Part of the goal of this "project" is to break whatever cycle I have when it comes to men. I want to get over my judgmental shit, you know, the silly ideas about "the relationship I need" that I have in my naive mind. Generally, I tend to go for neurotic artsy types, the architects and photographers who act as if they have some omniscient, god-like perspective on the world, but take out their insecurities and undiagnosed OCD on me. They're always terrible communicators, so I always do the legwork in that department and that drives me up a freaking wall because it makes the relationship about power (which I hate), and then on top of it, they have that power (which I hate even more).
So in my drunk messaging spree of last week, I emailed, of all people, a contractor-in-training. He was the guy I winked at (and you know how slutty I find okcupid winking). The next day, I regretted it, but followed through because who knows, maybe me-after-too-much-wine knows more than sober-me. He wrote me back a short email about his dog and tacos (I apparently am going for a Mexican-food based niche audience), and (not so) casually mentioned that because I was new to the area that he would love to introduce me to good sushi in West Philly. This put me off. It was too eager for a normal person. He had to have something wrong with him. A giant wart on his nose. Missing toes. A twitch. Something.
I know the Beatles' tune "Happiness is a Warm Gun" is about heroine, but it's so ecstatically sexed up. And as much as it's not there, I've always made the association between that song and a dude who prematurely comes (I know, where is my head at). For me, the correlation is the "warm gun" part of the title: a guy shoots his wad. There's no drawn out, teasing foreplay, no time, no attention, no built-up longing. Just: splat/bang. Done.
When he mentioned going out to sushi, that was a splat/bang. No excitement, no wondering if he found me attractive, no work. But I went with it for the sake of the project. I avoided the suggestion all together, talked about other things like dogs (he adopted one 5 years back), living in Philly, being an English major (he was one too) and the disenchantment of the degree that comes after you get into the working world. All very okcupid-second-message.
He wrote me back a longish message answering all of the gettingtoknowyou questions I posed, and at the end, just said what he needed to say: let's have coffee, I'm not freaked out by you, and I think we could get along. Shortest message chain ever. And for the sake of the project, I said yes. Now, this was all happening at time I was planning Date #2 with Q, and to be frank, my attention was diverted. Date #3 was a second thought, really, and probably unfairly. He called me while I was at my mom's house, and after I made my date with Q for Monday, I decided to front load the week (as it were) and make my date with W.G. for Tuesday after work.
This was a good idea in theory, but tactically, not so much; this dating stuff knocks the wind out of me. I was exhausted on Tuesday from the date on Monday, had an awful day at work, and as I was walking up to Rittenhouse from Old City, was so atypically indifferent. I usually have to talk myself down before these things, repeat the mantra of, "This is a blip, an inconsequential blip," and "you are an attractive, smart person who deserves someone worth it," but with this one, I just walked. Partially, I know I was disappointed that there wasn't a spark from the night before, and part of me was judging him and anticipating more disappointment. I mean, if I couldn't hit it off with a guy who was, on paper, perfect for me, what would make a guy who was in a completely separate world from me appealing? Plus, I had Danielle's voice in the back of my head saying, "You're so much cuter than him." Which, objectively speaking, was true. But I'm cuter than a lot of the guys I've gone for, and that hasn't stopped me, so why should it now? The thing is, once I'm attracted, your attractiveness is, in a way, a non-issue, because it's moved from the realm of the objective into the realm of the subjective.
In this complacent mood I was in, I decided to be five minutes late. I sat in the park, changed out of my New Balance mom-sneakers that I use to walk back and forth to work and put on my black ballet flats. I still looked a bit post-9to5soulsucked, but not awful. At 6:04, I walked to La Colombe (which I think has become my first date go-to coffee shop; it's close enough to my house that I can walk home in the dark without feeling like I should have taken the bus, but far enough away that a creepy guy won't be able to figure out where I live), and low an behold, he had the same idea that I had, and we met at the door, coming from different directions.
We introduced ourselves, went for the hand shake. He's a tall guy, apathetic looking, red-head (a ginga, as my sister Amy would call him), has a receding hairline (this is a negative of going for older guys, I think- though he was only 27, so not that much older), and wore plaid (which I had neither positive nor negative feelings about). I was not in ideal first date form- the day really had kicked my ass, and those sort of obscure but interesting and telling questions that I usually ask when I first meet someone weren't coming. I was just too tired to be attentive. But in a way, it worked for the moment. He's a laid-back kind of guy, not unmotivated, but definitely not a go-getter either. Our chat was generic: pop culture, work, a general past history- typical stuff and nothing too offensive.
We cut the thing short at 7, and as we were leaving, we hugged goodbye, and he asked if I would be up for grabbing dinner sometime. I said yes, though I didn't know if that was something he was just saying to end the date on an up note, or if it was his actual intention. I didn't really care at that point. I guess he meant it though, because he called last night. I'm still mulling over whether or not I want to call him back.
The thing is, it wasn't bad. But I think you would have to be a total jerk to have a bad date with me (a womanizer/misogynist, a racist, a republican, etc). When I try, I can have genuine conversations with anyone, and I'm told that's not a common trait. Really, what I need is a blowmymind, awesome date, because then I would have a bar to hold these guys up to. And I know, I'm not supposed to look outside of myself, blahblahblah, but when the last couple of guys I've even remotely liked have been a Catholic-guilt-ridden, probable homosexual mama's boy and a guy ten years older than me who doesn't know what he wants (and kisses like a fish), well, you at least understand my desire for the bar.
No comments:
Post a Comment