I had a date two weeks ago last Saturday night. Why am I waiting so long to post this? Well, because it sucked.
OK, I'll back up. I met him on POF, a free internet site (that sort of says it all, right?), and on the outside everything appeared to be all right: he liked to hike; he was breathing; he works out. I have to admit, you gotta get the phone thing going quicker. Via e-mail, he seemed pretty neat, but on the phone, not so much. For some reason, I've always been able to detect chemistry on the phone, but this poor fella had no phone chemistry, and talked too slow and kinda hayseedy. But I figured since he was breathing and still had a pulse, I should go out with him and keep an open mind. After all, he has a steady job, works out, close relationship with his kids, lives within three hundred miles of me. It sounded good.
Until I met him.
He gave me a giant bear hug, which was kinda nice, except for my boobs hurt afterward. And of course, he wore a baseball cap and his shirt tucked in. Hello 1986.
About ten minutes in, I realized I was bored. As in ZERO chemistry. But this past year, I've noticed women assessing dates more like interviews with future financial portfolios (disgusting, I know, but I'm trying to be more practical about dating), so I tried this "Who cares what he looks like so long as he's nice" theory, and I'm here to tell ya, I don't know how women have done this for hundreds of years, this hooking up/marrying men when there's no chemistry.
I guess it could have gone better had he realized I am a writer and English teacher and at least tried to talk like someone with a third grade education. He actually said to me, "I don't read books." Wait, back up. You don't read? Then he said, "I never talk religion or politics." What? While I was reeling from this, he said, "SUPPOSABLY, I guess I should read now and then, but I don't see the point."
Whoa, "supposably"? What the fuck is that?
And he said it at least four times the first hour along with this diddy, "I ain't got no . . ." As in, "I ain't got no brains."
I flinched as if being struck with a bat. You can drop F-bombs on me all you want. In fact, I like foul language at the right place and time. But talk like you grew up in a tar paper shack where literacy was considered optional like say, wearing shoes, I don't think so.
It gets worse. I started yawning. I mean really yawning, my eyes tearing, while we were at the fireplace of the Alex Johnson lobby. At one point, I actually dozed off for a moment. You know, like you did during boring college classes where your chin dips down, then you jerk wide awake, looking around, paranoid the professor saw you?
Then this poor creature, apparently clueless and with perhaps a mild case of ASPERGER’S, didn't seem to notice I wasn't that into him. But after a zillion "I ain't got no's" and "suppoablies," I just couldn't stay awake.
Until he reached over and grabbed my hand.
That jerked me awake! Out of shock and politeness, I let him hold it approximately ten seconds then jerked it away. Needless to say, I was now fully awake and plotting an escape.
"Wow, I'm super tired. I think we should call it a night," I said, hopping up and thanking him for dinner and his time. He absolutely insisted that he'd give me and my bike a ride home. Stupidly, I caved. Then the next thing I know, after he lifted my bike out of his truck, he tried to kiss me! I gave him a quick switch-a-roo, cheek-block and shook his hand instead.
Crimeny. Sigh. Can't there be just a hair of chemistry these days? Or are there no available men out there other than this?
Speaking of chemistry, Crackie e-mailed me last night and will be coming into town this month and wants to hang out. I know, I know. Even though he's emotionally unavailable therefore un-dateable, at least there's still a few crazy sparks between us--though nothing ever happens.
Stay tuned.
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