Actual Meet and Greets

Stories of actual first dates that really needed to be shared.

An Informative and Stimulating Guest Post: Cat Man Has Struck

Rejoice! I’m thrilled that one of my amazing friends has agreed to share one of her very own not-so-smitten dating stories and has allowed me to publish it here. While Beth lives across the country from me, her tale proves that crazy blind dates can occur anywhere, at any time:

The cool springtime air brushed against my face as I walked towards one of my favorite cafés in Minneapolis. He stood outside the door, looking around in anticipation of my arrival. He hadn’t seen me yet. We had connected through an online dating service and this wasn’t my first time meeting someone that way.

I typically did these first meetings during the day; and I always had plans immediately following, that would limit the amount of time we spent together straight away. Sound crazy? Trust me, it’s not.

He was tall, kind of cute and smiled big when he saw me stroll up. We said our hellos and he opened the door for me as we headed inside. So far, so good.

We tucked ourselves into a booth and made small talk as we studied the menu. He was soft spoken and seemed interested in what I had to say. As we ate, we learned we had some common ground. Cycling, photography, camping.

I wasn’t immediately attracted to him in an I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off kind of way, but he was cute and nice. I know physical attraction can develop as you get to know someone, so I was willing to see him again.

He asked me out again a couple of days later and we met up at an art museum. Ten minutes into meandering around the galleries, things kept getting more and more uncomfortable. He didn’t get my sense of humor and I certainly didn’t get his. Conversation was forced and awkward.

As I was quietly figuring out my exit plan, we turned into another room and there was a photograph of a cat on display. He smiled and exclaimed how cute it was. I bit my tongue, hiding my irrational fear of felines. There was no point in revealing that anymore.
beth-cat-crop Proof of Beth’s comfort level with cats.

“I bought coloring books for my cats,” he continued to tell me. Did I hear him correctly? I was hesitant to ask. Coloring books for his… okay.

“Oh… they color?” was all I could think to say. For the next twenty minutes he talked about the psychology of cats and their need for creative stimulation and I had visions of what future dates with him might look like. Would he make me dress up like a cat? Would HE dress up as the cat? Then what would I be? A ball of yarn? For the love of all things, I didn’t want to find out. He had no clue that I was leading us back towards the lobby while pretending to look at art along the way.

“So, want to grab a bite?” he asked as we stood in the busy atrium. I’m either really good at hiding my disinterest or he was just that clueless. There was a large crowd gathering for an event at the museum and I was scanning the room for the door that led to the parking garage.

“Can I help you?” said a woman about my age. She smiled and the look in her eye told me she knew exactly the situation I was in.

“Parking garage?” I asked her quietly, my date totally oblivious to the exchange I was having with this woman. She winked and nodded her head in the direction of the door.

“Thank you,” I said softly, touching her arm and admiring her ink. She smiled and went on her way. I told the cat-man that I had a lot of work to do and needed to call it a night. We walked out to our cars, embraced in an awkward hug and I quickly got the hell out of there.

cat-man A portrait of Beth’s date from the museum…at least in her mind. http://www.halloweencostumes.com

I drove home, cautiously watching my tail.

Pun intended.

I hope that this dude has discovered kittywigs.com. It might be the perfect source of entertainment and comfort for him. And what’s up with the
cat-obsessed men out there? For more thoughts, stories and inspiration from Beth, you can visit her fantastic blog here: theawkwarddancer.com

Weddings are Great Events for Single People

As I believe I alluded to in my first post, there have been a number of experiences I have had with the opposite sex that have (shockingly) never involved the Internet.

I was a guest at a good friend’s wedding a few years back. There were well over 200 people there, the music was great and the alcohol was flowing in all directions. And when I say that, I mean that there were at least 3 bars set up around the reception area where it seemed that at least one dozen guys and gals (but mostly guys) were standing and festively barreling into each other.

A slave to tradition, it came time for the bride to toss the bouquet. I tried to avoid the situation completely, and ran in the opposite direction of the female gang eagerly holding their arms up to try and catch some airborne floral. Not only did I not make it away from the group with any sort of grace, but the bouquet hit me right in the face and then fell to the floor. Horrified but not wanting to ruin the moment, I picked up the flowers and awaited the next step to this wondrous routine.

cought-bouquet

http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/wedding.shtml

Next up was the equally-unnerving garter toss. To make it clear, I’m well aware that when you get a group of males together to perform any sort of task, especially when there is alcohol involved, it gets competitive. However, I have never witnessed anything more ruthless than the struggle that ensued among those who wanted to catch this little piece of ruffly elastic. It was definitely the effects of gallons of whisky and testosterone that caused a group of close to 100 men to literally run and jump on top of one another, breaking several glasses, causing children to cry and everyone to wonder who would need the E.R. It certainly had nothing to do with me sitting on a chair close by, waiting to do my part and get groped have the garter delicately placed on my appendage.
After the clawing and tackling was over, there was not much left but tons of broken glass and…him. The dude who caught the garter was not only disheveled, but didn’t look like he could walk too well and had a bloody nose. No, I’m not kidding.

In the wedding photo archives, there are definitely a few photos of my smiling, yet completely horror-struck face as I awaited my fate – bride and groom standing next to me for support.

bloody face

http://cache.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/8/2010/10/500x_supernatural_1_4bc37.s05e22.jpg “At least I won…”

Somehow he managed to crouch down at my leg and do the business. With zero eye contact (poor guy probably couldn’t focus on much), blood slowly trickling from his nostril, he spoke these enchanted words to me:

“Wher…where’s……ya boyfriend?”

The garter was on, there were definitely enough photos taken of these precious moments and it was time for this boy to get some gauze. I was done.

Weddings are magical.

Tales of the Regular

It was somewhat of a challenge to start having regular exchanges with Jay via okcupid.com. After we had introduced ourselves, there was maybe one more message between the two of us and then I didn’t hear back from him for about two months. When I had assumed that he had simply moved on to brighter pastures, he explained that he was having some health issues and apologized for disappearing. He seemed like a good guy with a solid personality and sense of humor. I liked his attractive face and shaved head in all of his well-displayed photos. At the time, he lived very close to where my apartment was, and actually had a good job and a car, which I liked as well.

So the somewhat flirtatious banter started again, and then carried over into actual phone calls. It was during our first phone conversation that I learned that Jay was in the beginning stages of a fairly serious health condition. I won’t get into specifics, but it is an illness that chooses its own timetable, and definitely one that can mess with someone’s emotional well-being. While he attempted to play down the effects it had had on his life thus far, I could tell that he was questioning a lot of aspects of his future. But he was online looking for a date and possibly a relationship, right? I decided to be the dynamic individual I had always suspected myself to be and give it a shot with someone who seemed like a great person. Being a relentless dreamer, I looked into my future with Jay and imagined myself the noble wife of an ill but admirable man, wheeling him around and constantly trying to keep him comfortable while, showing a brave face to the rest of the world. I’m a hero, obviously.

There have been very few first dates where the guy has picked me up from my residence in an actual vehicle that they own (imagine that!), but Jay was one of them. So I got door-to-door service for the time and resources used on this date. That’s good considering how it went.

Strike 1: Rude, secret smoker. He said on his profile that he didn’t smoke cigarettes but his car reeked of smoke from the second I opened the door. I smoked regularly for a number of years and probably wouldn’t have judged him if he was open about being a smoker from the beginning. The pack that nearly flew out of his glove box didn’t help his cause too much either. He also complained about “not being able to get around the area” or “get an easy parking spot.” He grew up and had been living about 20 minutes away from where we were at the time for his entire life. Within the first 5 minutes in his car, I found him to be a rude liar who shouldn’t have volunteered to drive. So things were going well.

amazing-race-russian-taxi-guy

An image of Jay shortly before (and after) our date.
Source: http://www.tvgasm.com/home/amazing-race-recap-rushin-russians.html/2

Strike 2: HOLY CRAP this guy is unapologetically racist. After grumbling about not being able to find his way around anywhere, and the lack of parking spaces, we got to the restaurant (within minutes) and he parked across the street (easy peasy). We saw an older Latino man in chef whites limping slowly across the street, clearly trying to do it quickly. It was obvious that the man worked at the restaurant he had just walked out of and I immediately felt bad for him. Jay said a rude remark about the guy’s limp.

When we were sitting inside the restaurant a few minutes later, Jay brought up the guy’s limp again, laughing. I looked at him with disgust, and asked him why the Mexican guy who works in a kitchen is amusing.

He said “Oh, I thought he was regular.”

Come again? “What’s regular?” I asked. I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. Did this dude not have appropriate bowel movements? Was he not a repetitive part of Jay’s life?

“You know,” he says, then puts his fingers in air quotes, “Caucasian.”

What the hell the guy’s race had to do with his occupation, his ethnicity or the reason it was funny that he had a limp – I have no idea. But I was completely baffled and started to think I was on a date with possibly one of the most ignorant people on the planet.

all-things-regular-x-new-era-59fifty-fitted-baseball-cap_1

Source: http://www.strictlyfitteds.com/blog/2011/02/regularolty-x-new-era%E3%80%8Call-things-regular%E3%80%8D59fifty-fitted-cap-2

And…

Strike 3: He said this: “Any girl that goes on an online dating site is looking to get laid or get married.”

How’s that for class?

Jay offered other gems such as his new pot-smoking strategies at the apartment he just moved into. He also stated that at the time of our date, he actually did not have a job, had no idea if he would ever work again and had no plans to figure out how to go about doing anything. Again, he had some health issues and was understandably shaken, but he had described a real job on his profile, so there was something else he had covered up. He obviously needed more time to work on his marijuana routine, but one would think a paycheck would be required for that sort of thing…

Now I don’t want you to faint from surprise, but I was thinking that this definitely wasn’t the guy for me.

After a wondrous dinner and ride back to my home, I got out of his smokestack – – um — car and quickly said thank you and goodbye. If I hurried inside, I would at least catch the second half of 20/20.

Climbing a Pyramid Scheme

My not-so-extensive romance with Joe began when I saw his very handsome images and grammatically correct descriptions offered in his profile on okcupid. He was full of energy and actually creative in choosing our first date, after we had spoken a few times on the phone. Joe asked me if I ever went indoor rock-climbing. Since I hadn’t, but I always wanted to try it, I agreed and got really excited to meet him at Chelsea Piers so I can seduce him with my burly arm strength.

bicep

Self-portrait
(http://www.musclehack.com/build-big-biceps-with-this-workout/)

Pre-date online searching for Joe helped me to discover that we had a mutual friend. It turns out that he went to high school with someone I work with. I am pretty close to her and inquired about him. She had nothing but good things to say about him. If a real-life person vouches for someone you meet online, the experience not only gets more realistic, but more exciting as well.

Joe had mentioned to me in possibly our second or third conversation that he planned on making his first million dollars by the time he hit 40 years old. He had worked in a few different industries as far as I can recall, and at the time I met him, he was managing a successful restaurant on Long Island. I liked the idea that he had aspirations to make a lot of money and he had about 4 years to become a millionaire – by his calculations. I didn’t know exactly how he planned to start making that large amount of income but figured that would be a good discussion topic when we met in person.

Before we met, Joe called me one evening while he was “on his way home from work.” Knowing his basic restaurant schedule, I knew that it was one of his days off, so I inquired about what “work” he was referring to. Joe then explained that he has an additional job besides the restaurant, where he works with “consumers” in different communities to “help them learn how to shop online.” So he was basically driving from someone’s house in Queens, where he had worked with a group of people to help them understand how retail websites work. That sounds weird, vague and possibly untrue, right? Uh huh. I thought so too and kept asking more questions – thinking that if there was a job where one can teach others how to shop online, I would definitely be a prime candidate. His answers became more elusive, and I eventually dropped the subject. I figured that it was a great thing that he even had one job. Pushing himself to do another? Even better.

The day we met was easily the hottest day of the summer, and from what I remember, one of the hottest days of my life. By the time I made it from the train station to our meeting spot, I wasn’t feeling very fresh or attractive. We spotted each other, and Joe was really handsome in person – even better than his profile – go figure! He was tall and pretty muscular, with very dark hair and blue eyes. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t covered from head to toe with a sweaty film when we greeted one another in the air-conditioned complex. We signed up for our rock-climbing lesson and headed straight to the bar to pass some time.

We had plenty to chat about and got along great. We even exchanged some war stories of past online dating horrors. Then it was time to start climbing. I changed from my soggy work clothes into much more casual, albeit dryer gym clothes for the activity. Once our trainer was assigned, and we had the sexy climbing accessories on, I got really excited and was successful in maybe my first and second round of climbs. After that, my arms were killing me and I essentially did a lot of watching and cheering. I also had a great time checking out some other peoples’ climbing gear and putting chalk on my hands continuously…for no real reason at all.

The most entertaining portion of climbing? By far, it was the way that Joe’s harness fit him. After witnessing this splendor first hand, I still find it fascinating that people don’t make fun of rock climbing harnesses and the way they fit men every second they possibly can. Here’s the closest image that I was able to find to give you an idea of what I was looking at for an hour:

rock climbing package

Credit for photo: http://www.assholeclimbers.com/2012/02/de-emphasizing-your-junk-and-other.html

So I got to stare and create non-stop penis-harness jokes internally and Joe thought he looked manly and controlled while getting an unusual work-out. It was honestly a win-win. And then we went for sushi. Besides the fact that I did not want to change back into my sweaty work clothes and actually went into a restaurant with a first date in gym pants and a sports bra (shiver), the conversation at dinner is when the date may have gone downhill.

I don’t know how dental work become our topic of focus, but Joe ended up showing me his bottom teeth very close-up and telling me how he was getting a full set of dental implants within the year. Unusual to discuss when you first meet someone, but I still thought he was hot. I then asked him how he would be able to become a millionaire when he would be spending some serious cash on a new set of teeth. It was at this point that I was given a speech about the wonder that is Amway. According to Joe, they are the most profitable, successful, magical company on the planet. Without even mentioning the name of the company, and basically speaking about it like it was a cross between a money tree and the mafia, Joe said that “teaching people how to shop” was the key to his millionaire success. And by the way, that success is guaranteed.

Backing up a bit, I have to say that at this point I had not learned too much about Amway but am well aware that it is essentially a national pyramid scheme that brain-washes people into thinking they are individual retail giants when they are simply forcing their friends and families to purchase toilet paper in bulk. Participation requires putting one’s own money into the company as an “investment” that supposedly increases exponentially once you do the work to get it. There are giant books and instructional materials dedicated to their “sales program” and for those who are comfortable in earning an honest dollar, Amway doesn’t tend to be the best way to fill up one’s bank account.

AmwayCassette

A treasured cassette tape created by Amway. Source: http://runawayleg.com/amway-cassette/

So I questioned Joe a few times. I wanted to learn, but his answers were unclear, if not suspect as far as how businesses are run. Up until that topic came up, we were getting along well and I was pretty comfortable around him. Amway turned him into a cult member with dollar signs in his eyes in pure defensive mode. But you know what? I still thought he was attractive and I definitely wanted to see him again.

I never heard from or saw Joe again. After some prying, I was told by our mutual friend that I had insulted “what he did for a living.” Let this be a lesson to anyone reading this: if you want to date someone who plans on being part of a retail cult, never question their methods. You will obviously be seen as the crazy one.

So while Joe continues to “teach” others about “retail business,” I have become more comfortable with the fact that he didn’t like me. Cults and pyramid schemes have never really been my thing.

There’s Always Thumbelina

I was checking out a family friend’s Facebook photos one day and saw one with her and a good-looking guy smiling with their dogs. I knew she had been online dating for a bit so I inquired as to whether the guy in the photo was a new beau. Her eyes lit up. She said, “No, but I did meet him on J-Date! We have no chemistry, but we’ve become friends – you should go out with him!” A cute guy with a good job, who has and loves dogs? The next step was obviously to make the aforementioned family friend swear to me that nothing was overtly wrong with him. Once that was complete, we were in business.

His name was Adam and he gave me a call a few days later. He was great – very personable, and asked what I would like to eat on our upcoming dinner date. We chose a sushi restaurant in an area we could both get to fairly easily.

I was pretty nervous on my way to meet Adam in person. Rather than simply reading about and viewing some two-dimensional images, I had a real-life person vouching for him. I got all spruced up in jeans and a cute pair of boots with a small wedge heel on them. When asked, one of my roommates at the time that my appearance was acceptable, so I left, on my way to meet Adam.

We planned to meet in front of the restaurant which happened to be on the corner of two streets. From several feet away, I saw Adam’s cute face as he waited for me. Yet that cute face was attached to the body of a 10 year old boy. The (now familiar) alarms starting going off in my head, telling me that this guy was very VERY short but all I could do was smile as he turned in my direction and greet him once we were standing in front of one another. I consider myself a (relatively) very short person, which is why it was important to tell you what footwear I was wearing at the time. I specifically recall having to bend down to give Adam a hug. And from that point on, I was traumatized, but had to pretend that everything was fine (again).

Once we sat down, and I realized that Adam somehow didn’t require a highchair, we got along great. Well, that was until I ordered a glass of sake and he stuck with water. “Oh, you don’t drink alcohol?” I asked. He explained that he doesn’t really enjoy drinking, and never has. Obviously, I was wondering how that’s even possible internally, but on the outside, I kept the questions going. I asked if he goes out at all, to socialize, watch games, be around people – you know, perform recreational human activity as I see it – in some way. He said he does once in a while, but doesn’t really enjoy being at bars at all. He elaborated (if you want to call it that) by saying:

“Well I do go to them and I would go with you for a bit. But don’t worry I would be good once we got home.”

danglingfeet-bw

Excuse me? I didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about. He was a smart guy with a logical head on his shoulders until this subject came up. I was pretty sure he was telling me would be a great sex partner after going to a bar and not drinking – and was proud of that fact. All I could think of was munchkin foreplay and I got really disturbed.

I don’t think we hit another awkward topic during dinner after that, and Adam was nice enough to drive me home from the restaurant. Even with an SUV, he didn’t need pedal extensions. I know…I was surprised too.
And that was pretty much it. He was short and a little creepy even as a very sober little person, so I just wasn’t into him.

And I’m almost positive that that is the exact reason why he was very interested in me. I received a voicemail from him a day or two later that specifically said, “give me a call back when you get a chance, or I will call you later.” So I figured that since he said he would possibly call me again, I didn’t need to call him back. I thought that was logical.

Well, I never heard from Adam again but wow – my family friend was not very happy with me. During the next family get-together when I saw her, she demanded to know why I didn’t call him back. I explained my reasoning, and also expressed that I wasn’t really into him.

Her response (exclaimed not only in front of my mother and brother, but her parents and everyone’s small kids):

“YOU KNOW — NOT EVERYTHING IN LIFE IS ABOUT GETTING DRUNK AND SCREWING!!”

No?

Well, someone should have told Adam the second part – and maybe lowered her voice during this absurd exclamation around everyone’s parents. I ended up seeing Adam at the family friend’s wedding about a year later. Yes, he did ignore me, no – he certainly didn’t have a drink… and yes, his date was well over a foot taller than him. Good (albeit, slimy) job Thumbelina!

thumbelina

He Sells Tile

There are some dudes out there who I am 100% convinced have other people write their online dating profiles for them. Possibly female family members or empathetic friends…or maybe both. I vaguely remember striking up a conversation with a handsome blond-haired, blue-eyed beau on J-Date.com. Yes, you read that right. Light haired, blue-eyed Jewish guys are a rarity but they do exist. He had plenty of photos on his profile of him smiling at different events, and described himself and his life in a pleasant, detailed manner. An attractive human being with a personality and interests. I was sprung.

Now that I am thinking back on this experience, there are two things I need to point out:

1. If you are a regular reader of my posts, you know that I rarely forgot names. Well, this guy is the exception to that pattern. I have zero recollection of his name because he barely left an imprint on my memory.

2. This may have been the point in my online dating existence where I decided that a phone discussion was a requirement before actually meeting my potential love interest in person.

And so we carried on our conversation via text messages for a while and I got to know whats-his-face as a cool guy who was really sarcastic and had plenty to talk about. We had decided to meet for a drink at a bar that he chose and sounded perfectly fine to me.

And the bar was fine – extremely casual, and unassuming. I arrived first and sipped my fun beverages while I waited for the latest Man o’ my Dreams to show up. While I was looking down at my phone, or at the bartender, or the floor – basically anywhere but the stool next to me, my date showed up. There was no sign that he had actually walked into the bar and arranged himself next to me. I didn’t even notice that the door to the bar had even opened. He was just there all of the sudden.

Just imagine this scene for a second. I’m kind of nervous and waiting for someone to walk in and he literally materialized next to me – AND DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING.

So here is what I remember of the dialogue we did exchange:

Me: Hey there – I guess you are [my date’s name]. Nice to meet you in person (smiling, though having no idea what’s going to happen).
Him: (low mumbled voice). Hey. You too. (looks away)

And the struggled exchange continued like that for the entire time it took him to get a beer down and for me to basically inhale the drink he offered me. Each time I brought him to a topic, it always came back to his employment, and the same thing about his employment. I had known from his exciting profile that he was a tile salesman.

So when I brought up where I was from he said, “My office is in Brooklyn, where I sell tile from.”
“Working in sales can’t be easy,” I offered at one point, trying to see if he would maybe feel more comfortable when I gave him an opener about his favorite topic, and would talk a bit more. His response: “Well, my type of sales isn’t too bad. Everyone needs tile.”

Right.

Or when I said I would love to go back to Europe soon, he offered, “I’ve been to Italy – you know they are the tile capital of the world.”

Have you fallen asleep yet? I almost did. As I made a beeline for the train station to get home (which he didn’t walk me to), I kept asking myself who the heck wrote this guy’s profile.

Why are we Holding Hands?

On a beautiful summer afternoon, I was obviously sitting inside, on my couch in the air conditioning, and staring at profiles on my favorite free online dating site. Jay and I started IMing and since he typed in full sentences and didn’t ask me to come over to his house within the hour in a costume (happens all the time), I decided that he was dating material. Jay had his own apartment, a job and looked to be pretty handsome. About 6 feet tall, with wavy dark blond hair and he worked at a music label (yes, I was shocked that some still exist too!) We bantered humorously back and forth via text for the next day or so and made plans to meet at a wine bar that Saturday night.

I had left another bar earlier after watching a friend’s band to make it on time for our date and it turned out that I was early. He picked a cute place. I sat at the bar and sipped my wine waiting for him to walk in, while yet again, trying to look cute and breezy. And then Jay came through the door. I suppose he kind of looked like the person in his photos, but there was something lacking. I honestly feel like online profiles can really mess with one’s head since they are only one-dimensional. This then forces us to create the second and third dimensions in our heads and if our date doesn’t match up to that creation, there might be some severe disappointment and lack of chemistry.

So there was zero attraction to the in-person Jay. Nothing blatantly wrong with his appearance but it just wasn’t there. But hey, he was friendly enough and we were at a bar, so I had no problem getting to know someone over a glass of wine or two. The topics of conversation ranged from how Jay’s 19-year-old cousin was crashing at his apartment to how Jay liked to keep mixed nuts in his freezer and randomly snack on them. No, neither of these topics or anything else we discussed made him any more attractive, nor did the film of sweat that was easing its way across his forehead and heading down the rest of his face. He swabbed his brow with some napkins, but the sweat wasn’t stopping. The moisture was that of someone’s perspiration in the midst of a heavy work-out, but alas, he was merely sitting at a bar.

Jay at the bar.

After about an hour and approximately 4 not-so-absorbent cocktail napkins later, I made my move to leave. I was staying at a friend’s empty apartment for the night, which was a few blocks away. Jay offered to walk me there, which I thought was nice and polite, until I felt a giant clammy hand reach out and take mine as we walked down the street. I nervously glanced to my side while Jay kept the conversation going, and I kept wondering what made him think that this was an occasion for hand-holding. Yet, I didn’t pull away.

About two blocks away from my destination, while we were in the midst of discussing something very intense (most likely mothballs or the whittling industry or something) the giant cold cut-like hand pushed me over to the door of a CVS pharmacy. And suddenly, there was a tongue in my mouth for a few seconds. Astonished, and wondering how the cold cuts got from my hand to my mouth, I pulled away and said the only logical statement I could muster: “Thank you.”

CVS / Lover’s Paradise

I was sufficiently grossed-out, if not now terrified that Jay thought we were having a romantic experience. I kept him chatting about music for the rest of the walk to my friend’s apartment, and when I announced that we were there, he seemed to lean in for another tongue lash, or even worse: an invitation upstairs. I giggled like a 5 year old school girl while he stared at me. I figured a kiss on the cheek and a “Thanks, talk to you soon!” declaration into the smoke that billowed behind me as I ran into the building would politely hint that I was not interested.

Once I got into the apartment, I took to scrubbing and sanitizing my hands and mouth as much as possible. As I started a text to my friend, asking how much white wine of hers that she would allow me to drink to kill the creepy boy germs and my memory of our experience together, an incoming message popped up:

“Now you know I’m a good kisser.”

I do?

Needless to say, Jay was another (incredibly creepy) frog in my quest to find a prince.

A Bundle of Nerves Named Lee

While she is experiencing life on the other side of the world from me, lostnChina recently wrote a great post entitled “The Sarcastic Woman’s Guide to Online Dating: The Whole Enchilada,” which I believe touches on some real issues those of us who have dared to look on the Internet for companionship have to face. She has also dated a man who is completely obsessed with Amway – which is something else we have in common. Yes, I will discuss my Amway guy in a future post – don’t you worry. Anyway, lostnChina sums everything up fairly early by saying, “Most online profiles come across as too-good-to-be-true and exaggerations abound.” She’s right about the profiles. I would like to add that e-mails and text messages that follow can have the same effect.

I was spending the night at my brother’s house after a festive Rosh Hashanah celebration and had my laptop out to look at online profiles. Honestly, is there a better way to close out a holy and blessed evening than perusing J-Date? We began instant messaging right away, and when we took those messages over to AOL, I knew our exchange was getting intense. Well, not really, I think we were both bored out of our minds and found that spending more than a few minutes on J-Date was embarrassing. In any case, we spent a few hours chatting that sacred night. One can say that our romance blossomed at the beginning of the Jewish New Year. Or not…let’s not get dramatic.

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In his photos, Lee had really dark hair and eyes, looked to be in decent shape and wore dark framed glasses. Lee was the first (and only, now that I think about it) divorced guy I chatted with online extensively. It sounded like he had gotten married when he was very young to a girl who was from another country. As they both grew up, and she became acclimated to life in the US, they grew apart and their marriage ended. That detail is neither here nor there, but I was curious after meeting him how he was ever a married man, and I figure you might be as well by the time you finish reading this.

Once we used similar phrases to describe what we do for a living, we both realized that we worked in the same industry and as it turned out, knew many of the same people. Lee had a really dry sense of humor and we enjoyed making each other laugh through our quirky one-liners and stories of past experience. We e-mailed and texted back and forth for a few weeks to continue our intricate comedy show. He told the most entertaining stories and was as charming as can be. I loved the way he “spoke” during this time. It was both self-deprecating and sexy, since he had the confidence to say anything. And then it became time to meet in person.

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I shakily approached the guy who looked pretty much like Lee’s photos and was standing outside the bar-restaurant we decided on for our first date. I gave him a big smile and told him it was great to finally meet him in person. He looked up from his phone long enough to make eye contact with me for about 2 seconds and mumbled a greeting, looking either like he thought I wasn’t the person he’d been texting for weeks, or he was absolutely terrified. It seemed to be the latter, since he did open the door for me to the restaurant and I lead the way to our table.

Once we sat down, we actually started communicating as though we had, in fact, been in touch for a while. However, he was really nervous. I asked him more than once if I had something on my face or in my teeth because he was now staring at me very intensely. Some stutters also came out of his mouth, but I was glad we were speaking. I ordered a vodka tonic from the waitress, and Lee did the same. And then his was gone within 5 minutes. He ordered another one, and then that one disappeared in pretty much the same fashion. After that happened I jokingly said, “Thirsty?” and he put his head down, and said he was nervous. I tried to explain that there is no need to be shy or anxious and that I met up with him because he seemed like great guy and we got along well thusfar. To give him a bit more confidence, I told him that I was glad he actually looked like his profile pictures. That didn’t help him much, and he told me that I was even more beautiful than mine. Aww, yes, that was nice to hear, but the compliments, and nervousness did not end throughout the entire date. After my second drink, I ordered an appetizer, which Lee said he was too shaky to eat but ordered another drink. We talked about some work things, and other general topics, but it didn’t seem like he was really listening to anything and just kept staring at me in that weird, creeper way. I was wearing work clothes – pants and a button-down shirt – and you would have thought I had on a negligee. I felt dirty.

The date lasted a bit less than two hours and Lee had ordered and drank a total of five cocktails. We parted with him still being shy, and me feeling like a supermodel. I had no idea what the hell had just happened, but he definitely was not the person I thought I had been e-mailing and texting with all the intimate details of my life with earlier. I have zero issues with anyone having as many drinks as they would like, but the lack of personality and creepy anxiety combined with the superfluous cocktail guzzling just confused me.

As I stroked my lustrous supermodel hair at my desk the next morning, I received an e-mail from Lee explaining that he had a great time. The only sign that I got that ‘electronic Lee’ was the same person as ‘date Lee’ was that he apologized at the end of his e-mail for being so nervous.

Then he asked me out again. And I had to refuse. That might sound really harsh, but you have to understand that when someone is nervous, to the point that they are borderline sinister, that doesn’t sit well with me. Confidence, and a clear speaking voice, are key.

If you feel bad for Lee, don’t. Facebook suggested that I become friends with him a year or so later, and his main photo included him smiling with a female, who I assumed was his latest love interest. Maybe she went shot for shot with him on their first date, made the first move and beat the anxiety out of him. Or maybe he read this:

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And even after the Facebook suggestion, I made a huge social media faux pas and hit the wrong key on my LinkedIn profile. I ended up sending a bulk message to every person that the site thought I might know and invited them to be a connection. Lee was one of them. Being such an open and boisterous technological personality, he actually responded to my erroneous message, explaining in a lengthy manner that while my name and company sounded familiar to him, he had no recollection of ever meeting me. Tempted to remind him of his evening of creepdom, I started drafting a reply, recounting our courtship, and eventually decided against it.

Lesson learned. Always talk to your possible love interest on the phone before you meet in person. There is a lot you can learn from a person’s tone of voice that any amount of text and two dimensional photos cannot exude.

Oh, and don’t send bulk e-mails to strangers. You might end up reaching out to a blind date from the past.

A Very Special Guest Post: “Why Don’t You Like Me?!”

I can’t think of anyone better to pen the first guest post on my blog than the male who has tortured me the most in my life – my older brother. Now a married man of almost a decade, he reminisces about one of his wild and crazy nights out as a single club-goer, long ago in the tale below…

My best friend, who shall remain nameless, has been a Ladies Man from time immemorial. Since we were 12 years old chicks have always dug him. Twenty-five years on and it gets a little old sometimes, being a mere mortal standing in the shadow of flirty, oozing, greasy Sicilian greatness.

Over the course of this time standing in the shadow of a Sicilian Adonis, I have also had the awkward honor of flying wingman for said Sicilian Adonis. One hundred percent of the time he has always been flirting with the better looking gal, and I have always had to make due with whatever Lady Luck threw my way. One particular Flight of the Wingman stands out in my mind as being particularly horrible (or hilarious, if you’re not me).

The Sicilian Adonis and I were in our early 20s and partying at Webster Hall in New York. I always loved going there in the 1990s because it was a mega-sized club with multiple rooms, great music and minimal pretense. I always felt almost cool there. This particular night I felt really cool because the place was not crowded at all…we could actually move around from room to room without getting jostled.

We made it into a huge ballroom that included thumping industrial and dance music…The Sicilian Adonis’ prime feeding ground. He knew what he was doing…women that he was interested in were never found in the heavy metal or rock rooms. The chicks there were pretty scary most of the time. In the dance hall rooms were most of the goers, the hot ones who were ready. That is what attracted the Sicilian Adonis.

A few drinks in, we took up our usual observation position on the outside of the dance floor. Chicks a-flutter, everywhere…the man just had to take his pick. A few less-drunk women had already noticed him. We slowly waded into the sweaty female crowd and started to slowly get used to the music. Slightly buzzed, my inhibition fell away and I began to dance. The Sicilian Adonis did as well.

We had done this so many times in groups large and small that we rarely had to speak to each other. Body language and facial expressions were enough to report status. This operation was particularly easy as the odds were in our favor overwhelmingly…there were barely any other men around. After only a few minutes we each were dancing with women and not with ourselves anymore. The Sicilian Adonis had found a tall, tan girl with black hair and a respectable rump-shaking ability. Her frumpy friend, who found me, was dancing a bit too energetically and getting close enough that her sweat stained my own shirt. I accepted my reality and rolled with it.

Within ten minutes the Adonis had struck and was sucking face on the dance floor. How did he do this? Every time. I was now locked into the situation and my disheveled gal pal also looked ready to suck some face. She went in for the kill and I quickly juked to the right and shouted into her ear “Wanna get a drink?” She nodded eagerly and we went to the bar…I had successfully dodged a bullet there.

The bar was not particularly crowded and we were able to get drinks quickly. The music was less thumpin’ and we were able to strike up a conversation. I started with the highly original, “So what do you do?”

“I work at CNN, I’m an intern there.” That actually interested me so we started talking about her work and what she wanted to do with her life. Bad move. She thought that our conversation was not part of my wingman responsibilities…maybe that I was even interested. How unprofessional! Who knows though, she could have been playing wingman as well. Do chicks do that?

Anyway after about ten minutes of talking she grabbed me by the sweaty shirt with her meaty paws and dragged me back out onto the dance floor like a sack of dirty laundry. This girl was strong…and that might lead to issues.

We danced for over an hour and as the room got more crowded my own sweat started to mingle with the sweat she was spewing all over me. The Adonis was enjoying himself thoroughly, making out and laughing and generally being himself. If he could live his whole life making out with tan chicks and sweating 24 hours a day, he would. Who wouldn’t really, I guess…

After a solid hour of not making any moves as part of my duties, I could see that the CNN frumpster was getting frustrated (frumpstrated?) and really wanted to get the party started. She went in for a kiss again and I again asked her if she wanted a drink. This time it was much more awkward and quite obvious that I was avoiding having my face sucked by her.

We got to the bar and after getting jostled and pushed as I was supposed to, finally got a few more drinks. The time was drawing near…either I was going to have to do my duty as wingman and go all in, sucking face and whatnot, or I was going to have to disappear. Rude? Yes. But these were the cold facts.

“Why don’t you like me?!” cried the CNN frumpster into my ear. I think the music actually stopped in the dance hall too. I had never been asked this before. People in general, never mind girls, could not care less if I like them or not. I was temporarily shocked, and I pretended to not hear her, just to get a few more seconds to try and formulate a response or just flee through the crowd. Legs frozen in fear, I had no choice and had to respond.

“What?” I asked, putting on my best naïve face, which is an exact replica of the face I ordinarily have on.

“WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME!?” she shouted again, her eyes getting all glassy.

“What makes you say that? I really like you!” I lied.

“Kiss me!” she shouted, spitting some of her drink onto my sweaty shirt. A little club soda would get that out.

“I have a girlfriend!” I lied again.

“I don’t care!” she fired back.

She was a pro. The only way I could keep from getting drawn further in to this quagmire was to get back out on the dance floor and find the Sicilian Adonis. I shouted “Let’s go dance!” ignoring her question and she actually followed me back out on the dance floor. “Born Slippy” by Underworld was playing, a favorite song of myself and the Sicilian Adonis, and of the CNN frumpster too apparently, as she began gyrating and flinging sweat and drink everywhere. This was spiraling out of control, and I could not find the Adonis anywhere. He must have been getting busy in one of the dark corners of the hall.

The whole dance floor was dancing in unison as my heart pounded. How far would I have to take this? Would I actually have to get physical with this girl one way or another? I prayed to Jesus.

Before it got too ugly, the 11 minute song finally ended and I whipped out the bathroom excuse. I found the Adonis in there by the urinals, either peeing or admiring his genitals…it was always hard to tell which.

“Oh man this chick is awesome!” he shouted. I just leered at him as I peed.

“Don’t worry, just a few minutes more,” he said.

“You want me to go back out there? Are you fucking crazy?”

“Come on I had a bad break-up, I need this,” said the Adonis.

“Fucking guy,” I muttered.

I zipped up and we returned to the dark dance hall. Both girls were waiting. CNN frumpster said “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I couldn’t do that to you,” I lied, and left out the part “because my friend just had a bad break-up and needs your friend’s tongue in his face.”

The music was much more subdued now so all four of us could hold a conversation. The girls asked what we did and I immediately answered that we were trapeze artists. That answer typically scared away most chicks for its sheer dorkitude. But these two started hysterically laughing and it seemed like they thought I was serious.

“Get the fuck out of here!” the tall tan one shouted. “You mean for the circus? How do you get into that?”
I was stunned, as was the Adonis. Was this ever going to end?

“You are so cute!” shouted the CNN frumpster. Crap…this was terrible. As we continued to discuss working for Ringling Brothers and the Big Apple circuses, the music picked up again. We all stumbled on to the dance floor, which had grown much more crowded. Growing exhausted and soaking wet with my own sweat, sweat from the CNN frumpster and drinks from everyone around me, I gave the Sicilian Adonis the nod. This was a five minute warning to wrap up his business and it was a firm timeline, no fucking around.

I was very excited as the dance floor continued to grow more and more packed. After five minutes, I finally was able to get lost in a crowd of strangers and extricate myself, a sticky, soggy mess. I breathed the air of sweet freedom and met the Sicilian Adonis outside the building.

“Man, that girl was cool. Got her number,” he said contently.

“That was a lot of work, she actually asked me why I didn’t like her,” I told him. “HA!” he laughed, then rubbed my head as he usually did after mild successes. “You did good.”

We went further downtown and the Sicilian Adonis bought me a gyro at one of our favorite post-dance restaurants. Looking back, I suppose that was a little less than a fair exchange for six hours of hard work. But the alternative was far worse.

Yes, it could have been worse. As each of my stories demonstrates, it is almost always worse. Ah, the single life!  Now I want a gyro…


Southern Gentlemen

Contrary to what I might convey (and often think to myself), not all of my first dates have been with people that I have met online. A few years back, a roommate decided to set me up with a friend of the guy she was seeing. Originally from Texas, his name was Brandon and he worked for a major company producing a radio sports program that aired live every morning. He sounded nice enough on the phone, and he definitely had the Texas drawl, so we planned to meet a few days later for a drink.

I met Brandon at the bar at the W Hotel, which made me feel chic. Clearly, it doesn’t take much for that to happen. He was decent-looking, average height with brown hair and eyes, dressed appropriately and was pretty laidback when we first met up. As we sat in the lounge area, Brandon explained that he goes out for drinks quite often during the week, as it is almost a requirement for his job. Being such a high-society player myself (stop laughing), I nodded as though I understood the entertainment business and the lifestyle that goes along with it. “How do you function every day for the morning show you produce if you are partying every night?” I wondered aloud. He explained that he typically has only one drink, if anything, and ends up going home relatively early when he does his professional socializing. “Honestly, I don’t ever really get drunk,” he said. Fair enough.

On my way back from the very chic ladies room a bit later, I noticed that John Mayer was standing at the front desk of the hotel lobby. I overheard him saying to a minion that the odor in his room was atrocious and something needed to be done. Personally, I believe it might have been his own body he smelled, but the complaint was being taken seriously nonetheless. Feeling honored for being in the same vicinity as the dirty crooner, I walked back to Brandon excited to share my tale when I noticed that he was surrounded by about 4 extremely tall men in suits. I put on my best fake smile as I stood next to all of them while Brandon rambled about some sports crap with them. Apparently, they were members of a college basketball team and he knew them very well. Blah blah blah…some other sports stuff. Then we were on to the next part of our night.

We went to a lounge in the same area that we started that was called “Suede.” My research tells me that this one-word gem is now closed. This is sad because I have great memories from my few hours there that night. For one thing, there was a really cute bartender in the downstairs area that I started chatting up when Brandon got annoying. Yet, another reason was that since he actually knew the staff of the lounge, we got to hang out in the “VIP” area. In retrospect, I was just excited that I was allowed to smoke cigarettes in our little section while the rest of the clientele could not. Oh yeah, and Charles Barkley was also there. Alone. I was once again star-struck, and got really excited about hearing anything he had to say while he sat with his knees nearly hitting him in his face. I suppose it isn’t too comfortable to be squeezed into a tiny area when you are a giant. Of course, Brandon “knew” Charles and immediately started chatting him up about basketball. So I sat on one side of Brandon. Charles was on the other. It was pretty loud so I couldn’t hear their conversation. Charles had bought us a round of drinks (tee hee!) and once I was done with my 5th cigarette, I got bored. I’m pretty sure Charles was uninterested as well. My logic is as follows: if your entire career and life is all about basketball, how much can you possibly talk about it? Especially at a lounge? I tapped Brandon and said I was going to go to the downstairs bar for a bit. My new bartender friend would definitely pay more attention to me. I wish I was able to bring Charles along. It didn’t matter anyway. Brandon grabbed my arm and said, a bit too authoritatively, “DO NOT leave me alone with Charles.” Some would say he should not be telling me what to do, and that he seemed to have some major ego problems. I would agree, but I listened to him and stayed.

Good thing I stayed. Finally, when Brandon shut up for a minute, I had the opportunity to share my independent social genius with Charles Barkley.

Me: (beaming from ear to ear for no real reason) “I like your watch!”

Charles: (looks down at the giant set of diamonds and platinum covering half of his forearm) “Thanks. I buy my watches like I buy my homes.”

Me: (smiling, in some sort of dreamland) “Ha ha, right. Me too!”

Wait, what? There’s no way that statement, or my agreement for that matter, ever did or ever will, make sense. Eh, that doesn’t matter. We were buddies now! A little while later, when Charles was leaving, he hugged and kissed me on the cheek, and said, “It was verrra nice to meet you. You’re a verrra pretty girl.” Why wasn’t I out with Charles instead?!? I love that man.

Soon after, Brandon and I moved on to the third destination of the night. The club “Air” has since closed just like Suede. Not only did my date flirt with a tiny man named Antoine to get through the velvet ropes of this amazing place, but we hung out with yet another celebrity! Sadly, I have no recollection of his name, but I do remember that he was beautiful and approximately 9 feet tall. And he was another charming guy related to sports. I’m pretty sure someone mentioned that he was on ESPN’s “Cold Pizza.” None of that really matters. The point is that I really didn’t care about my date at all, but was having a great time at the places we went to by myself. As a matter of fact, I was walking around the club and happily dancing a little bit on my own when Brandon came up to me, complete with a rumpled and now-stained shirt, his eyes looking in two different directions and slurring “there you are!” I guess this was one of those nights where he did, indeed, “get drunk.” It was time for the social outing portion of the date to come to a close.

So here’s the part where I have to beg you not to judge me. I know, I know – why wouldn’t you do that when that is what I do to others throughout this entire blog? Well, I would think you just like me better, no?

I went back to Brandon’s apartment. I SWEAR on all that is holy that I wasn’t planning on doing anything slutty or indecent, and I admit that it was a horrible decision to even walk through the door with him. But I did, and I hung out for a little bit. While we are on the topic of his apartment, I have to just mention that it was tiny and a total mess. Anyway, at one point, when Brandon went to the bathroom, I decided that it definitely was time to go home, be in my own bed, and well…dream about Charles Barkley.

I was putting on my jacket when Brandon came back and asked why I was leaving so soon. Smiling, I explained that I had a great time, but was exhausted. He looked a little confused, and slightly angry. Then he responded with one of the most record-breaking statements I have ever heard. His answer (make sure you are sitting down for this one): “You know, the only reason I agreed to go on a date with you was because I heard you needed to get laid.”

I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. But I said nothing in response and left. I was in tears on the way home, trying to figure out the logic behind what he said. Later, I realized there really wasn’t any. If someone had even told him that I “needed to get laid,” why bring that up? Also, has he used that line before with any success? In other words, he’s a complete tool bag.*

I have zero regrets about that night. I learned a lot, including the fact that I might be my own best date after all.

*My roommate told me a few months later that Brandon had been fired from his job. He was hung-over and fell asleep during one of his live shows. How’s that for good karma?