This year for valentines I’m going to recap a years worth of good dates, bad dates and the reason dating gives you a huge list of reasons to date the same person for the rest of your life.
Date: 2 for 1
Having the guys pick you up and “get you back in the game” after a break up is one of the best gifts a friend can give. As long as these are your grown up “I have a life and wouldn’t want to see you sloppy drunk” buddies life’s going to be great. But if your “my relationship sucks and I’d love to see yours implode” friends show up that night, turn off the porch light and watch Scrubs.
In my case the former showed up and after a night of more drinking then dancing, I was being courted by 2 women at once. What to do? I know…get one over to your place and then position to go on a real date with the other. Guys suck, I’ve tried to tell you women this for years but alas you’ll never listen.
After a night of debauchery and an awkward morning with the first date my mind was immediately consumed with talking to the second. You see date one was cute but a little too clingy. This is never a good thing within the first 48 hours (take note).
After a phone conversation with the second date, a little coaxing and reassurance that “no I won’t date you and your friend at the same time” we met out on the town. I should mention that date two made me work for it…wine and cheese…candles…dessert yeah she wasn’t going to make it easy…or was she? Why yes she was and I wasn’t going to argue. After a bit of romping I began to feel a bit like man meat (like she was the one in it for the sex not me). From there lets just say I don’t envy the way women feel for most of their lives and so it was on to another date.
The St. Valentines Day Massacre:
When you meet some women you take them out as much for the fact that you think you’ll have loads of fun as for the fact you wouldn’t mind a romp with them at some point in the near future. Enter my 2008 Valentines date. This date was really fun and by far one of the best of the year. I mean when are you going to get sushi, a 500 person pillow fight (pic above), sangria at an art show, wine tasting and bar hoping all into the same night. While no sparks flew on this date I learned that women think you’re really into them if you go overboard on the planning. Male event planners beware, your skills at work should not be translated into your personal life until atleast the 3rd date.
The Triple EX Throw Down:
When you’re ex’s find out your single after a long stint of being off the market it helps to get your caller ID in top working condition. I don’t think I’ve ever been quit so pursued in my entire life.
Ex’s are tricky though! When the libations are flowing hot and heavy it’s easy to remember the “really good” times and forget the reasons YOU’RE NO LONGER WITH THEM. So rather then recap each of these predictable nights of “familiarity” I’ll say this…dating is for moving forward not revisiting the past and cupid would tell you the same thing.
(As a nod to the Saint himself, back in the day my DeeJay name was Qupid S. Arrow. Yes I thought it was cool, Yes I actually DeeJayed under that moniker, and yes it actually did work on women)
The Coup de Gras:
Having someone fly in is always a great and troubling situation. The fact that someone would spend their money to come and see you is probably one of the most flattering gestures an interested datee can make. However knowing there is NO ESCAPE can bring alot of anxiety. So what’s cooler then making an escape route if needed? Not needing the escape route at all and wishing they could stay longer.
This is how I would describe my date that would be the most significant of the entire year. So what’s a great date? Do I even dare to try and answer this question? Of course….
A great date is one where the events are all things you would normally want to do, the conversation is fairly effortless and at the end you’re thinking to yourself “do we finish our conversation or take it to the sheets”. Knowing that a conversation will never trump a good romp, it’s ok to ask the question as long as you don’t really consider the answer either way.
A night of walking, talking, drinking, dancing and art is a night that I’d replay over and over again and so I have.
The 9 to 5:
Walking around San Francisco can be one of the funnest things to do on a date. You can see ALOT of the city, you can find out everything you need to know to make a good decision of future dates and if she’s not into walking and lives in the city, she’s a “catch and release”.
Having decided that planning dates was not going to happen for a while I just made sure there was alot going on that day and that our walking route would give us options along the way. This is a great plan if you know something about the person your going on a date with. But if you don’t and your discovering things as you go along, walking can be worse then driving in many ways.
You see driving means that at any point in the date you can pull a “oh no, that’s my mom on the phone and she needs me” or “so yeah, that’s all I had planned ok I’ll take you home now” but when you’re walking and you’ve made it to the opposite side of town THERE’S NO ESCAPE. There just aren’t alot of ways to convince her that the date should be over and she should walk the rest of the way home herself.
So what happens? You become best friends with every clock you pass and you realize that you’re date has become a second 9 to 5. You’ve done you’re work and you’re ready to go but the clock won’t speed up and it’s better to stay till it’s done then leave early and risk not getting a “bonus”.
Finding your valentine:
So what’s going on for me this valentines day? Over a year into going on more dates then I care to remember, cupid has actually decided to be my friend and forgive me for blaspheming his name for the sake of a lame DeeJay moniker.
After making a list of what I’d like to have in a women and then matching that list up to one, I can honestly say that getting calls and texts from other women declaring “Can’t meet up…to bad 4 you and for me” or “so you want to stay up late tomorrow night” or “remember our first valentine?” helped me remember without all those dates, I’d never have been able to make my list of reasons to try and keep the same valentine and not collect them.
Being single is by definition, a very independent way to live one’s life. I like not having anyone to answer to. I like my life being all mine. I like that my friendships do not suffer because I suddenly start spending every waking moment with my boyfriend. When you enter into a relationship, quite often, your other relationships suffer because your attention is so focused on this other person. I get that. I’ve been there. I hope never to be there again, however. I think it’s so important, as with everything else in life, to have balance. Where’s the mystery if you’re always together? Sometimes it can be fun to miss that person. Sometimes it can be fun to just be with yourself and remember that you are good with or without someone else to tell you that they love you. Sometimes, it’s vital to remind yourself about the person you were before your significant other entered the picture. Of course this is all very easy to say, being that I am single. I may sing a very different tune when and if the man of my dreams suddenly appears through the ether of the internet…
Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for all of you, he still remains an anomaly. The last three dates I have gone on have been interesting, entertaining, even hot. But none of them have been the kind that stick.
Date #1) “Where is it???”
So, Craig and I met online and had a really nice rapport. He was sarcastic and charming. Upfront without being abrasive and very funny. There was just one thing about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He admitted to having a third nipple. Since he was so free about it, I felt that I could ask some questions.
Me: “Really? Is it like a little nubbin or is it like the other two…areola and all?”
Craig: “It looks exactly like the other two.”
Me: “Where is it?”
Craig:”I’m not going to tell you.”
Of course, this completely weirded me out while intriguing me all the more. I HAD to go out with this guy. If only to see the nipple. Friends challenged me to “take one for the team” and sleep with him so that I could see it and preferably, get photographic evidence. While I had no intention of taking things that far, I still showed up for the date, dreading it a little and wondering if I would cast my gaze on his oddity.
We met at a really great little art bar near my house. When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. Craig was much better looking in person than in his pictures. This is very rare, so I was thrilled. He was very well dressed, smooth and we both ordered Jameson. Things were off to a good start! That nipple was as good as mine! (Out of context, that’s a pretty funny thing to say.) We found a spot in the back, settled in and started talking. We had a great time, quite a few drinks and lots of lively conversation. I almost forgot about the third nipple, but suddenly, the whiskey kicked in and my tongue got loose.
Me: “Sooo, wait…can we talk about your third nipple?”
Craig: *blank stare*
Me: “I mean, where is it?”
Craig: “I’m not going to tell you.”
Me: “Awwww…Come on.”
Craig: “No.”
It was time to go home.
Craig insisted on walking me home, which was very nice of him. We got to my door and proceeded to have a very hot make out session on the steps. I sent him home, alone, and went upstairs to curse the fact that I liked a guy with three nipples. He sent me a text to say thank you…and then I never heard from him again. I don’t get it. Did I ask too many questions about the nipple? Was he afraid that I was just another girl who wanted him for his nipples?
Date #2) “Oh hell, I’ll admit it. I’m a ho.”
Mike, as he will be known, was a good looking guy. The funny part is that we met on a dating site, but we had seen each other while I was on the date with Craig (see above). Mike had been at the same very small bar that night with some friends and we had each noticed each other. Strangely enough while chatting online, we didn’t recognize each other from pictures. But we eventually deduced that he was “the guy with the arms!” and I was the “girl in the black dress!” from the other night. We decided to meet at that same bar for a drink. When he arrived, he looked good but seemed kind of awkward. I soon realized that he was missing a tooth and had a pretty significant lisp. He seemed like a nice enough guy that these tawdry details were worth getting past. Eventually, he started to open up. He admitted to having a “stick up his ass.” He then volunteered that he was rather sexually experienced. “Oh hell, I’ll admit it. I’m a ho.” This admission was shortly followed by an even more puzzling one. “I was a virgin until I was 30.” I guess he felt the need to make up for lost time. When I asked him why he had been a virgin for so long, his answer was perfection. “Well, I haven’t always been this hot.” Charming. This date ended shortly thereafter, not surprisingly.
Date #3) Kid with a Car
Darren, as he will be known, is 26. I am 32. I’ve pretty much sworn off younger men, after two highly unfortunate experiences with two 21 year olds in the span of two weeks. A year ago. (I know. I know.) But, Darren was highly accomplished, well spoken, thoughtful and got my sarcasm. So, I figured it couldn’t hurt to give him a shot. The date itself was fairly innocuous. We had drinks at Docs Clock, he kicked my ass at Connect Four, and we talked. Really, he talked. A lot. But, the thing about Darren was his car. He drove a brand new Porsche. What 26 year old drives a Porsche? Not only that, but he had a matching Porsche visor and towel in his car. (See picture above). Are there women out there who find this sort of thing attractive? I find it hilarious.
So, I remain committed to my independence, my singularly happy existence of friends and family, work and play. As for sex and romance, it’s back to the drawing board, people. It’s tough out there.
So, I know it might have been confusing that one minute I was sharing all of my sad, bizarre and slightly disturbing dating disasters with you all and suddenly, it all stopped. The truth is that I started dating a friend of mine. This is dangerous territory and in the end, we found out that we were better as friends than as lovers. So, I’m back in the game, back on the market, diving back into the dating pool of San Francisco. Ugh. It’s such a mess out there. Really. I don’t know if all women have this problem, but men just don’t approach me. I’ve been told by nearly every male friend I know that it is because they are intimidated. I’m taller than most of them, reasonably good looking, funny, smart and confident. Apparantly men don’t know what to do with that combination. It’s like I’m wearing kryptonite perfume or something. Sure I have high standards, but it’s not like they are unreasonable. Tall, funny, confident, smart and reasonably good looking. This is a good place to start. You’d be surprised (or if you’re a single woman you may not be) how few men actually fit even this simple mold.
Regardless, I am friends with enough men of quality to not give up the hope that not all the good ones are taken or gay. So, since they won’t approach me in the supermarket or the bar or the park, off I go, back into the depths of insanity that is Internet Dating. Quite a few of my friends, while sympathetic about my recent break-up, are not-so-secretly thrilled that I’m dating again. This way, they can get their jollies by listening to or reading about my ramblings toward love. To prepare you for the sort of situations I will undoubtedly find myself in, I will regale you now with the #1 worst date I’ve ever had. Now, some of you may remember my post A Race To The Finish , wherein I recapped a date to the racetrack and said it was the worst DATE I’ve ever been on. It was. It still is. This is the story of the worst GUY I ever went out with. I now present, for your vicariously sick pleasure…Matt.
When I was 20, I was really hot. Really. But even then I couldn’t get a date to save my life. Back then, the internet was this sort of strange computer world, where chat rooms existed and not much else. The idea of a website wasn’t even really much more than that: an idea. Back in the olden days, when you wanted to go out on blind dates with weirdos, you posted a personal ad in the paper. I chose The Guardian. Oh yes. The free newspaper where transvestite hookers hawk their wares…this is where I would find love. This was my ad, word for word, as it was printed for the world to see…
Lost Some Marbles?
Me too! SWF 6’1”, 20, brown/green, a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Creative actress, educated, honest, eclectic, romantic, adventurous, beautiful, funny, sensual and dedicated seeking SWM 23 – 27, 6’1”+ with similar qualities for laughter, love, lunacy, coffee, beer and fun! Dig it, Daddio? Let’s go!
My ad garnered many responses, which came in the form of voicemails which were left in a mailbox provided by the The Guardian in order to protect my privacy from any strange or scary men who might want to stalk me. Unfortunately the voicemail box was no match for my own foolishness and complete lack of self control.
A lot of responses were from guys who’d say really charming things like “Hey. I’m Rod. I’m 48 years old, five foot five, 246 pounds…” or “Hey Baby, it’s your Daddy…” or “Hello beautiful Fairy Sprite. It is I, your gallant Prince.” However, there were a couple of responses that stood out enough to warrant an actual date.
When I heard Matt’s message, and he sounded normal, I jumped at the chance and called him that night! We talked for about an hour and the conversation was great. He was funny, he liked to read (another side note…in case you’re taking some…there are few things sexier than a man who reads. Continue.) and was seemingly quite sane. I took a chance and asked if he’d like to have a drink that night. Of course he did! Here is what I knew on the drive up to see Matt:
- He was 6’4”
- He had auburn hair
- He had hazel eyes
- He had just moved here from the Midwest
I rang the doorbell and Matt answered the door, stating that he just had to run and throw on his shoes. That was the first, and perhaps only time in my life where I have literally prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I calculated the distance from the door back to my car to try to determine if I had enough time to run. I did not. Here’s what I learned when I arrived for the date:
- He was 6’4” (he weighed about 350 pounds)
- He had auburn hair (which began in these strange little coils of frizz about midway back on his scalp and grew into a long, frizzy skullet mane).
- He had hazel eyes (one which looked at me and one which looked off into the sunset. They were also sheathed behind these strange glasses reminiscent of Jeffrey Dahmer.)
- He had just moved here from the Midwest (I suppose this helped to support his choice to wear a San Francisco t-shirt, fresh from Fisherman’s Wharf, under his black and blue flannel. He also wore a pair of jeans that hadn’t been washed in like two months – most likely because they were too tight to get off. The outfit was finally glorified by white socks and Birkenstocks.)
As the ground did not cooperate by swallowing me whole, I was had no choice but to go out with him. Into public. We went to a bar in his Outer Sunset neighborhood, which turned out to be an Irish pub. By that I mean that the only people in there were fresh-off-the-boat-hot-Irish-construction-workers. There they all were. And there I was. With Matt. For the most part, the Irish guys kept staring at us with this “Really? Him?” expression. I knew this would be a very short lived date, but the question was “how do I get out of this”? I had arranged for my mother to page me (oh yeah! Pagers!) but could not wait for that “out”. I decided that I needed to make myself undesirable to the point where he would no longer want to speak to me. “Think Amber! What will it take to freak out a guy from the Midwest? Oh I know! He must be super conservative, so maybe if I tell him I’m Bisexual, he’ll be disgusted!” Now, I wasn’t a bisexual, but I was obviously very sheltered and confused about what turned men off. I managed to slip this “fact” into our conversation with some very subtle tactics. I think it was probably as smooth as “Oh, yeah. My favorite color is green. Have I mentioned that I’m bisexual?”
His response was more than one could hope for. “That’s so funny. Because so am I. I almost wore my ‘Pride’ t-shirt but thought it might be too much for a first date.” Thus began a very creepy, soul exposing 15 minutes where Matt described for me his experience and foray into the world of a bizarre, kinky and strange bisexual world that at the time, I was completely clueless about. I almost started to cry for lack of something better to do. I was at a total loss. I think I made some very sad excuse about having to study for some non-existent mid-terms, shook his hand and sped off, never to be seen or heard from again.
So, here I go, about to plunge back into the very strange ritual of dating. Of course I am a little wiser and experienced than I was at 20, but no less curious as to who may be waiting for me on the other side of cyberspace. Wish me luck and stay tuned…
Peace.
Well, it was bound to happen I suppose. After countless dates via the interweb, I’ve finally hit a new low. Now, to be fair to the guy I went out with, I’ve been on dates with worse guys. In fact, I’ve been in relationships with much worse guys…there was the guy with brain damage and there was also the con-artist cheater, but I digress. The point being, my track record for picking the “right” guy deserves some scrutiny. This date, however, reached a new low in terms of activity, chemistry (or lack thereof) and disappointment. I racked my brian last night trying to think of a worse date and while there was one (it involved a fat man with a skullet, a lazy eye and birkenstocks with white socks…), it somehow wasn’t nearly as disappointing.
Ben (as he will be known) and I met on a dating website which I recently discovered. He came across my profile and made an effort to contact me. He was hilarious, sarcastic and smart, all of which I am a sucker for. He was also a lawyer and seemed to have his life together. His pictures implied a “regular joe” kind of style, with baseball hats and t-shirts and a sincere smile. He was built like a football player, which is nice because quite frankly I like some meat on my man. He was balding but that isn’t something I mind (my last two boyfriends were also balding and I found it to be charming) and was seemingly quite hairy everywhere else. Again, no big deal. When a guy is all smooth and hairless it’s a little strange…kind of like those weird hairless cats. It just seems kind of unnatural. My point here is that I wasn’t expecting some kind of Adonis. I was expecting a nice, normal guy who had a killer sense of humor and personality to match.
We had an instantly comfortable and witty rapport over Instant Messenger and proceeded to joke our way through a conversation. Over the next week, we emailed, texted and talked on the phone, each interaction building a little more anticipation and excitement for the eventuality of our meeting. He finally suggested that we go out on Sunday. He had a “great idea” for our date. I was thrilled.
Guys, please take note here if you find yourself surprised that his idea of a “great date” and mine were so so sadly different. I would say that most women would agree with me that a day at the Indy Car Races isn’t exactly romantic. Yes, that’s right. He took me to the races. Had it been the ponies, I’d have loved it. But, race cars, fanny packs, sweltering heat and nachos don’t exactly scream “romance.” I’m getting a little ahead of myself here, because when he suggested it, I thought it might be fun to try something new. At least it wasn’t coffee or cocktails, which tend to be the norm for first dates these days. One leads to bad breath and the other can lead to unfortunate morning after scenarios. Again, I digress.
The morning of the date arrived and I got on BART with high hopes and excitement. “This is going to be fun! Even if we’re not a total match, how bad could this be?” Let me tell you something. When going on a blind date, never EVER ask yourself that question. Because the universe will gladly show you just how bad it really could be. Enter Ben.
Now, to be fair, Ben really is a sweet guy. He means well, but Ben’s profile was misleading and his personality in person was very different from his personality online or even on the phone. He pulled up in his pickup truck (not to stereotype, but have you ever met a Jewish Lawyer who liked (scratch that, loved) racing and drove a pick up truck with a tree shaped american flag air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror? I hadn’t.) and I got in. I interally groaned so loudly I was afraid he might hear it. I could see the resemblence to his online pictures, but it was faint. Remember that when dating online, the right lighting and angle make all the difference in the world. So does the age of the photograph. Ben’s photos were taken at least 100 pounds ago, so while I was expecting a guy with a football player’s build, I was introduced to a man with a competitive eater’s build and I am not refering to that skinny Japanese kid who can eat like 1000 hotdogs in one go. Not only that, but he was sweating profusely down the sides of his face and the back of his astoundingly hairy neck. It was not that hot in Oakland. This was going to be a long damn day.
Did I mention that his truck was missing the front grill (he didn’t think it was worth replacing) and that we were riding on a spare front tire? Well we were. The usual hour long drive to Sonoma was now doubled because Ben couldn’t go over 50 miles an hour. He kept mentioning how it was more responsible of him to drive slowly anyway, regardless of the tire. The conversation that ensued for the drive up was about as dry as stale toast and just as intersting. Where was the sardonic and witty man from the phone calls and emails? He must have stayed home and sent this other guy in his place. Once we arrived in Sonoma, it was 90 degrees and dusty beyond belief. Welcome to hell.
If you’ve never been to a car racing event of any kind, let me fill you in on some of the “need to know” elements. (A) These people are fantatics. They are fanatics with fanny packs and beer bellys. They are fanatic about America and the NRA. They say things like “Cowboy up!” and mean it. (B) There are many dining options at the races, most of which are similar to the cuisine one might find at a minor leauge ball park or carnival but they cost more than what you might pay at say, Gary Danko. I paid $4 for a small bottle of water. But I was desperate. (C) It is hot. So hot. You will sweat and no matter how much sunscreen you apply, you will feel the sun burning into your skull and feet like a hot poker. Because of the judicious amounts of sunscreen you apply, all of the dust and grime kicked up by the cars will instanly stick to your skin. (D) Bring earplugs. You will go deaf from the roaring thunder of these cars. Forget about trying to have a conversation. It will go something like this. Ben: “sdkhjliu lkdsjoiu dlkj oueld!” Me: “WHAT??” (E) Prepared to be bored. You see the same damn cars drive past you very quickly about every minute or so. That’s it. The best you can hope for is a crash, but who wants to hope for that?
We sat in the sun (Ben brought an umbrella, which was very thoughtful, but it was broken and completely useless) and baked. I had mentioned to him prior to our date that I was pretty sensitive to the heat and that sitting in the shade would be best, if it was an option. He said we had grandstand seats, which provide shade, but we weren’t able to drink in there, so he wanted to sit in the section where drinking was allowed. He downed four Tecates in the span of an hour while I guzzled water and tried to remain calm. Finally, he said we could move. We walked for about a mile and a half to get to the grandstands, where Ben promptly donned a huge pair of headphones and a transistor radio which allowed him to listen to live commentary of the race. Obviously, even if we wanted to have a conversation over the din of the cars, the headphones made it impossible.
Let me remind you once agian of the noise level. It was an overwhleming sonic boom when these cars would zip past. Despite that fact, I fell asleep. Yep. That’s right. I fell asleep on a date, right in front of my date, who didn’t seem to mind. He had a big bag of potato chips and beef jerky to keep him company and the commentary of some rednecks to keep him entertained. Who could ask for more? At least we were in the shade.
Finally it was time to go. The ride home was silent, but for a few attempts to “flirt” with me and hold my hand. (Really???) At one point he asked me if he was what I was expecting. How do you answer that politely when all you want to do is pull a Whitney and say “helltotheno!!” I just smiled tightly and said, “Pretty much” and prayed that he would leave it at that. He did, but he also removed his hat at that point, and my oh my was that something to behold. It was simply the icing (or lack thereof) on the cake.
Guys, let me ask you this. When you are SEVERELY balding, to the point where hair just does not grow on the top of your head at all, why oh why do you insist on holding onto the hair on the sides and the back of your head? Just shave it off. Please. Oh please.
At the end of the day, Ben dropped me off at home, with an awkward hug goodbye and I rushed into the shower to clean the racetrack off and try to regain some composure. I went out to a lovely sushi dinner with a handsome, intelligent and funny male friend who reminded me that there are still good guys out there. They just don’t hang out at the racetrack.
Peace.
One of my best girlfriends sent me a text message last night. She was in a bookstore and said that there was a very tall, good looking, stylish man there who I would love. If she wasn’t married, she most likely would have gone for it herself, but things being what they were, she gave me the heads up. I suggested (ok, demanded) that she give him my phone number. She failed to find the cajones to make this happen, which was fine really, because in the end, that would be an odd way to meet someone. I was pretty serious when I told her to give him my number, though. I mean, how do we meet people these days anyway?
A lot of us are dating online with either disasterous (see my “Adventures in Craiglisting” posts) or wonderful (I have some friends getting married this weekend who met on a popular dating website) results. I often get hit on while walking down the street, but for some reason I’m not terribly interested in dating a guy who makes kissing noises at me or say something charming like “Hey baby, you lookin fiiiine today!” Or “Mmm Mmm Mmm. Git me somea dat!” Call me crazy, but this just doesn’t do it for me. So, what are we, the young, fun, smart, single San Francisco set to do?
Introducing “Snogg: A Singles Party that Doesn’t Suck.” This party is hosted by a very cool and very talented group of local artists who are throwing the party to raise money for “Incubator”, a new workspace and gallery opening in early 2009. Incubator is dedicated to nurture fledgling artists by putting them in an ideal creative space. They will foster the artists’ efforts to build a solid client base and memorable branding. What a cool project to support, while at the same time trying to get a date!
Not only will there be a Kissing Booth, scavenger hunt, raffles and DJs Shawn Olsen and Dylan Lovett spinning 80’s music, but yours truly will be there to help host the event…and perhaps even make a connection or two of my own! So, come on down tomorrow night! You never know, the love of your life (or just for the night) might be waiting for you there…
Snogg: A Singles Party That Doesn’t Suck
Where: The Make Out Room (3225 22nd St. San Francisco)
When: Friday August 15 from 6pm - 10pm
Cost: $10 - $20 Sliding Scale. Every $5 donated gets you a raffle ticket!
See you all there!
Peace.
Sometimes I think that dating is not only an excersise in futility, but also the lowest depth of self torture. Each time we date someone new, we think it could be different. It usually is different, but I mean “different” in the same way that we sometimes call the kids on the short bus “special”. This is the follow up to the post I wrote last week about my impending date with “Andy”. http://LEGENDmag.net/thelegendonline/2008/07/03/adventures-in-craigslistingadventures-in-craigslisting/
For those of you too lazy to go back and read it, here’s the short story. I responded to an ad in the M4W section of Craigslist. (For those of you who have yet to join the sad adventures of online dating, that stands for Men For Women). The guy who posted this ad, “Andy”, as he will be known, was good looking in his pictures, well spoken and funny. Not a bad start. We exchanged some emails and made a date for drinks last Thursday night. This is the story of what happened next.
Andy arrived on time to pick me up. He had mentioned, when offering to pick me up the night before, that his car was a “crap-box”. It’s always important to set your date’s expectations at a realistic level, right? The car was in fact, a crap box. Not that I care, really. I drove a Toyota Camry Station Wagon for ten years. It was always filthy. But I digress.
After greeting me with a hearty handshake (to which I responded, “Oh. Very formal, aren’t you?”) and we were off. Andy had already opened the car door for me when I came outside, which I thought was a nice gesture, a sign of class and respect perhaps. I came to find out later that the handle was broken in a way that did not allow for me to open the door myself. The car itself reeked of stale cigarettes and there were two boxes of “Liggit” cigarettes in the center console. I asked him about the brand, as it wasn’t one I was familiar with. He told me that he discovered them in Louisiana and that now he buys them online from Indian casinos in New York. They were like three bucks a pack and they were strong. He had mentioned that he smoked “sometimes”, but the truth was becoming much clearer. He is a heavy smoker who smokes the strongest cigarettes I’ve ever tried. Strike one: Implying that his habit was social or casual instead of owning his addiction outright. But, the jury was still out, after all, we’d only just met.
Now, I had only been in the car for about three minutes, when Andy discovered that he should have turned a block earlier, to which he responds “Fuck!” and very aggressively makes a u-turn. Our drive through hell has just begun. Here’s something you can’t spot from a picture online…Road Rage. Or, as Andy liked to refer to it, “Road Fury”. He said, “I think ‘rage’ should be reserved for things like rescuing your princess.” I apologize to you that I did not ask him to elaborate on what that actually meant. I was too busy praying that he didn’t hit someone or get us shot. He was a menace, honking his horn and swearing (though he did say “Fudge!”, but only once).
We arrived at the wine bar he had specially selected for our date. It was a really adorable little place, down an alley and in the basement of what seemed to a hotel. That actually makes it sound a little scary. You’ll have to take my word for it. It’s called The Hidden Vine, and I think it’s great. The point is, Andy had chosen well. We find a little nook in the back and settle in for the “getting to know you” portion of the evening. We ordered some wine and start talking. He’s a very smart, very attentive and engaging guy. The conversation flowed really nicely, there weren’t any awkward moments and he made me laugh quite a bit. His Road Fury started to seem like not such a big deal, and even when he excused himself to go outside and smoke, I was willing to overlook it.
Then the following things happened:
-I noticed that Andy was missing a tooth. The one next to his canine. It was pretty off-putting, I have to admit. I’ve dated guys with no teeth before. It’s not something I’d like to revisit. But that’s a story for another time.
-Andy tried to stuff a small footstool down the front of his shirt. I don’t remember why, but it was probably for laughs. It just wasn’t very funny. It was more disturbing than funny.
-Andy got really loud. The bar was very small and very civilized and quaint. Andy continued to swear, only it was now so that everyone could hear. “You can’t smoke in a bar in California, but you can FUCKING SWEAR!”
-Andy kept standing up for no reason. He said it was because he was “kinetic”. I don’t think he knew what that meant. It was very distracting and almost seemed complusive.
No matter how smoothly a conversation flows or how hard someone makes you laugh, there are some oddities that cannot be overlooked. Road Fury, missing teeth, loud swearing in public, attempted theft, and an OCD standing up disorder are just some of those things that could be, what my mother likes to call, “Red Flags”.
Eventually I drained my glass and Andy took me home and hugged me goodbye. He did not attempt to kiss me, for which I was very grateful, because there was no way that was going to happen. Two days later, I received an email from Andy, which was titled “Post Mortem Analysis”. I thought for a moment that he may have realized how he killed out date and was going to apologize. However, it would appear that Andy thinks that he “killed it!!” and that I might like to go out with him again. He’s asked me out to a play in the Misison and I hate to say it, but I will not be taking him up on his offer.
The final outcome of this post mortem analysis is: It was dead in the water before it ever started.
There is a great documentary called 24 Hours on Craigslist, where the filmmaker interviews a number of normal, every day people about their experiences using Craigslist for furniture, jobs, dates, random sexual encounters, ect. I have personally found almost every apartment I’ve ever had and most of my jobs on Craigslist. I have also been on too many dates to count…some great and some questionable at best. The internet has become the new meat market, as you are all well aware. The stigma of meeting someone online still exists to a degree. It’s as if you only go looking for love online if you’re not good looking or smart or cool enough to meet someone in the real world. The reality is that once you’re out of school, your social circle becomes a little smaller with each passing year. It’s tricky to date people you work with and meeting people at bars is just a recipie for disaster. So, online dating seems to actually be a viable option.
I invite you to join me on a little adventure. I responded to an ad the other day from a nice young man who will be known, for the sake of this piece, as Andy. Andy is tall, good looking (at least in his pictures), adventerous, from the East Coast and is a political script writer. We have exchanged a number of emails and pictures and so far the chemistry seems to be there. We have plans to meet for some wine on Thursday of next week. Will Andy be the one? Will he end up in my “brother” file? The brother file is for guys that have it all together, guys that I have a fantastic time with, but who I just don’t want to have sex with. Ever. Will he be just another one night of drunken passion? Whatever happens next, I’ll be surprised and will be keeping you in the loop. And so my journey into broadcasting my love life online begins. Welcome to it, people.
