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.