Irregardless!
irregardless and jeans at the symphony — society has obviously hit rock bottomArchive for ranting
One down, too many to go.
Date #1 was today. I’d had a bad feeling about this guy from the beginning. On a superficial level, his picture featured him in a collarless, button-down shirt in a non-colour which catalogues probably call ’oatmeal’ but I call ’taupe’ (I hate taupe — this may be an ongoing theme). Now, I admit that I’m a bit of a fashion-snob but I’m generally good about only holding myself to high standards. But really, if you’re going to have a profile on a dating site, doesn’t it make sense to lead with strength? Either way, I was willing to overlook all of this because he seemed nice and offered me caffeine. I can always be tempted with caffeine.
Well, long story short (too late), when I got to the coffeeshop I knew him immediately. This time, his shirt was an odd, sickly grey-green and still managed to make him look like the something out of Night of the Living Dead. Over drinks (green tea for me, some coffee-concoction that seemed more likely to bring on a diabetic coma for him), he spent the whole time talking about his mother’s cancer and how he’d really like to take me to meet her so she’d think he had a girlfriend and would quit worrying about him. Well, that and he mentioned that he’d spent a lot of time planning his wedding. And how I was “everything [he'd] always wanted in a woman”.
Admittedly, I haven’t done a lot of dating in my life. I’ve always tended towards settling into relationships quickly, not because I was looking for anything so serious but because it was easy and more comfortable than playing the dating game. Rick (who I am only not married to because I left Baltimore) and I went on exactly two dates before we were officially together and one of those was a walk around Johns Hopkins since he had to stay on campus all day. After that, dates were take out and discussing politics during sex. Sheb and I never really went on a date — we went immediately from friends to an exclusive sexual relationship. So, I’m not a dating expert in any sense, but I’m pretty sure that this is not how dates are supposed to go.
I’m just glad I never gave him my phone number.
Next try, McFosters with B. on Monday night, unless going to the art gallery with J. works out this weekend. If nothing works out, at least I’ll have some fabulous book fodder (the more I think about it, some of the dates I HAVE had are too funny not to write about).
What does “cautiously optimistic” mean, anyway?
Huh. So, people actually ARE clicking on over to my blog. At least I know I’m not ranting to an empty internet.
Today it’s pouring and the lightning is starting to make me regret my decision to keep my desk right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. At least I have an excuse to read my newspaper over in the corner. My boss doesn’t seem to want to see me charred to a crisp any more than I do. It’s a frustrating newsday anyway — it seems like the phrase “cautiously optimistic” is all over the wires today, whether it’s in regard to the trapped miners, the torrential rain in New York City, Peter Pan peanut butter heading back to the shelf, the market’s self-correction after the Federal Reserve report yesterday or the South Korea/North Korea summit. I’m sorry, but “cautiously optimistic” seems like the most blatantly obvious cover-your-ass statement in existence. Say what you really think, people! There shouldn’t be any shame in making a wrong prediction — human beings, on the whole, are NOT psychic.
This would be why I’m killing time here. Here, and on match.com. I know, I know. Actually, no, I don’t know. Everytime I try out one of these sites, people roll their eyes at it and say how lame online dating is.
Well, you know what? I have better luck online. Offline, I seem to be the type of girl that people cheat on their girlfriends for. Either that or I get stared at for months, only to be drunkenly told at the end of it that they’d really wanted to ask me out instead but they were intimidated and now they’re stuck because they’ve managed to knock their girlfriends up. I’m the type of girl who always hears:
“If I weren’t gay/engaged/married/suicidally depressed/attached-to-mommy’s-apron, I’d snap you up like that.” (Wow. That is SO tempting. You’re always going to be gay. You’re not going to leave your fiancee/wife. And I’ve always wanted to date a mamma’s boy who slits his wrists on Tuesdays.)
At least online we can talk for awhile. I can use my Super Awesome! interviewing skills to come off brilliantly witty and make it clear that I’m not a needy, self-obsessed dramawhore (at least, I’ve never been accused of being one). And, best of all? If they get creepy, I can pull the online equivalent of sneaking out the back without embarassing myself in front of the hot waiter.
Within one day, I’ve been contacted by over 20 guys. Okay, so some of them obviously didn’t read my profile at all, but that’s to be expected. Out of all of them, I’m probably going to meet four of them and will keep in touch with at least six others. Maybe at least, when I go back for our family reunion this fall, I can avoid being patted on the head and told “don’t worry, you’ll find your man one day” without having to lie about it.
