Mr. Gentleman

December 18th, 2009

I like a gentleman just as much as the next girl, but this guy is the first of many dates which left me confused and feeling not so pretty. Yes, not kissing a girl can really make her feel ugly, ESPECIALLY when she's giving you all the signs. Anyway, Mr. Gentleman pursued me on the dating site (isn't the modern age weird?) and seemed alright, but I was definitely turning a blind eye to his constant use of "hehehehe" and emoticons in his correspondence. I was hoping he would be a little more manly than his typing made him look. Seriously, do you think Hemingway would have written, "have funnnn, byeee ;)?" No. Clearly, I need to follow my instincts more.

First Impression: As he emerges from the shadows outside of another local watering hole, I notice he has a "hairdo," long in the front and swept to one side. I don't know how I feel about this. He has smallish, black ear plugs, but looks like he's in good shape with broad shoulders and nice arms from what I can tell. Seems like he has one arm in a sling.

I start off shaky by scaring him with my concern over his slinged arm. Turns out it was an optical illusion. He buys my drink (2 points) and we start off with a fun conversation. I'm a little flirty and decide within the first ten minutes that I'll let him kiss me. I then proceed to ruin everything. I decide that I look my best when I'm laughing and telling funny stories, eyes sparkling with mischief, twirling my hair (am I in love with myself?). What is the best story to showcase all of these things? Telling him about my horrible date with Mr. Astrology, of course. We could potentially bond over making fun of him, right? Not so much. I notice things turning sour when I get to the part where Mr. Astrology goes on a rant about how some movie was "so antisemitic," certainly too heavy for first date talking material. He stops me and says, "Wait, wait. I'm Jewish, so just be careful." Ummm, as if! I was NOT insulting Jewish people. I was just quoting Mr. Astrology. He totally ignored my story and went right to another planet which was not in the conversation. Whatever. I'm irritated, but determined to recover.

We have another drink and continue to talk and laugh (avoiding all bad date stories). Things are looking up so I suggest we get something to eat. I drive (and probably shouldn't after two drinks) and we eat breakfast for dinner (cute!). He then pays for that (2 MORE points) and I drive him back to his car. We hug, I wait for the kiss and he says, "I'll be in touch." Ouch. He wasn't that cute anyway, but it still really bothers me. Perhaps I was only waiting for a kiss because he wasn't a total weirdo and that equals "a catch" in my brain? Should I read more self-help books?

Date #9: At least I got a meal out of it.

Mr. Got No Game

December 17th, 2009

This is just plain embarrassing for the guy. I met Mr. Got No Game at a Halloween party a few months ago when I was...well, inebriated to say the least (what?! I'm allowed to have fun you know). I remember standing in the hallway of someone's house leaning against the wall texting furiously (and drunkenly) with a friend about a current flame's total DIS of me. That story is coming later. After propping myself up for what seemed like an eternity, I looked up to find one of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club members staring at me.

First Impression: He's cute. A little too slight in build and short for my tastes, but my blurry vision seems to take kindly to his puppy dog brown eyes and kind smile. I later realize he sort of looks like me which confuses me a bit. I'm also not really attracted to him but feel like I should be.

We discover we have the same birthday and I proceed to refer to him as my birthday twin. I'm a fun drunk. Turns out he's in a band (surprise, surprise) and I take note of his next show.

I attend of few of his band's performances because I end up really liking their music. He asks me out for drinks several times and I make up excuses to avoid these dates every time. Why? Because he's a year younger than me. In girl years, this is a big deal. ESPECIALLY when the guy looks younger than his 25 years.

A cute friend encourages me to go out with Mr. Got No Game because he thinks I "should enjoy being young for once" which is in reference to my penchant for older men. Fine! Okay, cute boy. I'll go out with what's his name. This doesn't even make sense?

So, I finally agree to go out for drinks with a guy who looks like he's 12. He offers to pick me up and I agree since I don't really want to put any effort into this. We go out to a bar that I haven't taken any previous dates to (hoping to kill the prostitute rumors) and he buys me a gin and tonic. Poor thing doesn't have much experience and asks for well gin. Well gin?! Um, okay, gross. I slowly sip my beverage and ask him question after question since he has yet to develop his conversational skills. I also do this thing where I divert talk away from myself if I really dislike a guy because I want the time to pass quickly and it sort of pains me to answer THEIR questions. I learn the following about him: He lives at home with his parents (strike one), is still in school with no plans of graduating any time soon (strike two), and has a much bigger brother who can beat him up (why would you point out your little boy body?). It's very hard to witness this train-wreck. But it gets worse.

I tell him I don't want any more of my drink (I drank about 1/8 of it) and I'm tired. He suggests going to another bar. Wrong. Take me home. Side Note: Maybe I shouldn't date younger guys because I get super bossy?

We get in his car to find that it won't start. Of course! He fiddles with it for a bit and it still won't start. I'm getting really annoyed. He says he can either find someone to jump it or we can wait in his car for AAA. Since I would die than put myself in a kissable situation with this little twerp (yikes, I really started to hate him!), I push him to find a jump. He interrupts a couple making out in front of the bar to ask for a help. Surprisingly, they come to the rescue while I sit in the car and refuse to assist. I'm a lady, okay. I'm not dealing with your mechanical problems. I mean, maybe I would have if I liked him. Gosh, now I feel bad.

He drives me home, all the while making chit chat, while I agonize over how to say goodbye while avoiding the kiss. He pulls up and puts the car in park, unbuckles his seat belt (excuse him!), and I say "We should plan a picnic sometime!" and jump out of the car. A picnic? It's the only thing I could think of!

Date #8: Waste of time + Sad for him.

Mr. Asshole

December 15th, 2009

Well, if I thought Mr. Astrology was something else, then Mr. Asshole really gave him a run for his money. And, unlike most of my previous dates, I will take 50% responsibility for this one's failure. So...I accidentally went on a blind date high. As in, on drugs. Um...yeah, I really don't know how to cover that up. Here we go.

First, let's touch on the fact that this is another shirtless wonder. Not a good sign. Also, I pursued Mr. Asshole (which says a lot about my poor, poor taste and judgement), not the other way around. I read through his profile of pretentious, narcissistic political ranting (oh, and I'm pretty sure he was lying about being a criminal defense lawyer) and emailed him, "I think you are brilliant," literally. The eloquent way he bashed this and that was intriguing to me. I guess it doesn't really take much, does it? Yeah, I'm barfing a little too. He replied with his phone number and I sent him a text the next day suggesting we go out.

The day came and went and I figured he just wasn't free that night (or my text about getting gourmet pop tarts scared him away). Feeling depressed (I think my addiction to dating kicks in at this point), I took a nibble (well, more like two big bites) of a frozen pot cookie that Mr. Godfather of Disco had given me several weeks prior. My penchant for sweets coupled with a desire to fall asleep as a loneliness coping mechanism resulted in this moronic move. Imagine my surprise when Mr. Asshole calls me not two seconds after I lay my head down. I struggled desperately to hold on to what little judgement I had left. Didn't really work. I agreed to see him in an hour. Before hanging up he said, "Oh, the only thing is I don't have any money, so...I mean I have some, but I just have to go to the bank..." Now, pot affects everyone differently, and I guess it makes me think I'm the modern woman I am so clearly NOT. "Well, that's okay, I can buy you a drink." If I were sober, I might have had more disdain in my voice when I blurted that out.

First Impression: Ew. First of all, who wears jeans and a college sweatshirt out on a DATE?! As he got closer I realized that he had no hair! He had a head of thick wavy, dark hair in ALL of his photos. Nope, none now!! This look wasn't flattering on him at all since it emphasized his sizable nose. He looked scary and I was completely repulsed by him. Completely.

So, I'm higher than I was before, but at least managed to make myself pretty (I think?) and meet him down the street from my place (so I didn't have to drive). The plan was to get drinks...oh, wait, for ME to buy us drinks. My paranoia surfaced and I decided that we shouldn't consume alcohol since I'm unpredictable with a drink as it is, what would happen with pot AND alcohol? Nothing good. So, I suggest we get pie at a nearby diner instead (are you noticing a trend here?). I order a slice of dutch apple and Mr. Asshole orders a hamburger, side salad, coffee, AND a milkshake. Yeah. I'm shaking right now I'm so mad as I write this. I was in shock. I sat open-mouthed and stared at him. He mistakes this for awe and admiration and continues to talk about himself for an hour straight. No questions about me, nothing. At one point he says, "I was always a Communist, but now I consider myself more of an Anarchist." I contemplate running away before the bill comes, but since I frequent this neighborhood diner, I decide to bite the bullet and shell out the stupid $35 + tip. If I cussed, I would cuss so much right now.

I would like to think that this date would have been much more interesting had I been sober, but I don't think that is the case. We hug goodbye (I had enough sense to withdraw from any kissing attempts) and he steps out of his little commie world to express how great of a time he had and how he would love to see me again. Who wouldn't? I paid for everything, didn't say a word, and looked like I was starry-eyed (the pot) for him the entire time. The lesson learned is obvious - don't agree to go on a date while you are high. In fact, maybe don't date communists? Someone help me!!

Date # 7: Barf.