So I've been talking to this guy for a couple of weeks. I think it started when he commented on my love of runny eggs (seriously, we're talking about important stuff here). His was the first message I received off of okcupid.com, so forgive me if I have a soft spot for him (you'll understand with the red flags to come). When I got it, maybe 24-hours after I signed up for online dating, I ran excitedly downstairs and told my roommate, Danielle (who will be a regular on this blog, so it's best if I just introduce her right now), all Chirstmas-morning-excited. "A guy, he likes me!" Ok, so it wasn't quite that desperate, but close.
I should explain where I'm coming from: I lived in South-Western France for the 2009-2010 academic year, and just a few months before, I graduated from Muhlenberg College-- I also spent a semester abroad in France during that time; my point is I've never been in a place long enough to call it "home" because there has always been an end date to wherever I've been during my "adulthood." And now, I've found myself in an apartment, with a lease and a job and dental insurance and a 401k, and really, it's all a bit much. There is no expiration, and frankly, this is the most settled I've ever been. And I guess, this is the sort of mindset that has made me decide that I'm actually ready to pursue a relationship. Actively. Because up until this point, I can blame my single status to the moving around, my unerring independence (I'm my mother's daughter), and my pickiness (I have a picture of the perfect man in my head: he is a bearded, sensitive, thoughtful guy who lives in a log cabin and whittles quirky wooden figurines whilst writing long, insightful novels- like Howard Roark but not an architect with a god complex). And we all know this isn't the case, you know, that I've actually chosen to be single, but I've never actually chosen to be un-single before. So that's something.
And so, for the first time I have chosen to be un-single. Great. So the plan from there? It's not like I'm living in Sex and the City, like Aleksandr Petrosky's are awaiting me at fabulous gallery openings and Aiden Shaw's are just sitting back, selling furniture upholstered in 100-year-old leather. Puh-lease, I wish. How do people meet each other anymore? And don't tell me my job, because I'm in publishing, which is the just about the most female-dominated profession around beside gynecological nurse practitioner. (The one guy at work that I could maybe be interested in is a straight man about as masculine as the aforementioned gynecological nurse practitioner, so there goes that.)
Which is where okcupid comes in. When I actually sit down and think about what I'm doing (talking to strangers online until I decide they are not complete creeps and give them my number, from which point I go out on a limb and plan to meet them), I sort of want to vomit. It seems so processed and silly, a means of meeting people for those who are desperate for companionship and co-dependence or too ugly to meet someone in a bar or at a party.
But here's the thing: I've done the party-meetings; I've flirted with guys at bars, let them buy me drinks, and then have to deflate their expectations by breaking the news that alcohol will nevereverever be a fair tradeoff for sex. Although I have, I will not compromise myself for a bad/no orgasm at the age of 23. I've done it. It sucks. And I can do it better myself. Every time. With this, I've come to online dating. It's not ideal and if I could, I would have my friends introduce me to all of the eligible men in their lives, but most of my friends are single women, and they want to hang onto their single dudes.
So here I am, two weeks ago, checking my inbox. There's a message from a 27-year-old engineer telling me that we have similar interests. Wonderful. So I go tell Danielle. She asks to see his profile, as she should. She is shocked to find out three things: 1) he is a Chinese engineer, 2) his beliefs fall on the right wing, and 3) I am MUCH cuter than him (this last one I didn't fully believe until I met him in person, but such is life). In essence, I am talking to a republican named Ming from the Republic of China. Ming Zedong. The Dictator.
He called me on Thursday, and we decided to meet up for coffee on Friday after work. Frankly, in these situations, I think it would be in both parties best interest to meet up for a beer and ease some of the nervousness that a first date brings, but I humored him. I could tell he was a bit of a prude (red flag #1). We met in Rittenhouse Square, planning to each get there by 6. Because I work in the city, just 20 blocks or so away, I walked up and got there 20 minutes or so early. And I was nervous. It's funny how I can work myself into these panicked states over absolutely nothing. What if I'm not cute enough for him, and he takes one look at me and runs in the other direction? What if he's not cute enough for me, and I take one look at him, want to run in the other direction, but can't because I have empathy? It was all very nerve-wracked, and in a way that I usually am not (and sort of hate being).
Luckily, there is an art show going on in the park this weekend, and so its perimeter was covered with tents filled with paintings and sculptures, and so as I waited for him, I walked around, talked to a few artists, and got into a Zen place. Which was great, because when the Dictator finally got there, he was not. I think you can tell a lot about a person's state of mind by their posture and body language, and all of his was pointing into himself-- he was all balled up, arms crossed. Oh, and did I mention he is my height? I've always laughed and rolled my eyes at taller women who refuse to date men who are shorter than them, but I understand it now. Believe me, I don't want someone towering over me, but I think 5'5" is not too much to ask.
I asked him if he had looked at the rest of the art show, and he hadn't, so we made a round. Longest 20 minutes of my life (red flag #2). No, I shouldn't say that. It wasn't awful, and by no means was he a jerk, he was just...dull and awkward. I filled every silence with a question, and good questions that were pointed and challenging. And he came back at me with, "So, where did you grow up?" Which is fine and interesting, but dig a little deeper, eh?
We finally finished the walk, and went to La Colombe for a quick cup of coffee. Actually, the coffee experience really bugged me. He did not pay for my $1.50 cup. The thing was, he was into me, I know he was into me- he just didn't get it. I feel like a bit of a bad feminist saying this, but that is your job; you are the man! We'll do the wallet scuffle where I take out my wallet and look like I'm about to pay, and then you say "No, no, no, put that away, I've got it." And then I'll rebut, "Are you sure?" and you'll nod in response, and then I'll say thank you. The wallet scuffle. And it was $1.50. And he works at Boeing and owns his own house. Come on.
Which, surprisingly, is another thing that bugged me: the house thing. He owns in Delaware, and when I asked him why, he just responded, "I had the money, so I thought I'd do it." There was no pride in the place, just an investment. Honestly, I find owning property a bit intimidating. Not because you're more stable than me and I feel like I'm beneath you because of it, but because I like to up and move quickly without any warning. And sure, my life here is indefinite. But that doesn't mean that I would feel a smidgen of remorse uprooting to Maine or California or wherever. And the idea that you can't do that, and more so, that you have ignorantly chosen this out of some vague notion of the "right thing to do" simply because you're financially stable, freaks me out.
By the time it was 7:00, and the baristas started cleaning up, I took that as my cue to end the thing. So I told he we should probably get going, and he mentioned that maybe we could get a bite to eat, to which I responded that I couldn't, "I have dinner plans at 7:30. Sorry." I have dinner plans to drink some wine with my roommate and watch Mad Men. And so he walked me to the Locust/Rittenhouse Square corner of the park, where he tried to kiss me (I was the prude this time), and I turned it into this awful hug where he insisted that our cheeks touch.
The Dictator: not my thing. Because the bottom line is: I can criticize all I want, but if there was chemistry between us, his height and lack of conversation would have been something entirely different. This would have been a very different first post.
The plan is simple: I am 23, have never actually dated in the way that you're supposed to date in your twenties, and I'm intrigued. So, I'm going to do it in bulk. I'll waste as little time as possible, and this year, I will go on 50 dates. 49 to go by September 16, 2011. I hope some of those are second dates. But if not, I'll at least drink a lot of good coffee (hopefully I won't be paying for it).
... worse case scenario, you come home to Don Draper :D
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