Mr. Too Cool - Date 2 of 4

February 25th, 2010  

Mr. Too Cool did manage to disappoint me in the days following our first date.  How?  Well, we talked casually of going to the drive-in (my idea) during our previous encounter and a few texts were exchanged leading me to believe that the following Tuesday would be the night for our car-date extravaganza.  Nursing a cut on my hand from a broken jar of sun dried tomatoes (resulting from my over-zealous attempt at making us a picnic), I read his text sent at 9:25 pm that Tuesday night, "Don't think I can make it tonight."  I do realize I jumped the gun a bit.  Needless to say, I was sad and ate the meal myself, hand bleeding.

Despite this debacle, we managed to make (real) plans for a date the following Thursday night.  We settled on a dark, divey bar near his house.  I arrive before him and grab a booth.  He walks in wearing a worn-in leather jacket, nods at me, and orders himself a bourbon, me a gin and tonic before joining me in the booth.  He appears sullen, moody.  Instead of being put off by this, I'm intrigued.  I love a good challenge and decide I have the power to charm him out of his stupid mood.  Who knows what I even say, but I get a smile out of him.  He says, "Let's blow this joint."  Love. 

We're both hungry so he decides we should buy some food and cook it at his house.  I follow him to the grocery store and he starts to cheer up as we saunter up and down the aisles of Ralph's, deciding on kabobs and s'mores.  I'm excited.  I get to see his house, which I learn he owns.  He owns property.  I like it.  I used to own property...ah, the salad days.  Anyway, we tailgate back to his house and he opens a rather large wooden gate behind which is a dark lawn and a very large two story, pre-WWII house.  It's rough inside, but clean.  He has a tenant renting a room upstairs.  All I can assume is that he's some sort of amazing artist if he can afford to own this.

He makes us drinks in the kitchen as I unpack the groceries.  He opens his refrigerator and I look twice.  It's filled almost entirely with coconuts.  Yeah.  "Coconut water is really good for you.  I have a coconut every day."  He's a mad genius, clearly.  Still confused by the sight of 18 coconuts, he opens the freezer for some reason and again, I'm in shock.  It's filled completely with weed.  Bags and bags of pot.  "My friends know I bake so they always bring me weed to turn into butter.  I don't smoke it."  WHAT.  I don't know what to do except smile and stare in wonder.  Of course, I decide to focus on the fact that he bakes.  Renaissance Man.  I try to help, but he doesn't let me touch the kabobs as he prepares them.  We head into the backyard which is tri-level and extremely dark except for a few of his "art" pieces that emit different colored light.  It's sort of a creepy Disneyland vibe.  Again, I'm intrigued.  He lights a few logs in the fire pit and I give him side eye as his attempts to cook them.  "Are you sure you can see when they're done?"  He scoffs, "Yeah, I know what I'm doing."  Okayyyyyyy.  We start laughing and having a good time and he finally decides that the kabobs are done.  We walk into the kitchen and I'm secretly happy that they are charred black.  He was wrong.  I don't dare say anything.  He laughs it off.

We move forward with s'mores and have a cute moment outside where the melted marshmallow got on my face (well, I thought it was cute at the time) and I was convinced he was going to kiss me.  He doesn't.  Our epic date continues with a movie in his bedroom.  Several things here:  First, I think it's weird that he has a big screen tv in his tiny bedroom.  Second, we don't pick a new movie to start watching together, but he insists we continue watching There Will Be Blood from the point he left off on it earlier in the day.  Selfish.  My quest for love overpowers my better sense (that he's obviously a weird liar) and I decide I'm not offended by any of his misogynist moves from the evening.  At this point it's 1:10 am and I'm completely confused and offended that he hasn't tried to kiss me yet.  WHAT IS THE PROBLEM.  Finally, he looks over at me and says, "You better kiss me already" as he leans in.  I have mixed feelings about this.  I'm glad he finally goes in for the kill, but don't quite understand how he manages to take control and blame me for not doing so.  We make out for a bit before I decide it's time to head home.  He doesn't walk me to my car.

Date #35: I really should have seen where this was heading.  Alas, two more dates follow.

Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Too Cool - Date 1 of 4

February 19th, 2010

This was one of those magical dates that appeared out of nowhere.  By that I mean I had zero expectation and only a hint of interest during my ritual hair-curling/makeup applying preparatory stage and was more than pleasantly surprised by the date's end.  Earlier in the week I had a little back and forth with Mr. Too Cool and we set a date for Friday night.  Typically, I never allow men to pick me up at my apartment (save for Mr. Careful & Mr. Average), but something about his attitude made me gung-ho for it.  With a ribbon in my hair and my mustard yellow coat on, I descend my stairs at his beckoning text.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Wow.  All I see is a loud, black, '65 Mustang.  Did I mention I LOVE old cars?  I get in and see he's wearing a grey pullover sweater and slacks, has a mass of thick, wavy black hair and big, dreamy eyes.  Let's do this.

Thus begins what I would say is my favorite date this far and since then.  Major cool points for the car, I'm sure he knows that.  We make some small talk and he tells me that he was thinking we should get a drink first.  First?  There's a plan?  Yay!  I do not mind one bit that he completely takes control of the situation, doesn't ask my opinion, and drives straight to a cozy dive bar I've only been to once.  We walk in and before taking seats at the bar, he picks a few songs on the jukebox.  He asks what I want to drink and then orders it for me (I don't know why more men don't do this) in Spanish.  I know, this has caused quite a ruckus with friends when I tell them I'm impressed that he orders in another language.  Yes, we're in Southern California and most people speak Spanish, but I don't (and really don't have a desire to learn it).  He could have been speaking Russian, the language isn't the point, it's that he's exuding such a cosmopolitan streak.  You can stop laughing, I'm serious!

Over drinks he tells me he was a child rap star (I know), he's close with his mother and 14 year old sister, and he makes a living as an artist/sculptor (like for Disney and other huge clients).  He pays for our drinks and drives us to a new restaurant downtown.  Again, he speaks Spanish to the valet guy, impressing me enough to ignore a couple of distorted Barbie heads in his car (leftovers from some art project).  Whatever, I'm into him and little eccentricities at this point are more fuel for the fire.  Before walking into the restaurant, he pauses in the entryway to point out a chandelier made of tequila bottles.  That he made.  This guy really knows how to lay it on thick and I'm the perfect victim for this crap.  We order, excuse me, HE orders us fancy cocktails and a few appetizers.  I giggle too much. 

He pays the bill and my suggestion of pie brings us to my favorite neighborhood diner.  He orders coffee and watches me eat a gourmet pop tart.  I speak of girlish nonsense and he watches me, amused.  I brush aside the thought that perhaps he has had this exact date many, many times before.  I chalk the smoothness up to fate and personality.  He pays for the third time and I'm hooked.  He plays a particularly pretty song on his IPod as he drives me home.  No kiss, but I'm not bothered since I have the faint notion that I will see him again. 

Date # 34:  He's arrogant, assuming, and dominant.  I really like him.

Doubleheader Part 1: Mr. Paranoid

February 19th, 2010

I was pulled into a date with Mr. Paranoid by his rather noir profile photo and my inner insistence that he wears ties and sports coats on a regular basis.  It's true, I have yet to learn the lesson of only one photo.  I really can't blame myself, I'm certainly not going to squash the unfounded feelings of hope and possibility that I still harbor, however stupid.  And dangerous.  Dude suggests tea, I sigh (mostly from boredom), and agree.  We settle on a sidewalk cafe in my neighborhood, one that I have yet to bring a date to. 

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He has a smush face.  He's tall, but disappoints me with a casual polo and jeans.  He looks older and less handsome than his (one) photo let on, but that's nothing a charming personality can't turn around.  Turns out he doesn't have that either.

No stranger to misleading photos, I shake it off and have a seat with him outside.  We order tea and he eats more than one pastry.  It doesn't take me long to discover he's a slow talker.  I HATE slow talkers.  Seriously, just spit it out already, I honestly don't even care what you're saying anyway.  Is the small talk of a first date ever really that great?  Turns out he's talking about me.  He's very interested in my style.  And not in a flattering way, but more of a curious whydoyoudresslikethat way.  I really don't know how to answer his questions, so I end up talking about Elvis and how I thought I sounded just like him for a good portion of my youth.  I don't think he's impressed.

He shifts often and gives the impression of being very uncomfortable at this point.  He keeps looking away and I finally follow his gaze to find out what the hell is so interesting.  He's completely pre-occupied with a woman across the street (not attractive by any means) who is busy taking pictures of the cafe we're sitting at.  He proceeds to make a really big deal about this.  He starts cussing and telling me how she should have a permit if she's taking pictures of strangers and how what she's doing is illegal. 

I decide he's weird and ignore his paranoia by steering the conversation in another direction.  Does he have pets?  No, he doesn't.  I don't either and I tell him that I'm hesitant to have a dog because I know it's going to die before me and why would I nurture and love something that I know I will have to witness die?  I know!  I realize what a bummersville I sound like before finishing my sentence.  However, he not only heartily agrees with this (the first thing we've bonded over), but claims that is the very reason he's never been in a serious relationship.  According to him, all relationships are going to end, so why be in a serious one.  Um.  Yeah.  That's when I decide that along with religion and politics, dogs are never again to be mentioned as first date banter.

Date #33: Friendly reminder to screen better.