Mr. Can't Tell

January 12th, 2010

Let's get some perspective on what's happening, shall we?  If you haven't been keeping track, this is my sixth date in five days.  How do I even have time for my daily naps at this pace?  Luckily, January is my slow season (for work that is) and the completely cliche but true holiday depression that comes with being recently divorced adds some fire to my furnace.  Meaning of course, I am running myself ragged trying to fill The Void (you know what The Void is, right?), or at least make myself tired enough mentally to sleep at night.  I know, BORING.

Mr. Can't Tell is flattering in his IM convo and his suggestion of dressing up like characters from Mad Men and meeting for drinks is cute.  Of course, I would just dress like that anyway so I wasn't sure if I appreciated his reference to vintage attire as costume-like.  We had a brief texting chat and then scheduled a date for the next night.  No beating around the bush, that's for sure.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He pulled up in some sort of Explorer/van type of vehicle.  Waiting outside I approached him and noticed he was built rather nicely, pretty muscular but not too much so.  I couldn't tell if he was a ginger, but definitely had light colored hair.  He was not bad looking.

He apologizes profusely for not wearing his suit and tie (because I was dolled up).  I had no idea he was really considering the Mad Men thing, but pish poshed his apologies.  He bought my drink and continued to compliment my dress (which sort of annoyed me because it was clearly a 1950s style and he continued to refer to it as a 1960s dress, but we can't all be sartorially inclined).  We have a long, fun conversation about family and friends.  He emphasizes strongly how he is looking for someone who will "go on adventures with him."  This is scary because I am not the girl who is attracted to eager or serious insinuations right off the bat.  Shouldn't I be the crazy one picturing what our babies will look like while you're in the bathroom?  His clearly serious quest for love is the first off-putting item.  But I honestly can't tell if he's attractive behind all the talking.

Then I noticed that every few minutes he would start making exaggerated gestures and do something that would lean my "Will I Kiss Him" meter to the negative.  He's starting to come off as goofy.  Too goofy.  It is a shame because that meter was teetering on the positive side for the first 30 minutes.  He asks if I want to hang out again and I say yes, because I have not conditioned myself to be cruel face to face yet (should I ever?).  We hug and he makes no attempt to kiss.  In fact, he seems sort of scared of the possibility.  Good.  Makes it easier for the escape.

SIDE NOTE:  I understand that this is probably ludicrous on my part, I mean shouldn't I like his genuine approach, the fact that he has a job, a positive outlook on life, and isn't ugly?  No, for some reason I don't.  It's just not enough.  I want to go on a date and feel like I'm living in a Roy Orbison song, is that too much to ask?  All I know is I'm going to keep this nonsense up until I hear good old Roy coming out of the bushes on one of these dates.

Date #20:  Not Enough.

Mr. Careful

January 11th, 2010

I agreed to meet Mr. Careful despite the fact that all of his profile pictures included his dog.  I'm sorry animal-lovers, but seriously?  That dog can and would eat me.  Not to mention the shedding which is pretty much a lifestyle choice.

Since everyone is doing it, he suggests taking me to a whiskey bar.  Not quite learning my lesson from previous close calls (and feeling sort of lazy), I decide to let him pick me up.  Now, this is always a stressful moment.  Chances are, his car is going to suck.  And I say that only because he's on a free dating site, has good taste in music, and is a student of some sort.  That all points to not-so-great-car.  And I don't even really care, except for the fact that a guy's embarrassment over his own car (and the fact that I have no business driving the nice car that I do) really makes me uncomfortable.  I want the guy to be in control, at least give the impression that he can take care of me.  Sounds ridiculous, but I'm sure there is a scientific study somewhere backing up my ramblings.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He pulls up in some red 80s car that sucks.  Whatevs.  I knew it was coming.  He has longish early 90s sort of high school hair and I can tell he is pretty short even while he's sitting.  Not excited.

We head to the bar and I can't help but notice his overly careful driving style.  It's sort of annoying.  He sits completely upright with his head pinned to the headrest and barely turns his head.  He stops cold at EVERY yellow light and apologizes for it.

We arrive and the only drink that looks good is a $13 cocktail.  I feel bad ordering it, but he suggests it.  I decide not to reach for my wallet, because, darn it, he suggested the place and has already established the "datiness" of this by picking me up.  Follow through, holmes!  I realize that this date is going nowhere when I can't stop looking at the bartender who is extremely attractive.

We sit and chat over drinks and I learn that he's training to be a vet.  I don't really know how I feel about this.  Actually, I'm spending most of this time staring at him, trying to find him attractive.  I do this often on dates.  Should probably clue me in to the fact that I actually DON'T find the guy attractive in the first place.  But I like to give them the opportunity to change my mind.  Mr. Careful couldn't change it.

I listen to him talk about dogs and then tell him I'm getting tired.  As we leave, Ray Romano walks into the bar.  Not that cool, but definitely the most exciting part of the date.  As he approaches my place I get super chatty about the music he's playing and don't leave a moment of silence (which could be confused for the want of a kiss).  Of course, he was too busy pinning his head against the seat to bother with such a thing.  I hug him and shiver thinking about the dog hair I must have accumulated on my wool coat.

Date #19:  I literally don't care enough to think of an adjective.