Tag Archives: first date

Strike or strike out?

19 Feb

Welcome to Monday night.  Date night with eligible bachelor #5. I’m rolling in men.  ROLLING IN THEM!  Unfortunately, not rolling around with any of them.

Let’s first talk about my banging date outfit.  BANGING!  Rocked out the best dress ever.  The right amount of cleavage, hem a little above the knee, opaque black tights, super hot ankle booties.  Mascara.  On dates, we wear eye make up and mascara.  We dress like ultra sexy versions of ourselves – but not so sexy our dates assume we’ll end up on our backs at the end of the date. We do not dress like sluts and we do not show off everything we have, we merely hint at what might be on offer at some point.  The outfit was on the money.  So on the money, in fact, that I’d wear it AGAIN tomorrow if it wasn’t going to be so warm.

On my way to my date, after sending a quick text to #4, I popped into the shop to pick up a birthday card for date #6 which is tomorrow night.  Most of you who voted in the previous post approved of the idea.  If the date tomorrow goes south, it’s totally your fault.  If he doesn’t like the card, then he is a dick and can go fuck himself.

As per usual, I was the first one at the restaurant.  The creepy host/waiter sat me in a crowded part of the restaurant and proceeded to enjoy the view down my dress.  He was a creep.  #5 showed up a few minutes later.  He walked in the door and BAM absolutely nothing.  No spark, no disappointment, no nothing.  Okay, fine.  Let’s settle in and get ready for some wine.  He was nervous, I could tell, not like a hot mess nervous, just a bit awkward which kind of made me nervous a little and we tripped over words for a few minutes.  Exceptionally awesome since every fucking table around us probably knew exactly what was going on and was dropping eaves on this awkward exchanged.

We ordered our wine, and seemed to settle in, and then nothing.  Really not much to report after that.  It was fine.  It was kind of like a plain roast chicken breast.  Bland, and forgettable.  Like jackasses we ordered some super messy turkey wings (which were stupid messy).  Although I wasn’t feeling anything I decided that when it came time to walk to the bathroom that I was going to strut everything I had so he could watch me walk away from and to him.  Obviously I rocked his world.

He paid for dinner.  The host/waiter came back to thank us, extended his hand to shake mine, and stared right down my dress.  Because he’s a creep and because my rack looked amazing.  My date offered to drive/walk me home, I passed.

I’ve heard from him already.  I’m going to pass again.

Not disappointed at tonight’s outcome.  Maybe a bit confused.  I guess maybe a bit disappointed – more so because I’m left with these questions about myself and these strange signals I must be sending off and why it’s so hard to find someone with whom I’m compatible.

Here’s the big question floating around in mind: why do the ones I want not want me back, and the ones who want me I don’t want back?  What is the messed up thing that goes on in my brain where I send these jacked up signals that say, “come hither” to those I’d rather wander off, and “retreat!” to the ones who I want to come nearer?  Why am I attracted to the ones I can’t really have?  Is that some jacked up defense mechanism?

The date outfit was definitely a strike, and every single interaction I’ve ever had with a man is a strike out.  I don’t understand men.  Sometimes, I don’t understand myself either.

 

Line them up and knock them down

19 Feb

I’m the absolute worst at bowling.  Guaranteed to get a gutter ball at least 90% of the time, unless I can talk the people I’m playing with to let me use the bumper guards that fill up the gutters.  Then what happens is the bowling ball will hit the bumper guard and still manage to knock down jack shit.  I’m the asshole that has to swing the ball between her legs, granny style, and still manages to only get a few of the damned pins.  It’s embarrassing.

Dating has been a lot like bowling.  A whole lot of effort and I’ve barely scored (LOLZ, I cracked myself up).  The Tutor has been dismissed #4 is seducing me via text message, and I’ve got a whole lot of time on my hands.  What to do with so many free evenings?  Sure, I can hang out with Mr. Bojangles and clear out my Neflix queue, or I can go out with strangers and have awkward conversation over drinks.  Well, kids, guess who just lined up dates #5 and #6 for tonight AND tomorrow night?  Yours truly.

I enjoy the light banter with #5.  He has a son, knows a ton of languages, likes to travel, and loves the same kind of wine I do.  Win!  We’re going out for wine tonight.  If all else fails, at least I’ll be drinking wine on a Monday night.

Here’s what I know about #6: not a whole heck of a lot.  His profile is somewhat lean: he works in some kind of sales, isn’t married and doesn’t have kids, loves to cook, loves to be outdoors (like every single fucking guy who has an online profile), and he has a nice smile.  That’s about it.  We’ve got plans to go to a pretty nice restaurant, so if all else fails at least the food will be good.

Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised.  Maybe it will be horrifying.  You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!

Le Swoon

13 Feb

You guys!! YOU GUYS!!  That gif was totally me at the end of my date last night.  Holy Lord almighty.  Swoon.  SWOON, you guys!!  Are you swooning?  I’m still swooning.  I want to spend the entire day just melting and turning into a giant puddle on the floor.  Then I’ll pick myself back up and melt all over the place again.

God bless, #4.

We met up at a restaurant near my house.  I was early, as per usual, and was the only customer in the place.  He walked in and I thought to myself, “hot fucking damn, he is fit as fuck.”  He knows how to fill out a polo shirt.  Looked way hotter than in his pictures.  Like, I felt my ovaries beating hot.  I had to restrain myself from asking him to father my children.  He sat down and immediately faced the bar and I thought, “Fuck, he’s totes not into me.”  Whatever, we’ll have a few drinks and then I’ll go home and line up the next date.

We drank, we ate, we talked politics, family, dating, traveling, pizza, drinks.  I don’t know.  We talked, and he was interesting, and smart, and funny.  And I poked him in the arm and it was rock hard and then I thought, “stop touching him!  He doesn’t like you,” because he was facing the bar.  AND THEN he nudged my leg and I thought, “I’m going to touch his body.”  And then we talked some more, and then I poked his arm again and my ovaries started beating again.  And then he lodged his leg next to mine and my immediate impulse was to pull it away and I thought, “do not move your fucking leg.  You will leave it there touching his.”

But then he asked for the check.

[SAD FACE]

It was a little after 7:30, we’d been there for 2 hours – I could have sat there for 2 more days.  Okay, fine.  Read all the signs wrong, clearly if he wanted to leave then that meant that he was over it.  He was naturally charming, and was being polite in hanging out, and he was ready to go.  And I was bummed.  Then he said, “can I walk you home?” Obviously, I said yes.

So here’s this handsome, younger gentleman walking me home and I had that inner dialogue with my slutty self.

  • Slutty Self (SS): You should just sleep with him.
  • Rational Self (RS): Do not do that.
  • SS: Don’t you want to see him naked? Imagine what he looks like under that shirt?
  • RS: You playing the long game here, or do you want him to touch you all over and then never hear from him again?
  • SS: Is that a bad thing?  Because look at him.  Invite him in the house.
  • RS: Do not invite him in the house.
  • SS: Don’t you want to touch his peen?
  • RS: If you wait, maybe you can touch it more than once…

There we were on my porch and he was looking at the house, and I knew he wanted to come in – but I was not going to invite him in.  Instead, he kissed me on the porch.  I wanted to maul him.  To climb him like a god damn mountain.  I restrained myself.  So he kissed me again, and my inner slut yelled to me, “you’re five feet from the couch, you could be on top of him in less than 2 minutes.”  I thanked him for a good time, bid him adieu, and went into my house where I melted onto the couch.

Of course I needed to immediately start thinking, “WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NOW?? IS HE GOING TO CALL ME?? WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN??”

Five minutes later he sent me a message in the dating app (because I hadn’t given him my number) thanking me for the date and saying even if I wasn’t sure about a 2nd date, that the kiss is something important to check out.  I immediately wrote back and told him I had a great time and gave him my number.  And in the first few official text messages he wrote, “You were as good a kisser as I imagined.” And that’s when I died. I am dead.

I mean, like, what?  WHAT JUST HAPPENED??

Of course my head told me to take a deep breath and calm down, my throbbing ovaries were making plans for where we were going to do it, and my heart is making plans of its own.  Here’s the thing: this (if there is a this) will be a casual thing.  It will be nothing more than that.  It will burn hot, and it will burn fast.  We all know that the hotter the flame the faster it burns, and I need a slow burn. As much as I may want it to be more than casual, it will not be. So I’m going to keep going out there, and meeting other guys.  The Tutor and I are going out again tomorrow.  I will not get my hopes up (haha, who am I kidding?).  I will let this play out.

And I’ll keep checking my phone to see when he’s going to respond to the text that I sent him this morning.  It’s been 2 hours and he hasn’t responded.  I’m never going to hear from him again.

I ordered a few new bras.  You know, just in case.

Why hasn’t he responded to my text?? Oh wait.  He just did.

Monday? More like Manday!

12 Feb

That’s right, bitches!  Guess who just lined up date #4 for tonight?  I did!  She who hasn’t seen a naked man (other than in her dreams) in more than eleventy twelve years!  Of course it will probably be either an absolute train wreck, incredibly boring, or somewhat mediocre, but I’m going.

Frankly, it’s an excellent excuse to skip the gym.  Sorry, Treadmill, I can’t see you tonight because I have a date.  With a man.  A living, breathing, actual man.  One who is gainfully employed and owns his own home.

Wait. Fuck.  This might be a bad idea.  He said he was a “gym ninja” who “loved working out.”  I am a couch ninja who enjoys eating all the carbs and not working out.  What if my fat rolls scare him off??  What if he doesn’t like muffin tops??  And we’re meeting at a pizza place!  What if I end up eating more pizza than he does?  Cuz let’s face it – I love carbs and never work out.  I just realized he’s younger than I am by 7 years!  I’m like his fucking out of shape grandmother!

PLUS I’m getting a pimple on my chin.

Fuck.  This is an absolute disaster.

First Date Jitters

27 May

Big night tonight.  HUGE!  First date.  Yup.  That’s right.  My secret boyfriend has a date…with someone who isn’t me.

Yesterday when he stopped by to visit he confessed that he’s dipping his toe back into the black waters of online dating.  Sunday’s date didn’t go so well – that’s what happens when you post pictures of yourself from 3 years ago, and you happen to gain 40 pounds.  She was a no go.  Yet he seemed optimistic that his next date would go better.

Said date happens to be tonight.  It’s kind of awkward to tell him that I hope he has an absolute shitty date, but I hope he does.  Why?  Because I totes want him for myself.  I know myself well enough that all night I’ll be picturing him with some foxy young hotty having the time of his life.  He’ll be off with this blonde bombshell while I sit on the couch watching reruns of Dateline and eating my feelings in the form of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

Ugh, I hate it when my secret boyfriends are dating other people.

My First Date of 2012

1 Feb

I know you’ve all been eagerly awaiting my recap of my big date on Sunday.  I can tell by the way no one emailed me or posted any comments.  Nice, really nice.  Remember, years ago when you used to visit and email me and ask me stuff?  What ever happened to that?  Why you no love me no more?  Why?

In a single sentence I can sum up my date with this question: this is why I showered today?

He’s a nice guy.  Absolutely hilarious AND gainfully employed.  He has his shit together, owns a house, says nice thing about his family, and is fun to hang out with.  Average looking guy, and tiny enough I could fit him into my pocket and feed him peanuts while baby-talking to him during a movie.  Sadly, he’s too petite for me.  Too small.  I’m 5’8″, he’s 5’6″ if he stands on his tip toes.  I felt like he had stopped growing when he turned 13, and was stuck at that awkward skinny/small stage.

What can I say?  There were no bells.  There were no whistles.  Butterflies were nowhere to be found.  I saw no stars.  I felt no tingles.  I wish I could tell you he made my toes curl, or I couldn’t wait to see him again, or we made out for hours and it was like magic.  I’m afraid I can’t.

We had a nice time, he made me laugh, but the whole time I was thinking, “I do not want to make out with this dude.  Who can I set him up with?”  That does not bode well.

So, my dears, it looks like this singleton is going to remain single for awhile longer.

I’ll add this to my dating fail list.

I’m Just as Stupid as the Next Girl

27 Jan

The wonderful world of dating often makes girls turn incredibly stupid.  Open mouth breathing, eyes rolling, drooling kind of stupid.  You all know I’ve had an online dating profile up for quite some time.  I took a break from dating last year.  For the first time in umpteen months I have a date.  This Sunday, I’m going out with a dude.  The logical part of me says that we’ll go out, it’ll be pleasant, there will be zero chemistry and it will have been a waste o’ time.

BUT this afternoon I caught myself jumping ahead 100 steps.  These thoughts actually went through my mind:

  1. I need to buy a new outfit for my date.  I’ll probably have to go out and get new bras and underwear once we start sleeping together.
  2. He lives in Jersey and works in the city.  I live and work in the burbs.  Which one of us will move if it works out?  He really loves his house, and I don’t want to commute from Jersey.
  3. I have plans to go to NYC in early March, hotel room is booked.  Maybe I should wait to invite my mom and see if it works out with this guy and he and I can go together.
  4. Two weeks is a long time to be away from someone over the summer.  Wonder if he’d fly up to the Vineyard to spend a few days with me and my family.

I actually thought those things.  All of them.  When I realized what I was doing I started laughing at myself.

Why do we do this?  Why do we immediately start into planning the future before even shaking the other person’s hand?  It’s so totally absurd, yet every single girl I know starts all of that stupid shit when they meet someone new.

Suddenly that crazy girl I mentioned in my last post doesn’t seem quite as stupid as she did before.  Sure, she’s holding on to a relationship that’s super duper dead.  She told me a few weeks ago how she thought she had met someone she could spend her life with – before they went on their first date.  I thought she was totally ridiculous.  AND THEN I go and start planning the same kind of shit.

Look, I don’t delude myself that this dude is the one.  I don’t even know if we’ll make it to the second date, but I do know that the mere thought of having in my life puts me in auto-planning mode.  That just puts added pressure on the whole thing and takes the fun out of everything.  I need to knock that shit off immediately if not sooner.  So, yeah, I’m stupid, just like the next girl.