This date is still my worst nightmare
This year; February 14th. That was the last time I subjected myself to a “date.” We’d known each other for two years. He was finally single, I somehow felt intense attraction despite his being covered in tattoos; we’d been dating for three weeks, and it was supposed to be the “most romantic day of the year.” Dinner and a movie suddenly transformed into a cup of coffee from 7-11 at 9 at night. This was the last time I saw him; wish I could say I’ve missed him.
You can see why I’ve given up dating… it leads to disappointment.
But, for whatever the reasons, here I was, an hour before meeting time, forcing myself into the shower. At the last second, I panicked, stating out loud, “I just don’t want to do this. I have homework I’d rather do.” But there was my mom, literally walking me to my car, telling me I had to get out there because I hadn’t “had enough dates yet.”
Humph.
Well, I’ll tell you, the guy from Fresh Choice who sucked each of my fingers during our movie date? I would’ve called him to pick me up from this one.
Warning signs: Now, when a guy you’ve only conversed with a few times via Myspace (I know, I know…) starts text messaging you the minute he gets your phone number about taking a trip to Napa Valley, you should be concerned.
Foolishly, being a girl who can never get the “game” right, I misread it as a womanizing tactic instead of insanity.
We meet for dinner, he has a single red rose for me… cheesy, but I’m supposed to be open to this Kamikaze mission. So I try.
We order. He talks. And talks. Only stopping, periodically, to rejoice when the WORST songs begin to play. My heart plummets.
Somewhere during his entire life story, while I’ve been fascinating myself with dipping broccoli into a cup of ranch dressing for what seems like an eternity, he asks, “So, when do you run on campus?”
I weakly respond, “Oh, it’s different every day.”
“Well, tell me. What is it?”
I reluctantly give him the six-day schedule. Enthusiastically, he informs me that he can run with me every Tuesday and Thursday. (I was unaware I’d sent out an invitation.)
Then he starts talking about his demanding sports practice schedule, and the rigorous workouts that are required. He stops, mid-sentence, realizing that he “can run with me Wednesday too,” because that’s his day off.
I, needless to say, am overjoyed.
Conversation continues (on his end), until it winds up leading to family issues. (His.)
“Things have been kind of bad lately. It was pretty tipsy turvy before I left. It’s a long story, so I won’t get into it tonight.” Brief pause, during which I thank God for forgiving me for all the Sundays He’s missed me in the pews… and then, “Well, I might as well.”
The topic, which I won’t punish you with entirely, had to do with such things as adultery, financial obligations, family businesses, and new sleeping arrangements.
When I think it’s finally over, he then says, “Oh, and I have a sister too. She’s twenty and just had a baby. They live in our backyard, because she can’t hold a job and her boyfriend is a convicted felon.”
Unable to hide my shock, he comforts me with, “In the boonies I live in, my entire family is wanted for arrest, but the cops can never find them because they all live in shacks with no addresses.”
That must make for one hell of a reunion.
At this point, realizing the obvious (that too much unwanted information has been shared), I begin darting my eyes around the restaurant, searching for Ashton Kutcher. (Perhaps, only out of sheer denial.) Not ready to accept the rapidly growing odds of my becoming the “cat lady” who finds egocentric felines to be more endearing than male companionship, I am now embracing the idea of being “Punk’d.” Ashton never shows.
Note: It is not that we don’t want your family history. We’re all dysfunctional. But maybe that shouldn’t be shared on the first date. In fact, maybe holding out until the double digits is the best idea.
But the date continues. He asks me about a movie I’ve never seen. Then, he leans back into the booth, puts one arm up, and says, “Great, we’ll run 3 days a week, I’ll cook you dinner once a week (because I’m a great cook) and we’ll have a movie night. I have quite the collection.”
Looks like I need to throw that trusty day planner out the window because the days that make up my week have quickly become full. He’s too enthralled with his own voice to realize I’ve never once agreed to any of our new “rituals.”
He mentions that he’s been single his entire 22 years of life and he has no idea why. I would’ve offered him some feedback but I never got a chance to speak.
Next, the topic moves to his mother. Now, this could’ve been a great move… if done properly.
He describes her as five feet tall and full of life, always wearing neon colors. I can’t help but smile. Then… “But, you’ll see her this spring. She goes to all my games, and I’ll make you go too.”
Really?
As he chatters away, he mentions a Christmas gift that brought tears to her eyes. I mention that shopping for my mom is the best feeling because I can never go wrong.
He exclaims, “Let’s go shopping for our moms’ Christmas gifts together!”
“Ummm… It’s not even Halloween yet. We’re on our first date. And you’re scaring me,” is what the brave little voice in my head states.
I cringe.
Additional side note: Making plans is a quality most guys are lacking in. Throughout the last three years, having a guy say, “So, we’re having some fat kegs at our house tonight; there’s supposed to be like 300 people. You gonna run through?” has been the closest thing to setting up an intimate evening. It’d be great to have a guy arrange some plans with you, say, before 10 pm the night of, but making plans for Holidays that are over two months away the same night you meet them? Too much.
Finally, not through the grace of God, but because of Applebee’s closing hours, the date ends. Or it would have if he hadn’t text messaged me the entire way home.
I cancel the “running date” for the following day and let him know I won’t be able to go the next day either. But still the phone calls and text messages continue, with me repeating my cancellations.
I’m sitting here, wondering if anyone else has reached this point. Feeling like love is its own food chain… you eat someone, and someone bigger eats you. I’ve only been able to attract two types of guys. The ones who have your unborn children named while you’re running for the Witness Protection program… or the ones who are charming the pants off you (figuratively?) while you wait in line as they charm everyone else as well. When their (short) attention span moves on, maybe this “gentleman” will offer to walk you to your car (some guys have a “block or more rule” before they do this… ) and then it’s time for the next “lucky” girl to be called.
Neither type of boy seems to be working for me.
Is middle ground really such a mystery? Is being over 6 feet tall and fabulous so impossible? Why are they always one or the other?
Sometimes, through all the classes, textbooks, and midterms, I feel like there’s only one important concept to learn. It’s the same one I learned in kindergarten – that you can’t fit a square into a circle.
Yet all this time, I still find myself trying.