Pool Etiquette.

I'm no expert but I suspect I've spent more time swimming laps than your average person. In a perfect world, no one would have to share a lane. You could swim down the middle, doing your weird elementary backstroke, zig-zagging all over the place, to your heart's content. But, sadly, the pool is often not a perfect world and people have to dig deep to that kindergarden place and share.

There are two ways to share a lane: circle swimming (which only really works well when the swimmers are roughly the same speed) and splitting the lane (which only works when there are only two people who need to share the lane and that they can manage to stay on their side of the lane). Pretty simple really.

BUT, here is the key: before jumping in and sharing the lane, you need to stop the person already swimming in the lane and ask/tell them that you will be sharing the lane. That way you avoid what happened to me this morning.

I had followed proper etiquette and was splitting a lane with an older guy. He clearly was not happy about it. Both from his grumpy "fine" and the face that he kept crossing over to my side. I was hugging the lane line but one time I could not avoid my arm hitting his. Thankfully, another lane opened up and he went over there. Everyone was happier. I was mid-way through a sprint set, when another person showed up and wanted to swim. The coach on deck suggested she share with the guy rather than me because they were better matched speed-wise, as I was sprinting while he was slow and she wanted to do drills. Apparently, he did not like the idea of sharing with her for whatever reason. I was at the far end of the pool, making my turn, when he pushed off the wall, went under the lane line and started swimming in my lane. I didn't know that though because I had my head down and was swimming hard. I only learned that when we collided, with him punching me in the chest. I popped out of the water with a loud "motherf-er" from the shock and pain. He didn't say anything but kept swimming. I made it to the end of the lane but it hurt!

By that time, he had gotten out of the pool in huff saying he couldn't share lanes because HE kept getting hit. He said I hit him twice. Which, I guess if you count my chest colliding with his fist, is right. But, I don't count that because he punched ME. He never did apologize either. Swimming usually makes me happy in the mornings but today it left me in a much more aggressive mood!

Taco Tuesday.

I know this is silly but Taco Tuesday is one of my more favorite things. Taco Tuesday is not unique to Theory, but man, are the tacos delicious there. So much so that my parents call Theory the taco place, as if it were some hole-in-the-wall taqueria instead of a sports bar on Hubbard.

M and I try to go every week. We don't always make it but I think we always love it. For people who live in the same building, work in the same office, and work out at the same gym, we can go a surprisingly long time (a few days) without having an opportunity to actually talk. Sometimes, other people join us, which is always welcome. The more the taco-loving, the merrier.

So, what I love about Taco Tuesdays is:

1. Tacos;

2. Prosecco;

3. Tacos;
4. Time to catch up on every detail and story, however small;

5. Tacos;

6. Theory.

No (e)Harm, No Foul.

A couple weeks ago, I gave in and joined eHarmony. The past couple years proved to me that I need help meeting men. Maybe up until five years ago or so, I think there was a stigma attached to online dating. At this point though, even my 76 year old grandmother thought it just makes sense, given the realities of being a younger professional. If you didn't meet your spouse in college or grad school, it is just not easy to meet eligible people when you work (more than) full time. But I digress and will stop being defensive.

Within a couple days, I progressed through the stages of "guided communication" with a guy. On the fourth stage -- email communication (which comes with a full page warning to the extent of "you're on your own, kids . . . don't forget, once you give out your number or address, you can't get it back") -- he asked if I wanted to get a cup of coffee or glass of wine sometime. Since I didn't join for a pen pal, I quickly agreed. He gave me four options of where to meet, all of which were good.

At 8:30 on a Thursday night, I met him for drinks at NoMi. I love that place, as an aside. Drinks went well. I was nervous, which was obvious by the fact that he advised me to catch up with him and drink my drink quickly. Solid advice. After that, conversation was pretty easy and interesting. He asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. Sure, sounds good. He wanted to drive me home because he felt uncomfortable knowing I would be walking alone. Nice touch.

That Sunday, we went to Perennial. This time, he was nervous and I wasn't. Again, nice time had, capped off with drinks at the Pump Room. Because of busy and uncertain schedules, tentative plans were made for a third date. We agreed to drinks on Wednesday night. That afternoon, he had to cancel. No big deal, I understand having a busy week. He wanted to get together over the weekend but I had a friend in town so I was not available until Sunday. He seemed slightly irritated by that but agreed to Sunday for dinner. On Friday, we had a brief, friendly text exchange. On Sunday, I sent him a text asking about his weekend, and was going to confirm dinner.

But, he never responded.

I was surprised by that. Further proof that I do not understand men. As others have pointed out, I've made back my membership fee from just two dates -- not my fault he choose expensive places. So, no eHarm, no foul.

The Hat.

Picture it:

It is 7:30 on Saturday night. K, M and I are sitting on the couch, watching Good Times and trying to figure out what we wanted to do that night. We had options; we did not have motivation or decisiveness. We were all just kind of eh about everything. Then, M had a silly but brilliant idea: we would take a poll. And, out came the Hat of Indecision.

Each of us got three ballots. Three was the perfect number as it thereby guaranteed there would be no ties but also properly reflected our indecision because if any of us could make a decision in one ballot we wouldn't need the Hat. Our first vote was whether to stay in (I) or go out (O). I pulled the ballots, while M narrated in a combination of lottery girl and Biggest Loser type drama. In a 5-4 split, the O's took it. We were going out.

But, gosh, where? Well, we could go to Adobo. Or, maybe Butch's. Or, oh, I don't know. No need to suffer the pangs of indecision when you have the Hat. We took another ballot and once again it was a 5-4 split, with Butch's taking the win. As it turns out, both times, K and I were 2-1 in favor of the ultimately winning outcome. But, even though M technically "lost" her ballots, she was not unhappy. You can't be unhappy when the Hat speaks. (Again, if any of us felt strongly about any of the decisions, we wouldn't have used the Hat.) The Hat gave us the motivation we needed.

We got to Butch's in the best mood. K and M played the soundtrack of our night through the jukebox. The two bachelorette parties/girls' weekend groups should have thanked them. We were singing, dancing, making friends. The Hat was not wrong. Do not doubt the Hat.