Dating is a numbers game, and going on lots of dates is more likely to lead you to that one special someone faster. Or so goes the dating gospel repeated endlessly as divine truth by "dating experts." The problem is, it's mentally and emotionally exhausting. At least for me. And it skews my perspective on dates in unexpected ways.
Even though it was draining and I will never do this again, it wasn't, by any means, a bust. Date 1 was a first date at Starbucks with a guy who was very easy to talk to from the moment I got there, although I left the date after two hours not knowing if he "like" liked me (as my 12-year-old describes it), or if he just liked talking to me as a friend. "Easy To Talk To" texted me later that night and told me I was "super attractive" and asked me out again, which I took as evidence that he indeed "like" liked me.
On Date 2, I gave Heavy Metal (Call Me... Maybe) a second chance and we had a nice conversation on a rainy day while having lunch and coffee together. He asked me more questions about my life and we made each other laugh with funny stories about parenting.
I finally met Penpal, the 47-year-old guy from New York I've been emailing for what seems like months (Online Dating Time), for Date 3. Penpal was in LA to find an apartment and for business. We went to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner and then for coffee afterwards. Although he was not what I expected, I wasn't disappointed. He gave me a lot of shit about politics, which I found kind of bold for a first date. But I can usually hold my own in the shit-giving department, and I gave it right back to him, without provoking in him or me inappropriate public outbursts liberally punctuated by f-bombs or uncontrollable weeping. I was glad to have finally met him, but I don't really know what to make of him. He is quite a character.
Date 4 turned out to be the highlight of my five-date marathon. I had a second date with "Easy To Talk To," who was even easier to talk to on the second go-around. We did the dinner-and-movie thing, and we really clicked. He's the super attractive one, as well as intelligent, charming, and affectionate, and I feel super lucky he seems to "like" like me. In fact, it sort of feels like I've hoodwinked him into dating me. Why? Because I'm neurotic when I start dating someone who kind of throws me off balance. I feel as if I got a deal and it's only a matter of time before he'll realize he got the short end of the stick.
After a great date the night before, I was in no mood to have Date 5 with anyone other than Easy To Talk To, which was sort of unfair to Heavy Metal. But we had made plans, and according to those "dating experts," one should follow through on early dates because one never knows where each early date will go.
The plan was for Heavy Metal to come to my place to make his gourmet chili and watch the first couple episodes of Game of Thrones, his favorite tv show. Since he was busy throwing a birthday party for his daughter *and* escorting a 95-year-old WWII veteran during the Veterans Day parade, I volunteered to shop for all the ingredients for the chili. And that's why I spent a large chunk of my Sunday afternoon going from store to store to round up the ingredients in his recipe--all 1,000 of them. Russian novels are shorter in length than his gourmet chili recipe.
The farmers market didn't have all of the seven types of peppers he requested, so I ended up going to six different stores to try to find them all. And at one point during the afternoon, my tire went flat, just as I was exiting the freeway. So that set me back at least 45 minutes as I waited for AAA to come change my tire. It was the scavenger hunt from Hell, and I was weary. The last thing I wanted to do was have a date.
When I offered him a glass of wine, he derisively chuckled at the little Ikea glasses I used. I apologetically explained that since I don't drink wine a lot, I hadn't gotten around to buying wine glasses yet and I had just gotten used to using these little juice glasses or my Champagne flutes. Well, that didn't go over well with Heavy Metal, who turns out to be a bit of a wine snob. (I prefer beer, so suck on that.) I was surprised by how rude he was, apparently feeling no need to hide his disdain. If the roles were reversed and I were the wine snob, I would have either gently teased him about the glasses or I would have graciously brushed off his apology as not necessary.
This, as it turned out, was the first of several snotty bitch-ass 'tudes he gave me during the evening. The next one came when the biggest pot I owned was not as big as his own personal chili pot. Judging by all the ingredients, he must have a giant 50-gallon vat over a firepit in his backyard. I do not, and I don't think it's weird that I don't, but judging by that annoying derisive chuckle, he does.
And finally, my favorite 'tude of the evening was when I showed him the TJ's brand of organic chicken broth that I had substituted for the specific brand of organic chicken broth that he wanted because "it has no celery in it." He is allergic to celery. (WTF?! Who's allergic to celery? It's like being allergic to water.) When I showed him that it contained no celery, he looked at me as if I were a dumb bitch, and said icily, "But it's made on machines that process dairy, nuts, and wheat."
"Oh, you're allergic to dairy, nuts and wheat too? I didn't know," I replied, realizing I was going to have to make yet another trip to the damn store before this evening was through.
We sat in stony silence watching the first two episodes of Game of Thrones and eating 1,000-ingredient chili, which, I have to admit, were both awesome. But I stewed about what an ass I thought he had been and couldn't wait for him to leave. I wish I would have kicked him out halfway through the date, but as I've mentioned before, I am pathologically polite in a way that borders on mental illness. It's something I have to work on. Is there therapy for that?
Even though it was draining and I will never do this again, it wasn't, by any means, a bust. Date 1 was a first date at Starbucks with a guy who was very easy to talk to from the moment I got there, although I left the date after two hours not knowing if he "like" liked me (as my 12-year-old describes it), or if he just liked talking to me as a friend. "Easy To Talk To" texted me later that night and told me I was "super attractive" and asked me out again, which I took as evidence that he indeed "like" liked me.
On Date 2, I gave Heavy Metal (Call Me... Maybe) a second chance and we had a nice conversation on a rainy day while having lunch and coffee together. He asked me more questions about my life and we made each other laugh with funny stories about parenting.
I finally met Penpal, the 47-year-old guy from New York I've been emailing for what seems like months (Online Dating Time), for Date 3. Penpal was in LA to find an apartment and for business. We went to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner and then for coffee afterwards. Although he was not what I expected, I wasn't disappointed. He gave me a lot of shit about politics, which I found kind of bold for a first date. But I can usually hold my own in the shit-giving department, and I gave it right back to him, without provoking in him or me inappropriate public outbursts liberally punctuated by f-bombs or uncontrollable weeping. I was glad to have finally met him, but I don't really know what to make of him. He is quite a character.
Date 4 turned out to be the highlight of my five-date marathon. I had a second date with "Easy To Talk To," who was even easier to talk to on the second go-around. We did the dinner-and-movie thing, and we really clicked. He's the super attractive one, as well as intelligent, charming, and affectionate, and I feel super lucky he seems to "like" like me. In fact, it sort of feels like I've hoodwinked him into dating me. Why? Because I'm neurotic when I start dating someone who kind of throws me off balance. I feel as if I got a deal and it's only a matter of time before he'll realize he got the short end of the stick.
After a great date the night before, I was in no mood to have Date 5 with anyone other than Easy To Talk To, which was sort of unfair to Heavy Metal. But we had made plans, and according to those "dating experts," one should follow through on early dates because one never knows where each early date will go.
The plan was for Heavy Metal to come to my place to make his gourmet chili and watch the first couple episodes of Game of Thrones, his favorite tv show. Since he was busy throwing a birthday party for his daughter *and* escorting a 95-year-old WWII veteran during the Veterans Day parade, I volunteered to shop for all the ingredients for the chili. And that's why I spent a large chunk of my Sunday afternoon going from store to store to round up the ingredients in his recipe--all 1,000 of them. Russian novels are shorter in length than his gourmet chili recipe.
The farmers market didn't have all of the seven types of peppers he requested, so I ended up going to six different stores to try to find them all. And at one point during the afternoon, my tire went flat, just as I was exiting the freeway. So that set me back at least 45 minutes as I waited for AAA to come change my tire. It was the scavenger hunt from Hell, and I was weary. The last thing I wanted to do was have a date.
When I offered him a glass of wine, he derisively chuckled at the little Ikea glasses I used. I apologetically explained that since I don't drink wine a lot, I hadn't gotten around to buying wine glasses yet and I had just gotten used to using these little juice glasses or my Champagne flutes. Well, that didn't go over well with Heavy Metal, who turns out to be a bit of a wine snob. (I prefer beer, so suck on that.) I was surprised by how rude he was, apparently feeling no need to hide his disdain. If the roles were reversed and I were the wine snob, I would have either gently teased him about the glasses or I would have graciously brushed off his apology as not necessary.
This, as it turned out, was the first of several snotty bitch-ass 'tudes he gave me during the evening. The next one came when the biggest pot I owned was not as big as his own personal chili pot. Judging by all the ingredients, he must have a giant 50-gallon vat over a firepit in his backyard. I do not, and I don't think it's weird that I don't, but judging by that annoying derisive chuckle, he does.
And finally, my favorite 'tude of the evening was when I showed him the TJ's brand of organic chicken broth that I had substituted for the specific brand of organic chicken broth that he wanted because "it has no celery in it." He is allergic to celery. (WTF?! Who's allergic to celery? It's like being allergic to water.) When I showed him that it contained no celery, he looked at me as if I were a dumb bitch, and said icily, "But it's made on machines that process dairy, nuts, and wheat."
"Oh, you're allergic to dairy, nuts and wheat too? I didn't know," I replied, realizing I was going to have to make yet another trip to the damn store before this evening was through.
We sat in stony silence watching the first two episodes of Game of Thrones and eating 1,000-ingredient chili, which, I have to admit, were both awesome. But I stewed about what an ass I thought he had been and couldn't wait for him to leave. I wish I would have kicked him out halfway through the date, but as I've mentioned before, I am pathologically polite in a way that borders on mental illness. It's something I have to work on. Is there therapy for that?
Some times you just have to say "Fuck it." You should have handed him the bag of ingredients and told him to hit the road. Can you post the recipe?
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ReplyDeleteI've largely given up passive aggression as a personal hobby, but I *might* be available for consulting, or even some pro bono work on your behalf. Some ideas I have: drop peanuts into his zoot suit pocket and invite him swing dancing again, sneak up behind him next time he's at Whole Foods and whack him over the head Ruth Buzzy-style with a flaccid celery stalk, enjoy a second helping of his famous chili and proceed to rip some man-sized gassers while asking him sweetly if he'd like to watch another episode of Game of Thrones. You're welcome, and yes, I've got more.
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