Day 341: Sometimes Losing is Really Winning

On Day 341, a group of work friends decided to blow off some steam over a couple of beers at the Bookhouse Pub.

I begged Amanda and her husband Stephen to come because I was not motivated to think of anything to do that I'd never done before and I knew she'd come up with something that would be highly entertaining to write and read about.

I think Amanda was upset that I'd yet to actually go out with anyone that I'd met online at Plenty of Fish.com, because she was using this "blog-fan's choice," as an opportunity to force me out of my dating shell. Her goal from the start was to find someone that I could buy a drink for or give my number to or use a cheesy pickup line on.

But my experience with meeting cool guys worthy of such tactics is that those kinds of meetings rarely happens when I (or in this case, Amanda), is looking for it. I usually encounter interesting, attractive people that I'd like to get to know better when I haven't showered, my hair is slicked back into a ponytail and my shirt has holes in it. I was coming to this bar from work, looking relatively presentable, so I knew my chances of meeting anyone worthwhile were slim to none.

And sure enough, I was right.

I would've done any of those things Amanda was suggesting, but but neither of us could really find anyone worthy of sending a drink or giving my number to. Despite her persistence with a guy that looked like former CNN television anchor Rick Sanchez, we abandoned this mission and moved on to something else. (Later I saw that he had a wedding ring on, so it obviously wasn't meant to be.)

What else can be achieved in a bar that I hadn't done before? In my almost-30 years had I done all of the inappropriate, regret-the-next day bar activities? Certainly not.

The night was starting to wind down and there were friends at my table ready to pay their checks.

"I still haven't played credit card roulette," I said out loud to the table to no one specific.

Credit card roulette involves handing the waitress a group of credit cards to choose from. Whatever card she chooses has to pay the whole tab. If I was going to make this Day 341's "thing," the rest of the group had to be on board and willing to play.

Luckily, I'd suggested we play on payday, so all of our checking accounts were in good shape for this kind of game. Timing, I continue to realize, is everything. With everyone then feeling generous (and perhaps a little tipsy), they said, "Sure!" Day 341's thing I've never done before was to play credit card roulette.

If you play the odds, which I don't because I'm not entirely sure I know what that means, then credit card roulette is really a safe bet. With eight cards in the pile, I had only a one in eight chance that my card would be chosen. Even when we decided to choose two cards to split the check (the bill was significantly higher thanks to some fancy, expensive tiki drinks, commemorative glasses included), the odds were still in my favor.

That's the thing about credit card roulette: if your card is the one chosen, you must pay for everyone's purchases, regardless of how ridiculous they seem (Tiki glasses? In a beer bar?).

I digress.

By splitting the check between two people, the odds moved to one in four. There was a 75 percent chance that I would not have to pay for my (or anyone else's) drinks. I like those odds.

But with any gamble, there is always a chance you could lose. Or win. Here's something I'm still not clear on--if my card got pulled and I had to pay, does that mean I "won" credit card roulette, or did I "lose?" Being chosen makes it feel like I'm a winner, but paying for everyone makes me feel like a loser.

Everyone laid their cards face down on the table. When the waitress returned, we explained to her what we were doing and she returned with the bill and two pint glasses. She gathered the cards and put them in one of the glasses, turned the other glass upside down to cover them and then shook wildly, mixing up the cards.

She reached her hand into the glass and pulled her first card.

"Devon Sayers," she said, unsure of how to pronounce his last name.

The whole table, except for Devon, erupted into thunderous applause and shouting.

I love credit card roulette!

She covered the remaining seven cards with the glass and shook again, drawing another card from the pile.

"Carolyn Cremen," she announced.

Again, more applause and shouting, at least from the six of us whose cards weren't picked.

Carolyn and Devon took their loss (or win) in stride, and happily posed for pictures while signing their checks. I posed for a picture with Katy, happy that my beers were paid for and my checking account remained untouched for another night.

I'm not quite sure how I would've felt if it was me who had to pay, but from where I was sitting, credit card roulette is a great game.

Losing never felt so good.

Day 307: Quick! Do Something Young and Awesome!

Day 307 was a Saturday, and the same day as my friend Katy's birthday celebration, so after spending the day at my landlord's pool reading (no TV for me), I planned to make the thing I've never done before another "birthday girl's choice."

Katy said I had to swim in the fountain in front of her house.

"No, I'm not doing that," I said. "I'm wearing a nice shirt."

But I will celebrate your birthday as if it was my own. Because that's what good friends do.

Starting, of course, at the Nook, where I shared my first fish bowl beverage with at least eight other people, six of whom I really didn't know.

One of whom is now my worst enemy. She was blonde and cute and young, three traits I despise in other women. My friend Jeff introduced me to her and said, "This is Awesome Girl! She went to Georgia! She was in your sorority!"

"Oh yeah?," I said.

She was super sweet, and told me that she had just graduated in May. She was adorable. I was happy that she seemed normal and cool; clearly she was representing my Alma mater and my sorority well.

Then she told me she was absolutely "freaking" because she was just about to turn 24. Twenty-freaking-four.

Then I decided that I hated her.

How do I remember college so well when it was so long ago? Was I ever as cute as this girl? Am I still now?

"Quick, Stephanie! Do something that makes you feel young and awesome," I must've told myself later when I remembered my conversation with the younger version of myself.

Katy suggested dancing on a bar.

"Yes!" I said. I've always wanted to do it. I dance everywhere I go. I can't believe I haven't done this yet.

Katy grabbed my arm, and we marched up to the bar. Before I could muster the nerve to crawl up on the bar, Katy was asking the bartender if we could.

The bartender didn't waste anytime with her answer.

"No. Absolutely not."

Katy turned to me, and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said. She really felt badly, but I wasn't really that surprised.

"You can't ask a bartender if you can dance on their bar," I said. "You just have to do it."

Not to be defeated, when we went to Smith's Olde Bar, Katy modified her desire to dance on a bar, and instead climbed up on a booth to dance. I joined her without hesitation. We laughed and danced, but I couldn't help but remember thinking that dancing on a bar always looked like fun. And the people doing it looked young and carefree.

Only I didn't feel young or carefree. I felt like an idiot.

I climbed down and snapped back into reality.

Later, Justin suggested that I play a round of Buck Hunter as Day 307's thing I've never done before. And before long, he shoved a gun into my hands, and I did.

And I played a mean round of Buck Hunter, a game much like Duck Hunt on Nintendo, only with a larger gun and cartoon deer instead of ducks. I wasn't very good, but I had a good time shooting all over the screen. If memory serves, and it was very late that night so it probably doesn't, I don't think I killed a single deer. But I made a mental note to tell my hunter friend John, who had taken me hunting back in December that this was the kind of hunting I could get into. Loud, fast, no loss of life and no blood.

So Katy's birthday party turned into a mini-celebration for me. A celebration that I'm not 24. I can't play video games and I have no business dancing on bars. Sometimes celebrating hurts.

Day 281: Married Man Dinner

By 281, my Phish Magical Mystery Tour was over and I had to go back to work.

Returning to regular life was difficult after four fun-filled, action-packed days, but there was a small part of me that was ready to get off the party train and get back to a regular schedule.

I was not ready, however, to find something new to do.

So I went a rather scandalous route and bought a married man dinner as Day 281's thing I've never done before.

Don't freak, I'm no homewrecker. The married man was Stephen, and he's married to my friend Amanda. She suggested it, and she even went with us.

It was a hot date. At Great Wraps. And I spent $21. At Great Wraps. Gross.

This is a lame post for what was a lame day for me and all of my co-workers who had to work the day after July 4th. But I'm dedicating it to all of the married women in my life who have offered their husbands to me in various capacities to achieve 365 things I've never done.

Day 178: Hot off the Line

When the last hours of the day are upon me and I still haven’t come up with something that I’ve never done before, I often question whether or not this blog was a good idea. What was I thinking trying to come up with 365 things I’ve never done before?

More often than not, I have my friends to rely on for help. On Day 178, I found myself in a circle with four of my co-workers all fiercely loyal to the blog, all of us trying to come up with something that I’ve never done before. It’s days like this when I don’t think the blog was a good idea. I think it was a great idea.

“Let’s go streaking through Centennial Park!” someone said.

Nah. No spray tan (this should not be the reason I didn't want to go streaking, but sadly it is).

My friend Tray, who was not among the group discussing options, text messaged me and invited me to Hal’s to try a cigar for the first time at Hal’s a steak restaurant in Atlanta. I do want to do that, but I’ve never eaten at Hal’s either and I want to make the night an entire experience. Dinner, wine, and cigars.

So there we were, scratching our heads when finally I offered something that Mo and I had already talked about doing, “Krispy Kreme, hot off the line. I’ve never done it. Who’s in?”

There wasn’t any opposition to the idea, but I got the feeling there was a little disappointment, like this was too easy or something. And I’m sure I felt sad, confused feelings coming in my direction that in 29 years I had never done this before. But still, who can be disappointed about Krispy Kreme? Not wanting to let me or the blog down, we all piled into cars and headed to Ponce de Leon Avenue to Krispy Kreme.

I had eaten numerous Krispy Kreme donuts over the years. For some reason in high school clubs used to sell boxes of them as fundraisers which I found both odd and gross.

Eating them as they are first ready, “Hot off the Line” was a completely different story however, and was something I needed to experience.

Several of our crew were seasoned Krispy Kreme eaters.

“I mean, our house is right there,” Amanda said, pointing to her and husband Stephen’s place, “so sometimes on Sundays we’ll walk up here and get a box.

She stopped herself, feeling as though she revealed too much, “I mean, ‘a couple.’”

Atlanta’s Krispy Kreme is a big, well-lit place on a main thoroughfare. Despite the flashing lights and accessibility, I’ve passed Krispy Kreme numerous times before but had never stopped.

We all walked up the counter and Mo ordered two dozen donuts for five people. I mean, I knew it would be good, but that many donuts felt a little unnecessary. I soon found out he had big plans.

Amanda warned me while I was in line trying to decide what to drink, “Don’t try to dip the donut in coffee, it will disintegrate.”

I don’t know why she felt it necessary to tell me this because I had no intention of drinking coffee. It was around 10pm, first of all, and I was looking for something to drink that would make me feel less badly about eating a fatty donut. I also felt the need to be 8-years old again, so I drank milk.

We took the donuts to the table and I sensed a feeling of urgency. “Hot off the line” only lasts for a little while, so I needed to experience this right away.

So I picked up the first one, Amanda grabbed the camera and I took a bite.

Holy. Donut.

The donut didn’t need hot coffee to melt in my mouth. It was unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Sweet and delicious. I didn’t think so before, but I believe it now: a warm Krispy Kreme donut is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

If you haven’t done this, you must. Wait until the sign that says, “Hot donuts now,” and forget about where you are going and turn your car into the parking lot. If you don’t live near a Krispy Kreme restaurant, I am personally inviting you to Atlanta to eat one. Seriously. You can stay at my house. You must try one.

While still basking in the donut’s glory, Mo, no surprise, suggested we have a donut eating contest. As much as that sounded like a delicious idea, I knew it would make me sick. Plus, I believe Krispy Kremes are meant to be savored, not eaten in haste.

The boys went for it, though, and I filmed it (unfortunately because my computer hates me I haven't been able to upload despite numerous tries, but picture any eating contest with three dudes and donuts).

Mo, always a winner, polished off an impressive five in one minute. Justin ate three, and Stephen, despite living closest to the Krispy Kreme only finished two.

As we sat there, watching this disgusting charade go down, Amanda pointed out that the donut changes so quickly after it comes off the line, that even a 15-minute old Krispy Kreme is different from the one I just ate.

I don’t think I’ve ever in my life eaten two donuts in one sitting, but this felt like the right thing to do, so after the competition was over, I tried another.

I laughed at myself, thinking about how many donuts I’ve refused over the years, and here, only to be here at Krispy Kreme, polishing off two in less than an hour, all in the name of the blog, of course.

It reminded me of a wedding I went to in Philadelphia last fall. I passed on the filet mignon at the reception, explaining to everyone around me that I didn’t red meat. Hours later at Geno’s Cheese Steaks, however, I had no problem inhaling a Philly cheese steak. Clearly I have no problem abandoning rational thought when food is involved.

We sat around for a while at the restaurant, until one of the employees told us they were closing. I’ve been told to leave many bars over the years after last call was over, but getting kicked out of a donut shop? Definitely a first, and definitely a personal low.

The sugar rush that follows two Krispy Kreme donuts came on after I’d already made it home. I was up late, my mind unable to slow down. My body had the sugar shakes, which I would love to tell you I channeled into something positive like spring-cleaning my house or reading a novel. Unfortunately I have little to show for my late night.

A “Hot off the Line” donut is a special treat that I can’t do often, but one that I will be enjoying again. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Day 172: March MADness!

My friend Mo loves to win. He loves it.

Lucky for him, he wins a lot. I joke that he may be the luckiest person that I know because he's always winning raffles, contests, friendly competitions. He is a die-hard Florida Gators fan (I know, I can't believe we're friends either), so he's used to winning.

He has even turned getting tagged in Project 29 to 30 into a competition at work, a competition that he is now winning among our colleagues.

Mo also loves to bet. On everything.

When our colleague was having a baby, Mo started the baby pool on when the baby would come and rather or not it would be a boy or a girl.

I was not surprised when one of his suggestions for the blog was for me place a bet in one of his off-shore betting accounts. Quite frankly, I have no idea what that means and there is a good chance "off-shore" means "illegal," but since I was going through his account, he assured me he'd take the fall if anything happened.

Day 172 was the first day of the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament, it felt like the right time to place this bet as the thing I've never done before.

Since I had no dogs in the fight, I truly didn't care who was playing. I didn't even know who was playing, to be perfectly honest.

Mo told me to do research, and not just pick the team with the best name (Gonzaga). He knows me too well.

"Research" for me meant asking the men in my life.

So I started with Justin, who printed an empty bracket so I could see who was actually playing. He also printed a copy of President Obama's bracket, just in case I wanted to seek the advice of the leader of the free world.

I had to look twice when I saw "Wofford" on the bracket.

Wofford is a small school in Spartanburg, South Carolina. Several of my brother's best friends went to school there. This year would mark their first ever appearance at the tournament and their chances of winning a game were slim, much less going all the way.

Still, wanting to pull for my home state, I considered Wofford.

I even emailed my brother's best friend Trey, who graduated from there.

"Do you think it would be a mistake to bet on Wofford to win it all."

Trey's response was simple.

"Um, yes."

My dad, seemingly unaware that I was kidding, was not as amused.

"Should I bet on Wofford going all the way?!"

His response, "No."

Dad and I continued our conversation and I told him that I was placing my first real-deal bet for the blog. I asked him who he thought was going to win.

He was as conflicted as I was.

"I really don’t know who I would bet on. Ohio State is a 2 seed but don’t know if they can run the table. I hate Duke and Kentucky so they are out," his email read.

A lot of that, "seed" and "run the table" was foreign to me, so I honed in on the last thing he said.
"Why do you hate Duke and Kentucky," I asked him.

His response simple, honest, and hilarious, "Probably because they have obnoxious fans. They are like that because they win too much."

Just like many South Carolina fans who have been tarnished with years of disappointment, my dad hates teams that win.

My brother Jeff wasn't much help either. He also advised against Wofford, though he thought the suggestion was humorous.

I wasn't getting a lot of direction from the men who know this stuff the best. There wasn't one clear favorite. Well, actually there was, Kansas, but that was just according to all of the sports guys and what do they know anyway. Kansas didn't even get out of the second round.

I read articles, I looked at statistics, I looked at the team's fans and their cheerleaders.

When I made my decision, I emailed Mo.

"Kentucky. I think. I keep going back and forth between them and Syracuse. This feels right-Kentucky's cheerleaders are better and hotter."

Mo emailed me back, "Are you sure? How much do you want to bet?"

"Sure? No, I'm definitely not sure."

I wasn't sure about any of it. Which team? How much money? Do people do this regularly? I was getting an ulcer.

Finally, after a few more exchanges with Mo and some more agonizing on my own, at 10:25am on Thursday, I made my final pick.

"50 on Kentucky. Done."

I sent an email to some friends, including Stephen, who graduated from Kentucky. I let them all know that my decision had been made, and I was voting on his Wildcats to go all the way. I also told them that naturally, if they didn't, then it would be all his fault.

Kentucky breezed through the first three rounds.

In the quarterfinals, the Great 8, I believe it is called, Kentucky faced West Virginia, the team that Mo had picked to go all the way.

I wasn't with Mo, I was in Charleston with my family watching the game.

My dad, in a last minute decision, picked West Virginia in his bracket so we found ourselves rooting against each other. We cheer against each other every fall when Georgia plays South Carolina, but this time there was more than bragging rights at stake here. I had money on the line.

The game was close for a while, but West Virginia slowly began pulling away right before the half, nailing 3-pointer after 3-pointer. Kentucky couldn't stop them, and they couldn't get it together.

I became irate.

So I did what any sore loser would do: I chastised my dad for rooting for such a low-life team like the Mountaineers.

"They're all a bunch of thugs!" I shouted at him. "I can't believe you'd root against the SEC! It's like I don't even know you!"

For the record, there seemed to me an equal amount of thugness coming from my team's bench too, but the fact that West Virginia's coach didn't wear a suit to the game really rubbed me the wrong way and was just another reason for me to hate them.

I've mentioned many times that I'm not a super-competitive person. That is, apparently, until there is money on the line. I was so upset that I was going to lose my first bet I could've made Day 182's thing I've never done before, "Gave a shit about Kentucky basketball."

I lost $50, which isn't a huge deal in the scheme of things (easy for me to say, since I haven't actually paid Mo the money I owe him). But I also lost my ability to control my emotions over two teams I don't care about, so I think I'm going to leave the betting alone for now.

I know a lot of people who place bets to make otherwise uneventful sporting events exciting for them to watch. I have no trouble finding enough things to work myself up about. I don't need this kind of excitement (read: anxiety) in my life. Plus, I don't have the disposable income to lose all of the time, and I'm not lucky like Mo. I'd go broke.

Duke went on to win the NCAA tournament, beating Butler at the last second.

But Kentucky's cheerleaders are still better. And hotter.

Day 146: Workplace Romance

Wedding Tour in 2010 is underway.

Yes, like a music group making multiple city stops, my friend Momo and I call our yearly treks from showers to bachelorette parties to engagement parties, "Wedding Tour."

Next stop on the 2010 tour: Amanda and Stephen.

After having attended, crashed or been in 60+ weddings over the years, what could their wedding possibly offer me that is something that I've never done before?

Day 146's thing I've never done before was to attend a wedding of a co-worker. Two co-workers, in this case.

I suppose a wedding is a wedding, regardless of who is getting married, and this isn't terribly monumental in any way. And it's not.

But when I think about Stephen and Amanda starting their relationship that eventually led to their marriage, I think it's pretty cool that I knew them both, separately, when they started dating.

I remember their relationship, like most office romances, was veiled in secrecy when it first began. Not in a weird, "we're ashamed of ourselves" kind of way, more of a, "trying to maintain some level of professionalism at the office" kind of way. When I found out they were dating, I did so after stalking facebook photos of the two of them together wondering what was going on. I confirmed their relationship from another colleague who told me in confidence like the news was insider information.

I can't blame them for wanting to keep their budding romance a secret, as when I think about office romances, I always think of them creating awkward scenarios for all parties involved. The phrase, "Don't shit where you eat," comes to mind. Not a classy, or pleasant thought, I know. But sadly, when I think of relationships in the workplace, I think not of the grand possibility of it working out like it has for Stephen and Amanda, I think instead of the bitter end.

Plus, despite working with a lot of great dateable people, I like to keep my work life and my outside work life, separate. I think it's just the whole world's colliding thing. When my personal life is a disaster, I seek refuge at work with my co-workers. The merging of the two could have dire consequences.

I don't have any hard and fast rules about not dating someone that I work with. I mean I spend a lot of time at work, so the potential to meet someone there is certainly high. So far it hasn't really come up, but I'd consider all workplace dating on a case by case basis and I would tread cautiously if the opportunity ever presented itself.

After all, Amanda and Stephen have proven that finding love at work can really pay off. According to Amanda, they've never really had a fight. I find this fact both adorable and annoying all at the same time.

They ride to work together everyday, which is also adorable and annoying, but environmentally friendly too. I have to think their union is cost effective for the company as far as health insurance, though I'm not sure how. And they take their dinner breaks at the same time, which is great for them, but doesn't really affect any of us or the environment that I can tell.

So maybe love in the workplace is a good thing?

It's been fun for me. I've personally enjoyed navigating their relationship from dating, to seriously dating, to taking trips to meet each other's out of town friends, to taking trips out of the country, to waiting for the engagement, to the engagement and to the wedding planning, all evidence that I need to get a life.

And Amanda and Stephen's love affair became an opportunity for all of my seemingly useless Atlanta wedding knowledge to become not-so-useless.

Amanda sought my advice on a wedding venue almost immediately, as I am now a professional wedding participant and attender. In fact, having just gone to a wedding at Roswell's Ivy Hall, I suggested it as a location for her nuptials and after she checked it out, she booked it.

The next months included decisions about the food, the cake, a band, her hairstyle. Obviously she made all of the decisions on them, but I felt honored to have been included in the discussion, which was often just an affirmation of what she had already decided.

Even as a bridesmaid in other weddings, I had never been involved in so many of the decisions surrounding a wedding ceremony as I was with this one.

I even offered to get ordained so that I could perform their wedding ceremony, an idea that Amanda miraculously considered for a hot second, but then decided against. She said she would've laughed the whole time if it was me up there, asking them to recite their vows. But as I told Amanda, I know I'm a little ridiculous and silly sometimes, a wedding is serious business and I wouldn't have made it into a joke. So if anyone out there is in need of an officiant, I'm happy to do the work required to marry you. I'm serious. Think about it.

My involvement, or at least my firsthand knowledge of all of Amanda and Stephen's wedding plans made me wonder about all of the weddings that I've been in over the years. Several of them I knew nothing about prior to showing up in my bridesmaid's dress to walk down the aisle. For this, I'd like to apologize to all of those brides who I've let down over the years. I think I failed at my job as a bridesmaid, and I'm sorry that your co-workers, who may or may not have even been invited to the wedding, likely had to do all of the work that I should've done.

When the day finally arrived, I rode up to the wedding with Emily and we met some of our group at a nearby bar beforehand, which was completely unnecessary. I'm often accused of being anti-social when it comes to outside of work gatherings, though, so I didn't want to not participate.

When we arrived at the wedding, which was beautiful, I looked around at all of us, our big dysfunctional workplace family all dressed up, and I couldn't help but laugh.

I laughed a lot during the ceremony, in fact, which is what I do when moments get serious and laughing is inappropriate (not really making a strong case to become an officiant, but I am who I am). I'm sure those sitting around me who were able to keep their composure during a 15 minute ceremony were thinking to themselves, "Who's this jerk?"

The same question was probably asked again when two of our colleagues came in late and were forced to loudly shuffle across the wooden floor, sounding like two elephants trying to find a seat in church.

And once more when we started stuffing gummy bears from the candy bar into clear liquor drinks, and then spilling them on the floor (for the record that wasn't me, but I was guilty by association).

I imagine the questions, "Who is that?," "What are they doing?," "Why are they acting like that?" was asked by Amanda and Stephen's friends and family several times throughout the night.

Just like every other wedding I go to lately, someone, this time another colleague, tried to set me up with the only other single person at the party. Not because we have anything in common, but because we're both unattached.

As far as the actual nuptials go, this wedding was just like all of the others I've attended. All of my friends acting like jackasses, and a lot of people asking me why I'm not married. Par for the course.

I truly was honored to have been around when this romance started, to have been included in the wedding planning, and most of all, to watch Amanda and Stephen begin their lives together as a married couple.

Yea for them making a workplace romance work. Congratulations you crazy kids!