I quit.

I do. I really do.

I am so flustered and perturbed right now. I am certainly in no state to be blogging, but I'm going to anyway.

Dating bites. And I quit.

A (married) friend of mine heard about a structured singles party being thrown by one of the local radio stations and I grabbed a few of my single girlfriends to check it out. Safety in numbers, right? We didn't go in with particularly high expectations, which was good, and admittedly I thought, well, I'm sure I'll come back with something to blog about. And boy, howdy did I.

I am really not going to bore you with the details of the majority of the event, suffice it to say that the people there were not really what we are looking for and the number of women there was exponentially higher than men.

So there we are, meeting other cool women when a guy in a blue shirt walks by. I barely catch sight of him, but I turned to a friend and said, whoever that blue shirt guy is, he's the only one I'd be interested in talking to here.

Well low and behold, 10 minutes later he is standing behind us and we are talking to him and the two women from work he came there with. After a short while, his friends leave and my friend and I are chatting him up. At this point, I don't really care which one of us leaves with his number, the goal is that one of us does because he is quite attractive, sincere--I mean he teaches first grade, swoon, right?--and probably the most eligible person there.

The time comes for us to leave. By now his friends have returned and one of them blurts out, "So which one of you is leaving with his number."

Awkward pause.

I break the silence by offering that we could give him our phone numbers and put the ball in his court, he could call or not call whomever he likes. He act like this is too much pressure and says, I'll just give you my number. So he gives it to me, has me program it in my phone, and then call it so it will be programmed in his phone. Some weirdness ensues when I call his number, but he assures me he has the number. So we leave.

In the car we get to talking about it, and my friend and I cordially exchange the" who wants to date him more" thoughts, when I look at my phone and realize he's already called. That's odd. My other friend joked that maybe he thought he didn't have my correct number and was calling to check. I decide to call him back and I get a voicemail. Of a woman. Talking about how she and her family can't answer the phone right now.

Oh no, he did not!

I hang up. That number immediately calls me back, which forces me to utter the following statements to the woman I heard on the recorded voicemailbox: "Oh, hi. Yes. Yeah, I did call you, because you see, I was at this bar, and this guy I met gave me this phone number saying it was his. Yeah, then he told me to call it right away so he'd have my number. Right. Right. It's not his number. Okay, sorry. Have a good night."

Oh yes he did.

I really truly want to believe that I programmed the number in wrong. Really I do. But there's just something weird about it all. That's just Pollyanna me, really hoping for the best in people.

But come on. You are in your 30s. You may teach first graders, but that doesn't give you the freedom to be one. If you're not that into me, just say it. That is so much easier to take than calling some woman at home and humiliating myself. Or if you're not even a little brave, just take the out I give you, take my number and don't call. Sure it's chicken, but it's so much better than making me look like a fool and seriously, seriously consider giving up dating for good. I don't have the time for this.

There's a little more to the story, but I'm too tired for that now. Plus there may be updates to come on this. Don't worry, nothing bad. Let's just say I value accountability and think punishments should fit the crimes. Let's also remember, that this event was sponsored by a well-listened to local radio station...

Note to all the men out there that think they can casually jerk women around: Think twice before messing with Little Ms. Notetaker.