Things You Don't Want To Hear Your Date Say
"You're at that age where you can start reliving your youth again."
Um. Thanks douche bag.
"You're at that age where you can start reliving your youth again."
Um. Thanks douche bag.
Perhaps you remember the Summer Not of Love™? It has slowly segued into the Winter of My Discontent™.
Apparently I completely skipped the Autumn of the Falling Trousers®.
(Well...maybe not completely skipped.)
I've had a string of dates throughout the month of December. With the exception of one, they have in large left me a bit weary and worn.
I want to be will be open to process. Part of me really enjoys dating. Meeting someone. Making conversation. Getting to know each other. It can be exciting. New.
Lately I feel like it's just going through the motions. My heart just isn't in it. I have to remind myself to make eye contact. Don't look bored. Stop checking out the waiter.
And then there are the dates that feel more like job interviews. And endless string of seemingly never-ending questions about my qualifications and experience to see if I'm the right man for the job. Yet, I don't even recall applying for the position of Life Partner. I just wanted to have dinner.
As for the guys I've dated over the past few weeks, I will say this: they are very nice, decent men and one day they will make a nice companion for someone. Just not me.
And yet, I press on — ever the brave little toaster — forging my way through the abyss that is dating. Ever ready to bitch and vent about it here.
Or...I'll just be slutty. I could really go either way right now.
Why is it when I meet someone and we laugh and have a fun time and enjoy each other's company and we seem to dig each other which is odd, because I rarely dig anyone but for whatever reason, I seem to dig this guy...why is it that my brain kicks in and starts over-analyzing EVERY little thing to the point that I am actually cataloguing a pro and con list, thus ensuring that I will ruin a relationship before there is even a relationship to ruin?
Oh yeah...cause I'm fucked up.
Mary Mo, the kickass graphics designer I work with and some days, the ONLY reason work is bearable, told me last week that if I were to ever get married, I would be a Bridezilla. I don't think this is true, but it tickled me enough to change my buddy icon and instant message my friends and say, "RAAR!"
This weekend I went and saw the Brangelina flick. It's a fun little summer romp with a lame ass ending but really, does it matter? It's Brangelina for Christ's sake. Also, it got me out of the sizzling heat and into a cool, darkened theater.
Speaking of heat, I heard something truly disturbing on the morning weather report today. The perky blonde newscaster was going over the seven-day forecast and uttered these words: "It will cool off to 103 by the weekend."
Cool off? COOL OFF!? 103!!! COOL OFF!
Who is this bitch trying to fool?
According to Lifetime, I am Suzanne Sugarbaker. I think it's because I answered that I would wear a tiara to bed.
In case there was any doubt, I am most emphatically pro-tiara.
By the way, The Summer Not of Love™ is a complete bust. May she rest in peace. It was good in theory, but apparently not easy to enforce.
Time to fess up. The Summer Not of Love™ didn't even last a full twenty-four hours. What can I say. Apparently I am a whore. However, I am determined to get back on the wagon. Or is it off the wagon? I'm never sure about that one.
So far this weekend has been filled with good food and fun people. Friday I met Adam, Kacy, The Greg, Crazy Amy and Trinity for a lovely Mexican dinner to welcome her cousin, Renee to Phoenix. I brought my Papal Adam Man Purse. It was a big hit with everyone.
Okay...after making this list of everyone's blogs, I have to admit I'm experiencing a bit of URL envy. Maybe it's time for me to make the jump into my own domain instead of kickin' it old skool with my Blog*Spot account.
I spent yesterday morning at the hellish outlet mall in Tempe. I find in a bit frustrating that there is not a Verizon store anywhere near me however that mall has one store and two kiosks. That's a total of THREE merchandisers in ONE crappy mall.
I find shopping a bit frustrating. One good thing to come out of the Rap Industry® is the abundance of stylish clothes for larger gents, however I just can't see myself going to work with FUBU or PHAT FARM embroidered on my chest. Plus there are just some looks, I don't think I — in my middle-aged whiteness — can pull off. I would be such a poser in a G Unit shirt.
Last night, Adam and I went to see Look at Me, the French equivalent of a long, drawn-out episode of thirtysomething. Don't get me wrong. I liked thirtysomething, but I was seriously falling asleep at the beginning of this movie waiting for SOMETHING to happen. Overall, it was a well-acted nice little flick.
So far today, I have skillfully procrastinated not going to the grocery store and the Water & Ice store, both I need to patron desperately. Yesterday I resorted to a lunch of spoonful of peanut butter and a handful of pistachios. I should probably also go to the craft store to make sure I am stocked up with supplies to ensure The Summer Not of Love™ doesn't get off course again.
"I like you and am attracted to you, however I don't feel a connection with you."
This is what he said to me after knowing me for just thirty minutes. THIRTY MINUTES. It wasn't even a date. It was just meeting for coffee. A get-to-know you cup of Starbucks. That's all it was.
Little did I know that I should have been putting it ALL out there and ensure there was a connection after just THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES OF CONVERSATION.
I've made a bold decision. No more dating. I've had it. My soul is weary from it. It is exhaustive and futile. The summer's here and the 100+° temperatures make it a good time to retreat indoors and bring a moratorium on meeting anyone new. I'll just remain air-conditioned and cynical. Maybe when the weather cools off — in November — I'll get back on the horse but for now I am suspending all dating and dating-related activities.
I'd say I'd just become a slut and whore around in lieu of dating, but I've done that and it's just a fruitless. And what's the point? Murphy's Law has dictated that when I find a casual relationship that seems to work, that's when the guy decides he wants more. "I don't even know anything about you," he said as I was getting dressed. "Um...isn't that the point?" I thought. Apparently while I was thinking fuck buddy, he was thinking friend with benefits. So not the same thing.
But none of that matters now, because this is going to be the Summer Not of Love™. That's right. I'll say it again. The Summer Not of Love™.
I'll take up a hobby. Plastic bead mosaics or making dreamcatchers or some shit. After all, who needs sex or companionship when you have yarn and popsicle sticks. Maybe scrapbooking. As long as there is glitter and lots of glue. And ric rac. GOLD ric rac. And fuzzy pom-poms.
I'll just spend all summer channeling my unused sexual energy into crafts. That's what most housewives do.
ME: Did I tell you about my date last Friday?
DEEK: Did he try to order for you?
ME: Ha ha. No. He had dirt under his fingernails.
DEEK: Landscaper?
ME: Software engineer.
Note to potential gentleman callers: Wash your hands including under your fingernails.
ME: He also avoided eye contact with me during the entire date.
DEEK: Where was he looking?
ME: At the invisible person to my right.
DEEK: Maybe he has a lazy eye.
ME: Maybe he has two lazy eyes.
Note to potential gentleman callers: Make some eye contact for chrissake.
DEEK: Maybe he was nervous.
ME: I think he was. He was sweating a lot.
Note to potential gentleman callers: Do I really need to say it?
DEEK: Did you have anything to talk about?
ME: Only because I guided the whole conversation. After about five minutes, I switched to practice dating mode. Brushed up on my conversation skills. It was hard because I was so not into being there.
Note to potential gentleman callers: Don't make me ask all the questions.
ME: Bottom line. There was no chemistry.
DEEK: You can't fake that.
ME: Nope. I had more chemistry with the guy I passed on the way to the bathroom.
Note to self: Try to be more subtle when checking out other guys while on a date.
After my coffee date with Bachelor Number 4, I was chatting with the lovely Zenchick. She asked how the date went. I told her it went well. We met, drank tea and got to know each other. He's nice and funny and we had things in common.
"There was one thing though," I said. "I accidentally told him I had a blog."
"How do you accidentally tell someone you have a blog?" she asked.
I told her that while we were walking around the shopping plaza, we approached an Apple Store. I asked if he was Mac or PC. He told me he was Mac. I asked if he had GarageBand. He said it didn't come standard when he bought his PowerBook, but he's thinking about getting it.
We started talking about the software and I began to tell him about when Evan Williams made a techno song using Biz Stone's audioblogs (If this whole Google thing doesn't work out him, Ev may have a future as a producer - no?), but first I needed to establish he had a frame of reference.
"Have you heard of audioblogging? Or for that matter blogging?"
"Yeah I have," he said. "Do you have a blog?"
When I began this whole dating adventure, I told myself I would steer clear of the topic of blogging. Some people don't know what it is and they look at me like I've got three heads when I try to explain it. The other reason was if I told someone about my blog before I knew them, they'd have access to A LOT of shit about me. Not that that is bad, just the scales would be unbalanced.
When he asked me, I didn't want to lie, so I said yes.
"Okay Honey," Zenchick said as she went into Dating Coach mode. "For future reference, you have two options when this happened. You can
either a) be honest and say you don't give out your URL until you know someone better or b) make a joke about it."
"Make a joke?"
"Yeah. Something like, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.' Do you see?"
"Yes. Valuable lesson learned."
"Did you tell him the URL?"
"I just emailed it to him."
"Why did you do that!?"
"Because I told him I would."
"Great. Why don't you just give him the key to your safety deposit box. Or maybe make him power of attorney of your living well. Or better yet, just give him one of your internal organs."
The Zenchick likes to make her point, you know. But, it's cool. I don't think the blog scared him off. In fact, he started on of his own. When you have a chance, stop by and say hello.
First, a quick update on the revolving day players in my lineup of daters.
Bachelor Number One: Well...we know how that
went.Bachelor Number Two: Very nice and funny guy. Extremely recently out. Did the whole eye-darting/whisper thing every time he said the word "gay". Sweet guy. Hasn't called since.
Bachelor Number Three: Had our third date last night. It ended with me asking how he thought things were going. He said he just saw us as buddies and after sleeping on it, I have to agree.
Also, I'm tired. I day dream about taking a nap when I'm working. I get home thinking, "Maybe I could get a power nap in for a few minutes." Not a good idea. My power nap lasted over an hour and I was late for an appointment the other day.
I get up rather early. Insanely early, so these late date nights have certainly thrown me out of whack with my whole gym going routine. This morning, I decided to take a brisk walk instead of driving to the gym. It was a nice change of pace, but it's the first physical exercise I've gotten in almost a week. (Bad Homo! Get thee to a gym!)
I have to say that I'm really impressed with myself on my little dating adventure. For a complete novice, I'm pretty natural at it (at least I think I am). I don't get really nervous. I remain honest and true to myself. I'm pretty good at keeping a conversation going when I want to. I'm not so good when I don't want to, I've noticed. I should probably work of that. Need to learn to fake it a bit.
Even though I'm going to take a little hiatus from pimping myself out, don't worry. I will be back in the rat race soon and will share all my exploits with you to enjoy and commiserate. It's sort of a bonus for bloggers. Even if the date is bad, at least you got a good post out of it.
On Tuesday, I met Adam at my favorite cheap pizza place. After our initial hellos and whatnot I reached in my backpack and pulled out a wrapped gift for him. (His birthday is tomorrow.) I made him a hand painted journal inspired by journals I saw on Kurt Halsey
Frederiksen's site. My journal was not as beautiful or artistic as his, but I was pretty happy with my results.
Adam asked when my birthday was and I told him it's in a few weeks. He asked if I've ever put my Amazon wish list on my blog to whore myself out for gift. I said no, because I have this odd obsession with balancing the scales when it comes to gift giving. If someone gives me a gift, I feel I have to reciprocate and give them something. For me, it's just easier to not get any gifts. Keeps me sane.
"Did I ever tell you about last Christmas?" he said. I told him no. He tells me last year, he posted a link to his wish list for his family to have easy access to. Eventually he starting getting packages from names he didn't recognize. A lot came from the same person. A tea pot. A camera. Other stuff too.
"Huh. That's weird," I said. "You didn't know who it was?" He tells me no. "There return address was a couple miles from where I work, but I don't know any one named ______."
I look up slowly and say, "What his last name ______?" Adam's eyes get wide with a "how do you know" expression. " Adam...that's Bachelor Number One."
"NO WAY!!!"
"Way."
"Was his screen name ________?"
"Yep. This is very strange." Adam never met this guy. Never chatted with him. No emails or phone calls. Nada. Eventually the generous gift giver IM'd Adam asking him for coffee, but Adam declined. "It was already too weird."
"That's kind of creepy. What a small frickin' town this can be," I said.
"I know." He looks at me and says smiling, "You should have gone out with him again. Maybe you would have scored some gifts."
As I've mentioned before, I've never really dated ever. Not a "I'll meet you for coffee or dinner or a movie" kind of date. At some point during my life, I just got tired of The Game?, so I took myself out. After having worked on my feelings about the Game?, I decided I was ready to make a go of it. So this afternoon, I had my first initial date.
So I am sitting in a funky little cafe waiting for Bachelor Number One. He suggested this place. I am the only one here. I tell the server I am waiting for someone and she gives me a menu to look at while I wait. A few minutes later, he calls and asks "Are you at the cafe." Yes, I tell him. "Okay, I'm leaving now, I will be there in about four minutes."
I'm a little miffed at not only his lateness, but mostly his not apologizing for being late, but I get over it quickly. When he arrives we shake hands and he profusely says he is sorry. I tell him it's not a problem.
Then his cell phone vibrates and he not only answers it, but proceeds to have a conversation. We have been on this date less than a minute. I know many people vary on the issue of cell phones and dating, but I've watched enough episodes of Blind Date to know where I stand. I don't like them. If it was for work or an emergency, I can certainly understand, but this was idle chit chat. Probably a pep talk or something. Or maybe it was that whole "pre-arranged cell phone call to give me an easy out" thing. (Damn. I knew if forgot to do something before I went on this date. Note to self.)
So the cell phone call, that was Strike One.
He asks me if I know what I'm going to have. I say probably a salad. He asks which one and I saw the Tomato and Mozzarella salad. We decide to split a hummus plate as an appetizer. A new server comes up and asks if we are ready to order. Bachelor Number One says, "We'll start with hummus plate. He'll have the Tomato..."
WHAT THE FUCK!? He's ordering for me!?
I quickly interrupt him. "I'll have the Tomato and Mozzarella salad with chicken." He places his order and I'm trying not to look annoyed.
Strike Two.
I can tell he's nervous because he rarely makes eye contact with me. I understand this. I'm nervous, but I think I'm not showing it as much. I was pretty proud of myself. I was very laid back and relaxed the whole time.
Then he asks me not, "Have you seen any good movies lately?" but, "Have you seen any good gay movies lately?"
Strike Three.
My usual answer is, "There are no good gay movies. They all suck." and they all do. But instead I say, "I can't say I remember the last gay movie I saw." I ask him if he has. He rattles off a few titles. I lie and say I've heard good things about them, when in truth I've heard they suck, like all gay movies. (I'm sure many of you will disagree with me. I'm prepared to face your wrath.)
The rest of the date was okay. He has a few annoying quirks like insisting on being right all the time. We were discussing a restaurant near where I live. "Oh, that's called Hummus House," he said.
"I think it's the Pita House."
"No...it's definitely the Hummus House."
Whatever Dude, I only live around the corner from it, I think.
When the check comes, he insists on paying. I don't argue because I know it will do no good and I figure I deserve some compensation for my time.
After exhausting our small talk topics and trips to the men's room for both of us, I'm trying to end this date quickly and graciously. I ask what time it is. He tells me and I ask if he's ready to go.
Not the most subtle way.
He asks if I want to go somewhere else and have coffee (which I don't drink) and talk. I say I have some errands to run before I go on my street outreach tonight, but maybe some other time, thus allowing me to not reject him in person but if he calls I can go into the whole "I appreciate it, but I don't think so." routine. (I need to figure out a good way to do that. Any suggestions?)
I think he's a little disappointed, but I don't really care. All I can think about it leaving. We go to our cars, shake hands, say goodbye and leave.
And that was my first official date. Pretty painless. Not a bad date. Just a mediocre one. I learned a few things I will need to remember next time, like don't tell my date what I'm going to order, giving him the chance to order for me. (What the fuck was that all about!?) Keep my cell phone in my pocket so when I go to the restroom, I can make a call for moral support and dating advice to end the date without hurt feelings and the chance of leaving the door open for a second date.
Now to seek out Bachelor Number Two.
I decided to work from home today because too much exposure to my co-workers isn't a good thing and...I can. This afternoon, my cell phone rings. It's the Zenchick.
"You remember how you told me you don't have any real dating experience?" It's true. I haven't really ever dated, not like meet-you-for-coffee-dinner-or-a-movie dating. (More on that another day.)
I tell her yes. "Well I just had a thought. When someone new gets hired at the office, they job-shadow me to watch me and see what I do at work."
"Uh huh..."
"So I was thinking I could take you along on my date today." She arranged a coffee date with a man who responded to her online personal ad. She continued, "It could be all, 'Hi John, I'm Zenchick. This is Brian. He's going to be observing us today. Don't pay him any attention. He's just going to sit there quietly and take notes while we talk.' What do you think?"
"You are too funny. Since I can't be there, you could set the cell phone on the table. 'John, can you speak up please? Brian can't hear you.' No, that won't be awkward at all," I say sarcastically.
"I have a feeling it's already going to be awkward."
"Why is that?"
"On the phone, this guy sounded dull as a box of hair, but I already agreed to meet him and he's driving through here from out of town."
"Is this the guy whose personal ad you forwarded to me?"
"Yep."
"Ask him about his job. He talked a lot about having the best job in the world and stuff. He'll love that you asked."
"You are so good to me."
"Call me later and let me know how it goes."
An hour later, my phone rings again. "Do you know what ass burger is?"
"What?" I ask. Surely she isn't saying what I heard.
"Ass burger."
"Ass burger?"
"Yes. Ass burger."
"I think I know what that is." I assumed it was just an insult like asshole or something.
"I just had a date with someone with ass burger syndrome."
Now I am totally confused. Apparently ass burger isn't something you are, but something you have. But at this point I don't want to ask again.
"This guy was totally has ass burger. He just stared intensely at me for half an hour and spoke in this creepy monotone voice."
"Ass burger syndrome?" I ask.
"Yes! Ass burger syndrome. Look it up."
"You want me to Google ass burger syndrome?"
"Yeah. I want you to see what the symptoms are"
"Symptoms?" I think. "What the fuck!?"
"How do you spell it?" I ask.
"I don't know. It starts with A - S - P."
"Are you saying aspurger?"
"Yes. Just look it up."
So I Google aspurger syndrome and lovely Google asks me if I am looking for Asperger Syndrome. Why yes I am. Thank you Google.
"Oh! You said Asperger Syndrome."
"That's what I said."
"I thought you said ass burger and I was wondering what the hell is an ass burger."
"What is an ass burger?"
"I dunno."
