Mr. Pretty Alright

February 10th, 2010

Pulled back into the nocturnal world, I had another date set with a rather tall gentleman (6'3 is plain ridiculous next to my 4'10 frame) a few days after my recent Doubleheader.  After doing a re-run of this date in my head, I'm not sure I have any justification for his name.  He was anything but "Alright."  I decide that I've spent enough time away from one of my favorite neighborhood haunts for the bartender to forget about my string of five dates in one week - all with different men - so that's where we planned to meet.  I arrive a little early and text him that I'll meet him outside (this isn't my first rodeo, helloooooo).  While standing outside of the bar, putting my hands in and out of my coat pockets (it's times like these that I consider picking up smoking), I overhear the two girls next to me talking about how one of them is meeting a date inside the bar.  I can't help but join in their conversation and let them know that I, too, am waiting for a blind date.  I then look over my shoulder, making sure a 6'3 man isn't anywhere in sight, and proceed to carefully pull out a business card to hand them.  This particular card has a pin-up girl kicking her legs up and says "For a good time..." and on the flip side my dating blog address.  The girls are in love with this idea and begin to list off all of their recent dates and giggle like it's 3rd grade all over again.  They head inside and are excited to see how this date transpires for me.  I promise to divulge if we happen to meet in the ladies.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's extremely tall, but I knew he would be.  The fact that he's lanky stretches his 6'3 to 7'2 in my mind.  Whatevs.  He's cute, although his clothes have a hint of Burning Man or bedroom floor.  I ignore it.

We take our seats at the bar and start in with small chit chat.  He talks A LOT about himself, but after 30 blind dates I'm usually expecting this.  He works in television production, doing what, I don't know.  Gosh, for going on so many dates I think I've developed a bad habit of not listening.  It was inevitable.  Things are going along smoothly when he decides he needs to have a cigarette outside.  I stay inside to save our seats.  Before I know it I'm sitting alone at the bar feeling awkward.  After a few minutes he returns and we again settle in to chatting.  He tells me he has a dream catcher tattoo on his back.  I put that in my back pocket to ponder over with my friends later (does this cover his entire back?  Wouldn't this look stupid in any size?  Why did he bring this up out of nowhere?).  Dream catcher comment tucked away, I decide I will let him kiss me.  He has a nonchalance about him that I'm attracted to for whatever reason.  Okay, well that reason is that I'm super competitive and love a good challenge.  Oh, you don't seem to like me much?  Perfect!  Yeah, it's really like that.  I'm working on it.  Anywho, he decides he needs to smoke again.  This time I go outside with him because why he is leaving me inside?  He takes a phone call while we're outside.  Okay.  I would just like to say that he ended up going outside to smoke another two times.  UNBELIEVABLE.  So RUDE.  Who ever told him that going out for four smoke breaks during a date was acceptable behavior?  Clearly someone that grew up in the woods.  My annoyance with him threatens to destroy the attraction.  The date ends with a hug.  

I'm still irritated with his behavior several days later, but am excited when he texts me to ask for another date.  Here's where things got weird.  He suggests "that sushi place by your house."  Strange, he doesn't know where I live.  I shrug and confirm the date.  Then receive another text cancelling the date because he's within the last hour really "busy with work for the next five days and won't be able to get away."  He realized he had texted the wrong girl.  Schmuck.

Date # 32.  Who cares?  He had a dream catcher tattoo for crying out loud.

Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Stripper

February 4th, 2010

So, I really swore I would never do this again, but it happened.  On accident.  While a lot of people don't quite understand how someone can go on yet ANOTHER date higher than a kite, let me tell you that it was certainly not intentional.  Anyway, I had been emailing back and forth with some guy whose two photos presented him as cute. After a string of less than stellar day dates with feminine, spacey, exaggerating boys, I had another bite of the freezer pot cookie.  That's not a metaphor, by the way.  Settling in for what I assumed would be a sleepy night after meeting with Mr. Alabama, I received a text from Mr. Stripper.  And here is where history repeats itself.  Feeling all too agreeable, I say, "Suuuurrreeee" when he asks about hanging out tonight.  Considering the state I'm in, I suggest the diner down the street from me.  Again.  What?  Pie always sounds good, pot cookie or not.  And another Doubleheader is born.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Again, he's shorter than I expected.  This is really my fault for having no depth perception or sense of space.  His profile clearly states his height, but it's all Greek to me.  His face is somehow flatter than I prefer and he likes to turn it away and then direct his eyes in my direction.  Weird.  He's wearing a polo shirt and skinny jeans.

Luckily for me, the bite I took of the infamous freezer cookie was not as big as it was on my date with Mr. Asshole.  I'm spacey, but aware.  We order dessert and start to chat.  I begin to see him as cute.  He is three days into living in LA and proceeds to tell me the story of his cross-country road trip (another transplant from the East).  I'm fine with this since I really don't feel like talking much.  Then he tells me he stopped at a strip club with his friends.  Okay, sure.  You're a guy in your late 20s, on a trip with your buds.  I guess it's expected.  He continues to talk, they say this, they say that.  Then they stopped at another strip club.  Um.  Why is he telling me this?  I continue to eat my apple pie and wonder where this is going.  My silence to him translates into approval and interest, so he continues.  They stop at the Grand Canyon and apparently there's a "hot Italian chick" that they want to take a picture with.  This stirs more confusion in me than it does disgust, but that soon follows.  You know, I'm sure you think a lot of chicks are hot, but exactly what sort of reaction are you hoping to get from a girl you are just meeting for the first time, sitting quietly eating her apple pie?  Yes, I may be secretly high, but that's just a fluke.  I'm sweet, damn it!  I look at him out of the corner of my eye, pretty pleased with himself, and take another bite.  The tale ends with one last trip to a strip club because, you know, it was his friend's birthday.  This was all within a few days.  Before the Grand Canyon, I consider the possibility that my date has a classic case of word vomit.  By the end of his trip, I decide he's just an idiot.  There is no future with Mr. Stripper.

Date # 31: He paid, so not a total loss.  But, in the grand scheme of things, actually a total loss.

Doubleheader Part 1: Mr. Alabama - The Real Date

February 4th, 2010

Goodness only knows why I would agree to meet this guy after he wandered up and down my street looking for a restaurant with the street's name.  Idiot.  He already reminded me of one of my incompetent interns.  I guess I was determined to get what was bound to be an unsuccessful date out of the way once and for all.  With an attitude like that, he didn't have a chance.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  After expecting Mick Jagger's second cousin, this is quite the let-down.  Tall and lean, that's fine. Longish hair, not really my thing, but okay.  Goofy, bright-eyed face?  NO.

We sit down and I order the usual granola parfait for this day time date and he doesn't pay, just gazes on with a general look of idiocy.  Who are these wimps?  I mean really?  What is this ridiculously clueless generation of pansies that have the audacity to go on a dating site with no intention to pay for anything, only looking for "liberated" young girls with low self-esteem who pay for their own drinks and begrudgingly sleep with these losers?!  Okay, okay.  I'm all worked up now.  Not my bag, but I can't really expect everyone to hold the same views that I do.  These guys wouldn't act like this if there weren't American Apparel-wearing girls out there giving them the go-ahead, but if you want to entertain these skinny boys (that aren't really even good-looking, mind you), then go right ahead!

I continue to sit in silence as Mr. Alabama tells tales in his southern twang which, incidentally, quickly loses its charm.  He makes money by doing "performance art," sometimes dressing up as a dragon at children's parties.  So that's what they're calling that now?  Sure, if it makes you feel better.  Then he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation after finding out I work in events and makes a hard pitch for me to refer him to my clients.  Made you re-think not paying for my parfait now, doesn't it buddy?  Too late.  I've lost all interest.  Not to mention that watching him describe the dragon costume with his long, feminine fingers moving this way and that dropped what was left of any attraction to a firm zero.  A limp hug goodbye and a slow trudge home to write in my diary.

Date #30:  Made my left arm hurt.  Pent up anger?  Probably.

Mr. Ditzy

February 3rd, 2010

This date was stupid, so I'm not really going to spend much time on it, only to say that it was dumb and I would very much like to move on to the more exciting and simultaneously disappointing dates that come after this.

Still on my day-date kick, I schedule a time to meet Mr. Ditzy for iced tea, still annoyed at the debacle resulting from Mr. Alabama's confusion.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's slight in build.  Too slight.  His eyes are different colors, which I guess would normally make me think he was magical if I was even remotely attracted to him.

We chit chat about I don't know what and the words leave his mouth slower than I've ever heard before.  I get the impression that he's a bit dumb, but I can't decide if that's because of his dilly dallying speech or his way-off comments.  We then come to the conclusion that it's a good idea to take a walk.  Sure, why not?  I have nothing else to do.  We walk past a church and have a religious conversation, more nostalgic of childhood than anything else, touching on his stint as an altar boy (much better than any conversation with Mr. Atheist though).  

We then pass by a bookstore where Greenpeace volunteers are standing outside looking for new recruits.  I continue walking past them, just smiling slightly so as not to seem rude.  After completely passing the bookstore, I realize I'm walking alone.  I look back and see that Mr. Ditzy is engaging the volunteers in conversation.  Not only that, but they succeed in signing him up for Greenpeace.  Really?  Does he have absolutely no direction or plans in his life that he just joins whatever organization happens to be hovering over the local bookstore?  Yep, that appears to be exactly what is happening.

Date #29: Greenpeace can have him!

Mr. Alabama

January 31st, 2010

While setting up dates with Mr. Desperate and Mr. Short, I also scheduled an afternoon meeting (don't worry, my much more interesting and dangerous evening dates are coming back in a few posts) for a few days later with Mr. Alabama.  I notice Mr. Alabama's photos and think he looks like a cowboy in some pictures (he's literally wearing 1890s cowboy attire) and Mick Jagger in others.  That certainly piqued my interest.  He had just moved to LA from The Bible Belt a few months before and isn't really familiar with the area, BUT he has a car.  I suggest the same cafe around the corner from me that I met Mr. Desperate at and he agrees to meet me at 4:00 pm.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's super late.  It's 4:15 pm and he's still not here.  

I text him to let him know that I'm sitting outside.  No response.  At 4:30 pm, I text, "So, I guess we're not meeting then?!  Thanks for letting me know.  So rude."  Yet again, no response.  I leave and march straight back to my apartment to write him a scathing email, putting my sunglasses on to avoid the stares that come with being stood up.  I sign into the dating site only to find an email from him.  Turns out he spent half an hour walking up and down the street, let's just call it Main Street, looking for a restaurant called "Main Street."  Okay, so he's a little retarded.  It gets worse.  He mentions that he didn't have my phone number otherwise he would have texted or called me to say he was lost.  Wait.  What?  I thought perhaps this was another sign of his retardation and searched through our previous correspondence only to find that we DID NOT exchange phone numbers.  I start to panic.  Who was I texting???  I look again at my phone and it clicks.  I was texting Mr. Cutie!  He doesn't even have the same name as Mr. Alabama so there was no good reason for me to do this.  Okay, so I'M a little bit retarded.  And really embarrassed.  Of all people, I really had to text something crazy to Mr. Cutie?  Mr. Alabama doesn't seem phased by this misunderstanding and we set another date for the same spot.  Of course, I send him a map this time.

Is anyone really shocked that this happened though?  I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner.  To avoid this obvious dating hazard, I decide I need a Boy Notebook from this point forward.  Too many boy names in one's phone does not a smart dater make.  I take out all the "Misters" and put them in a little blue book.  Blue is for boys.

Almost Date # 29:  Bound to happen.

Mr. Short

January 29th, 2010

After a few dozen questionable dates on a certain dating site, I decided it was time to cast a wider net.  Time to sign up for another site.  With absolutely no intention of canceling my account on the first one, I basically copied and pasted my entire profile on the new site and had them both up and running.  After a quick exploration, it seemed like a less-than-savory group of people were congregating on the new site.  I don't understand how this is even possible since the original one I was on doesn't exactly represent the cream of the crop and both sites are free, so...not really sure what the reason could be other than the fact that one site is prettier to look at and, however ludicrous, attracts prettier people.

After shrugging my shoulders and continuing to review the new, homely crop Mr. Short sends me an email.  He seems cool, has decent style in his two photos (red flag), and is charming enough in his email.  In retrospect, he only looked like a catch because he was swimming in a mud puddle and was, I would soon discover, actually gross.  He suggests a gelato spot and I agree to meet him clear across town for our day date, a true sign that my standards were slipping. 

FIRST IMPRESSION: He's short.  Waaaaaaay shorter than his profile lead me to believe.  Now that I think about it, he didn't have height on his stats.  He's blond and wiry.  His pants are extremely tight and he is NOT slim, in fact, he has no business wearing this outfit.  He's sweating.

So, it turns out that he suggested this particular gelato shop, 40 minutes from my house, because he DOESN'T HAVE A CAR.  Really?  Another one of these?  He's sweating because he rode his bike here and I can't help but inadvertently back away from him as he approaches me to say "hello."  Having just finished one of the many Emily Post manuals sitting on my bookshelf, I remember my manners and extend my hand to shake.  I comfort myself with the fact that this will probably be a short date and I at least I get to eat gelato.

We sample a few flavors and I order a double pistachio, stepping back to allow him ample room to pay.  He looks at me for a second before pulling out his wallet.  What does he expect?  I didn't just drive to Santa Monica in a pretty new dress to pay for my own gelato.  Idiot.  We sit outside and I feel slightly embarrassed to be seen with him which hasn't happened before.  Most likely because my dates are typically indoors and/or at night, but he's just sort of disgusting in general so that's really the reason.  I find myself looking everywhere but his face.  I can't even look at it!  We waste time talking about our families and how his mother lives in Pittsburgh and is Italian.  Yawn and a half.  He's studying to be a lawyer and I sort of don't believe him.  We finish our gelato and I semi-hug him goodbye before rushing across the street through traffic. Yuck.

Date # 28:  A bust.  First and last date off of dating site #2.

Mr. Desperate

January 27th, 2010

Fresh off of the burn from Mr. Atheist, I was back in action two days later with Mr. Desperate.  I really had no desire to meet Mr. Desperate, but he was one of those VERY persistent males.  He sent me several emails and didn't come off as too scary, so my annoyance with his constant emailing gradually subsided and I decided to give it a shot.  My temporary period of scheduling dates during the day had not yet ended, so I suggested an iced tea meeting.  Why am I so lame?  Well, I'm still a little traumatized from Mr. So Gross and Mr. Bad Attitude.  I am attempting to be responsible. 

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He has crazy eyes.  Like, meth eyes.  He's older than I tend to like, but I expected that.  He's really pale and looks like he's probably hairy and has clammy hands.

This is a pity date, let's just be honest.  I humor Mr. Desperate and let him buy me an iced tea and granola parfait.  Conversation is pleasant enough, I mean, he's EXTREMELY interested in me and my life.  I don't think it's a put on, I think he's genuinely fascinated.  Or he's just so desperate for some sort of female companion that he's ecstatic someone agreed to meet with him.  Sort of flattering, but I'm not at all attracted to him so I just continue eating my parfait and try to shift the conversation onto him.  I should point out that I am very uncomfortable from the moment he sits down.  He constantly shifts in his seat, looks around at the sky and fidgets like a child being punished during a time-out.  I don't know if this has to do with drugs or what, but it's annoying.  

He goes on and on about some boring movie he's working on.  I feign interest, nod, and smile.  Then he tells me about how he used to work at Jerry's Deli and happened to have a shift when there was a shooting and he was the one who had to crawl out to see if the shooter was still there.  While this is completely plausible, I can't help but think that he senses the date going straight to hell and decided to spice things up with a last ditch lie.  Too bad I don't really care that he basically sat through a shooting.  Who cares?  I've had a guy ask me to hold a gun for him Goodfellas style (much more exciting than this story), but that's another blog post.

After stirring my empty parfait bowl for a good 10 minutes, I let him know that I have get going and he makes sure to tell me how much he enjoyed meeting me, how he would love to see me again, and then fidgets into the sunset.

Date #27:  Clearly a time-filler.  

P.S. I ran into him at a bar last night (I could recognize those crazy eyes anywhere).  Luckily, his desperation seems to have worked in his favor as he had what looked like a girlfriend.  Great, even Mr. Desperate has a girlfriend??

Mr. Atheist - Date 4 of 4

January 25th, 2010

First, I have to explain that the few month break in posting has largely to do with a nutcase who's dating one of my exes.  Basically, she's obsessed with me/this blog, but she's also a nutcase so who cares?!

Second, why skirt around the truth?  Sex.  It happened.  On this date.  And it was really stupid.  If you read any of the three dates leading up to this one, you're probably asking yourself, "Now, just why would this girl go out with this guy ANOTHER time?"  It's true, I've asked myself this many times.  Other than the fact that this guy wanted to go on a fourth date and had a semi-good sense of humor (but mostly that he wanted to go on a fourth date), there was absolutely no reason to continue these shenanigans.  A brief re-cap is in order:

Since we already did the whole dinner at my place thing, Mr. Atheist offered to have me over to his apartment a few days later.  Luckily, he doesn't have a roommate as that always presents a sticky situation.  Let's just say I don't think he even cared and/or remembered that I was coming over because his place is an absolute trash can.  Stuff everywhere.  Dirty kitchen.  Gross.  He lights incense (to overtake the trash smell?).  I indulge in a glass of wine right away to distract me from the fact that he was taking frozen taquitos out of the freezer to heat up for us.  Again, did you remember I was coming?  We DID text about it earlier in the day, but all signs point to a forgotten date.  Or an extremely careless person.  I'm not a snob by any means, but when you invite me over for dinner, can it please be something that didn't start out as frozen in the last 10 minutes?

We end up drinking the entire bottle of wine on his red couch (which matches nothing in his apartment).  I mean, two frozen taquitos only fills you up so much.  Of course, this leads to making out.  He stops mid-kiss after a few minutes and says, "Okay, I just want to say that I'm not ready for a girlfriend.  Just wasn't sure what you expected if we do anything else."  Ummmm.  Are you really saying this right now?  I think you're retarded.  CLEARLY you are not looking for a girlfriend, but you're looking to date around as is obvious from the fact that you are on a dating site (which we met on) and it says this very thing on your profile.  Despite his horrible bedside manner, I continue to make out with him and we decide it's a good idea to sleep together.  This is a bad decision that I take responsibility for.  Well, the wine had a lot to do with it, let's be honest.  Immediately after, he says, "I don't mean to bring this up now, but where did you park?  I have to get up early..."  EXCUSE ME?  ARE YOU REALLY SAYING THIS RIGHT NOW?  Yep.  He was saying that.  I proceed to get my things together to which he says, "Well, you don't have to go right now."  Thanks buddy, but I'll be going now.  I knew then and there I probably would never see him again.

Let me just say that while he clearly stated that he didn't want a girlfriend, I didn't think that meant sleeping with a girl once and then deleting her phone number.  What's the point in that?  No time to really enjoy each other at all, just a drunk-on-a-bottle-of-wine one time experience?  For the better, obviously.

The icing on the Atheist cake is when I decide to log into the dating site the next morning.  Guess who's on?  Mr. Atheist.  I don't care that I'm on too, it's still annoying and insulting that he's looking for new action the VERY NEXT MORNING, not even 8 hours later.  Nice.

Date #26:  Such a complete mistake.