH and screamed “Hey, you’re Irish? Cool. So am I.”? Not exactly a great conversation starter there. I can’t even properly explain/sell him on Gaelic Gala while driving that fast on the freeway.

In the meantime, I’m going to pray from some really, really bad traffic. We’re talking, “step outside your car to get some sun while you wait for it to break up” traffic. At which point, an excellent Meet Cute could take place as some hot Irish or Ireland loving dude with an accent (this would be you) will of course, be in the car next to me and offer to share the six pack of beer that he miraculously happens to have in his car. Now that’s a good Meet Cute.

Until we meet in really bad traffic…

Xo,
Your Future Wife

PS: I’m a fan of Heineken, just fyi.

An Un-Cute Meet Cute: Starbucks

1 Apr

Dear Future Hubby,

You are not my Starbucks barista.

Here’s the thing you will come to know (and love) about me. I’m addicted to Starbucks.  Like we’re talking “FourSquare Mayor of two Starbucks” addicted to Starbucks. Me and caffeine are best friends. If we don’t have a party every morning, well, you just aren’t going to want to deal with me. Because of my addicted to any and all things Buck, I have “my” stores I hit up. During the work week, I hit up a Starbucks on my way to work, on the weekends I hit the one closer to my house. I go there so often that basically everyone knows me, knows my drinks, and has no problem starting a random conversation with me.

No matching cutsey cups!

Story time. I was at my weekend Starbucks a while back when the guy in front of me in line just randomly turns around and goes “Do you go to the Starbucks on _______ and ______.” Um, why yes creepy Starbucks stalker. That’s my work week ‘Bucks.  We get to talking and it turns out that he’s one of the barista at my work week Starbucks, now venturing to my weekend Starbucks for a tasty caffeinated treat. We talk a bit more, where do you work, blah blah blah, we’re now best buds of the morning coffee nature.  Every time I get my coffee on the way to work, I always see him now. He’s always very friendly, says hi, and knows my drink order like the back of his hand (as do the other baristas there), end of story. Or so I thought.

I carpooled this morning with BowieBride because I get to peace the fuck out of Los Angeles for Easter and go home to Sonoma. I promised her coffee in exchange for a ride to work and ride to the airport, which is quiet convenient seeing as she works upstairs from me.  She’s uber stoked for coffee and some how, on the way over there, I let it slip that I’m on a first name basis with my barista. Big mistake because Britt is totally a member of “Let’s find you a hubby or at least a date to my wedding.” I can hear the wheels in her head start to spin and plot away.

Please unmarry yourself from the espresso machine

We get to the store, go in, start placing our order, and of course, Barista boy is there and starts making conversation with me. “Hey there, how are you? It’s great to see you. Insert some other normally lame pleasantries here.”  This continues until we are finished paying, but starts back up again as we are grabbing our drinks from the bar to head out. “Thanks. I’ll see you again soon.” Yes, you will. On Monday. Cause it’s Monday. And if I could only have coffee one day of the week it would be Monday. Honestly this whole interaction would really go right over my head but with bystander Britt in tow, I spend the rest of the car ride to work being convinced that he’s been flirting with me this whole time.  We’re talking months of flirting. Same shit, different day. B knows her shit, so now I’m a little paranoid that I can never go back to my Starbucks again.  Sure, Barista boy is cute and nice, but the whole of our interaction has been based around how I really just need to be hooked up to an IV drip of coffee. I have more fun looking at the DILFs in the morning who are on their way to work in the Audis than I am concerned with flirting with Barista boy.

So here’s the deal Future Hubby. There is nothing wrong with working at Starbucks, but if you want to talk to me, don’t make our first conversation about how you see me at another Starbucks.  And don’t only talk to me about coffee because I have a brain and a personality and I’m sure you do too. Starbucks only equals an acceptable meet cute if you can talk to me about things NOT involving coffee and you can unmarry yourself from the green apron and black baseball cap.

And if for some reason we do hit it off and Starbucks gets moved from Un-Cute Meet Cute land to an official meet cute, well, we can pay homage to our meeting place by making our wedding colors green, brown and white. At least we knows those colors will work well with Gaelic Gala. Just sadly, there are no Starbucks in Killarney. Try not to cry.

Xo,
Your Future Wife

An Un-Cute Meet Cute: The Gym

31 Mar

Dear Future Hubby,

We cannot meet at the gym. I will not allow this to happen.

Story time.  I’m an avid gym go-er. I go every night after work and at some point during the day on the weekends.  I normally rock the elliptical machine while watching old episodes of Grey’s or LOST on my iPod. Monday though was different. I got to the gym to discover that there were no elliptical machines available. Work out fail. Therefore, I had to settle for a recumbent bike which I loathe. I sit myself down, start peddling, and start watching Grey’s. Normally this wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Normally I can find a bike within the masses, but Monday I was stuck at a bike right near the front door that EVERYONE has to walk past to go work out. Awesome. My gross, sweaty self is in plain site of every single person in 24 Hour Fitness. Second fail of the evening.

This will not be us, end of story.

So here I am, 30 minutes later, sweaty, gross, and about to wrap up my cardio when I look over and see this guy I used to work with at my old job walks in. Normally this would not be a big deal. I can successfully avoid people at the gym like I majored in it in college. I’ve been successfully avoid this girl I worked with who also works out at my gym for at least three months now. This was different though, for the fact that he’s hot and I may have had a minor crush on him at some point. I quickly wipe as much sweat from my face as possible and ramp up my legs so I don’t look like an uber pathetic girl that can’t peddle, and as he walks by, he of course sees me. Insert awkward conversation about my new job, a movie we worked on together, and how he moved so he’s now going to be coming to this gym, all while I’m riding a recumbent bike and looking gross

This is why we cannot meet at the gym. Not only do I look like assface, but the gym is where I am at my most vulnerable and clearly not in the mood to flirt with any guy that walks by. Sure, the gym offers great eye candy, especially mine if you have a thing for Mike Netwon from the Twilight movies (yes, he goes to my gym) but the gym is time for me to work on myself. Not be worried about trying to find you. Also, I really would like to avoid introducing you to the wide array of slightly odd t-shirts I own that I only wear to the gym. This includes, but is not limited to the following:

  • Legends of the Hidden Temple t-shirt
  • Camp Anawana t-Shirt
  • “My Diener is bigger than your Diener” t-shirt
  • Several slightly raunchy bachelorette party t-shirts
  • Several DePaul Blue Crew Event t-shirts

So please design some other sort of meet-cute for us and I will be more than happy to oblige.  Extra points if you can make it like a scene from Pride and Prejudice or Bridget Jones’ Diary. But for the love of god, if you see me walking across the street heading into the gym and think “Hey, that’s my future wife,” can you just wait till I’m done working out, follow me home, then follow me to work the next day and “accidentally” meet me while I’m on my lunch break standing in the massive line at Subway. Not ideal either, but it’s better than meeting me while rocking a t-shirt with Old Mec on it.

Xo,

Your Future Wife

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