If I could date my Google Calendar, I totally would.

It's really the only thing in my life that truly, deeply, understands me.  Sometimes I log into calendar.google.com just to admire it.  But, it doesn't always allow me to date.  It's a jealous calendar.

Dear Biker Bar Waitress, May I see the wine list?

I didn't say this.  But my date did.  My dear friends, who all desire that I couple up sooner rather than later, were introducing me to a new set of folks and said "Oh, you have to hear some of Andrea's horrible dating stories, they're hilarious!" and proceeded to share this gem that I'd long since forgotten.

Last summer, when I was attempting to both avoid dating and force myself out of  my blissful solitude, I went on a date with a guy from PlentyOfFish.  (I've since tried to recreate my search to see if I can find a crazy picture of him. Alas, I can't remember even how old he was.)

After chatting online about likes/dislikes we determined we had a shared love of summer evenings on patios in common which seemed like enough reason to meet.  And so, he suggested that we meet at the Platte River Bar and Grill off Santa Fe. It's a fun enough place, a great place to meet up with friends for a bucket of beers, kindof a loser place in the winter, but summer it's fantastic. It's not a classy place, but it beats Starbucks on a 95 degree day.  And so, we meet.  Remember, this is his suggestion as he says he "loves" this bar. 

So, I arrive.  On time.  I'm always on time.  . 

Twenty minutes later, he arrives.  I couldn't tell you what his name is, what he looked like, or much else.  But I do remember he was late.  Because I'd already ordered a beer.

He sits down and apologizes for running behind.  Our waitress returns and the following is their conversation, verbatim (or as it would play out in the movie of my life.)

Waitress:  "Hey doll, what can I get you to drink?"
Dude:  "Can I see your wine list?"

Cue sound of screeching record and all patrons of the restaurant turning to stare.  Men in leather biker chaps and wife beaters, girlfriends in not much more, with jaws dropped.

Waitress: "Huh?"
Dude:  "Do you have a wine list?"

Waitress: "Ummmmmm.....no, we have two whites and two reds, I think."
Dude:  "What would you recommend?"

Beat.

Waitress:  "Beer."

Waitress then proceeds to give me a withering look like I was out with an absolute fool. 

I vaguely remember the next 30 minutes as being rather painful.  His Chardonnay arrived and he proceeded to try and get me to high five him if I agreed with what he was saying. 

I pulled the "My babysitter just texted" card and left before he could order a second glass.

Going Mamma Bear on my dating self.

My kids are my life.  As a couple of my friends have reminded me, this is new since the divorce.  Don't get me wrong, I've always loved my children.  It's just that in the last three years I've truly begun to get to know them.  I'm not stressed (well, not as stressed).  I hardly yell.  I let things go. I've turned into a total Mamma Bear.  I am, as these friends say, a better mom now than I was when I was married.

But, to be honest, I've also used my kiddos as a shield to help prevent me into getting involved in anything real.  They're an incredible excuse to have when you're on a date.  I don't know how single women without kids escape from bad date situations.  Saying you have to pick them up from the ex/sitter/friend's is such a quick and easy way to ditch a situation.  And who's going to call you out on that?

But, here's the other things I do, as a hyper sensitive single mom, when dating, which maybe aren't exclusive to single moms at all, but just smart things for single women to do:

I don't let the guy know the ages or genders of my kids on a first or second date.  I'm deathly afraid of some guy trolling these dating sites looking for a mom of a young boy/girl in their target age. 

My address is very protected.  With the exception of Mr. Bellyflop and The Happy Meal Toy very few of the men that I've dated know my address.  I suppose they could look it up.  That is if they knew my last name. 

My last name.  I don't often tell it. It rarely comes up.  Guys think that I've told them, and then feel stupid about asking. I have a specific email address that's just for my blind dating that doesn't have this information.  Here's the deal.  The moment I know your last name I'm Googling you.  (Reminds me of one of the best Amanda Palmer song as of late.....).  Because I do this, I assume others do this as well.  My last name changed and my ex-name is much more hit upon than the new one, so there's a buffer. 

I take photos of or write down license plate numbers.  I forward dating profiles to friends before I go out.  I arrive early and look for parking close to the meeting place.  I have a rather unique vehicle, so it's difficult for me to avoid them remembering that I'm in an Orange Honda Element, but still.  Now granted, I'm taking a risk every time I go on one of these dates and if they were of the psychotic persuasion, I guess I'm basically screwed, but for the most part I haven't had any issues. 

 Oh, and I definitely don't let them know about this blog.