When I found out that I’m the first woman he’s ever actually met from an online dating service….
On a similar note: I was just curious, does anybody really think zombies are sexy? I don’t get it.
Necrophilia much? Thanks but no thanks…
That headline, it’s mostly a joke. I’m not terribly ill. Just a little on the less than healthy side, it seems. None the less, I’m well overdue for a post and I’ve got plenty of little anecdotes to throw around from the last few weeks. We’ll start with the most recent:
1. In my fatigued state yesterday, I typed out my phone number to a nice young gent on Tinder with whom I had been chatting. After no text for a couple of hours, I figured he had blown me off. And then…. I got a text… from my dad:
My father and I both got cell phones at the same time, on the same plan. Our phone numbers? identical, except for the last digit. I was very fortunate that my father, a notorious prankster, didn’t send this kid on some wild goose chase. In fact, my father didn’t even respond (so say my mother). And I quickly redirected the charming young man to the correct phone number, double checking each of the ten digits carefully before I hit send. We’ve been chatting. Things look promising. I smell a date in my future!
2. Saturday night I had a second round of drinks with an awkwardly adorable lawyer-type fellow. We met at a bar I had never been to and picked questionable songs from the jukebox (cute, right?) Then we headed out, grabbed a bite to eat, and he suggested we follow it up with one more drink. We shuffled our way through the frozen tundra that is “chiberia” (as they call it), and found ourself in one dive bar after another. We wound up in one of my favorite local spots where he sipped on whiskey and I savored a pinot noir. We chatted about all sorts of things and bickered about the merits of professional basketball players (my official position: those guys are hacks!) We closed the place down and shared a cab (no worries, mom. We made two stops. He dropped me off at my place, safe and sound.) This was our second 5+ hour-long date in 3 days (the previous, on Thursday night) and things were looking pretty promising. But then… eh, nothing. I’ve received a total of four texts from the kid over the last week, all in response to questions asked by me. He mentioned he “hated texting” but, I mean, commmmmeeeee onnnn. Nobody hates texting. Whatever. The kid’s got my number. If he feels like texting me ever, well, we’ll wait and see.
3. This guy with really, really good intentions cooked dinner for me. He made cabbage and spicy sausage…
So that was a thing.
4. HowAboutWe baited me with half off the membership fee and I bit. So far, only nibbles from single men out there. The format: you write a status “How about we….[insert cute/charming/witty date idea here]”. Status goes out into the HowAboutWe community, where interested parties can click the “I’m intrigued” button. Which is all good and dandy but, as far as I can tell, nobody ever gets beyond the intrigue. No dates coming my way from HowAboutWe any time soon. On the upside, if not a single man gets his act together enough to be more than intrigued by the time my 6-month membership is up, I get my $30 back. Yippee…
5. Meanwhile, during my zombie-like sick state, when I’m not busy coughing or sleeping, I’ve been prowling the internet, finding the finest, most eligible bachelors Chicago has to offer. Here are my findings:
A nice little selection, representing the great options available on two different platforms (OkCupid, HowAboutWe, hyperlinked, just in case you want to seek any of these guys out – they’re all single! And looking to mingle!)
That’s all to report at the moment. Once I stop with this disgusting cough, perhaps I’ll land a few more dates. In the meanwhile, my plans for getting healthier look something like this:
Have a good weekend, y’all and have a drink for sick ol’ me on this snowy Saturday night!
After two weeks home in Michigan and practically a third week off from work, I have successfully:
1. Gained a million-and-one pounds (primarily in wine and Christmas cookies);
2. Painted my bathroom a godawful shade of blue;
3. Cleaned my whole apartment;
4. Watched three seasons of SVU;
5. Failed to go on any dates and therefore failed to maintain my blog. Whoops.
Good news, my friends! While I may not be back into the professional swing of things quite yet (give me a few days…), I’ve strapped two dates under my belt in the last three days. Back in the saddle! Because, well…
In other news, I had a date at Glenn’s Diner the other night and it was INCREDIBLE. Their awning says “Best Food in the World” and while I don’t know how accurate that is, I do know that they had a CEREAL WALL that was stocked with every childhood cereal you’ve ever dreamed of. While I enjoyed a delectable Lake Superior White Fish, I had my eye on that box of Count Chocula alllllll night. Damn. Read more about it: here
So about three weeks ago, a friend of mine announced that he wanted to introduce me to a friend of his, saying that he thought we would hit it off because I’m a woman of substance (obviously) and that’s really what his friend needs. Somewhat flattered, and certainly curious, I happily (although somewhat hesitantly) obliged. The initial run-in was something of a horrific disaster (read about that mess here: The Set Up) but after a solid conveyance of my displeasure with the whole sloppy situation, my friend rallied (read: got his business in line), passed along the correct contact information and a text came through.
He offered a time and picked a place and it was on the books. He picked a nice wine bar in Lincoln Park and arrived promptly 15 minutes late. After ten minutes of waiting I ordered myself a glass of wine and settled in. When he finally showed up, he was pretty cute, in the way those old school, all American preppy football jocks who wore Letterman jackets in Grease were cute. Wholesome, boyish, somewhat forgettable, I guess. I’d say, for the most part, we had decent conversation, aside from the bit where he told me he mostly lives off Redbull and coffee and generally only drinks wine at night when he needs to curb the caffeine rush and wine is the best thing to make him sleepy. And that he mostly likes to spend his weekends raging to electronic dance music. Whatever. To each their own.
The whole affair was entirely casual, especially the part when he asked if I wanted to grab the bill and head to another bar. I said sure and made that move that you do as a lady when you reach for your purse, fully expecting your date to say “oh how kind of you offer, but I’ve got this,” only he didn’t say a word. Just took my card and plopped it next to his on the bill. 50/50 split. The same occurred at the following bar, and at the next bar, and again when the end of the night rolled around and we decided to share a taxi (two stops) and he hopped out at his stop with not so much as a hug and certainly no taxi fare. So in short, the sequence of events have led me to believe this wasn’t actually a date. Just a somewhat mutual hangout of “friends” on a Friday night at a wine bar? With a guy who doesn’t drink wine?
I would love to hear some other opinions here. I understand the hookup culture/feminism nonsensebullshitexcuse but come on! First date: the person who extends the invite, selects the location (and shows up 15 minutes late) implicitly assumes responsibility for the expenses of the date, do they not? I mean, really, does it ever count as a first date if the bill is split? I vote no and say no thank you.
About two weeks ago I went on a date with a guy. He was real cute. I asked him about his job. He was a heart stopper. No, really. I guess there’s a specific person who stops your heart when you have open heart surgery. Go figure.
Anyways, this heart guy seemed really sweet. We went to a bar up in my neighborhood and shared a giant bowl of all-you-can-eat mac&cheese, chatted for about an hour, but were both tired so called it quits shortly afterwards and he gave me a ride home. It was generally agreed that we would get together again some time and I was pleasantly surprised over the next few days when he texted me, calling me cute little pet names (Hi Gorgeous/Hey Cutie/etc) and even when he would call just to talk in the evenings after a long day at work. His face was cute. His personality was cute. The whole situation was cute. We decided to get together the following Wednesday. With no solid plans in place by Wednesday afternoon I reached out to work out the details. In response: he cancelled. Claiming that he had a lot to do and that he wasn’t working that day so therefore was not in the city (a point of contention for me as I had already explained my wariness to date a suburb-dweller simply because of the distance.) He requested a rain check and we settled on the weekend (’cause you know this girl is BUSY!)
Saturday rolls around and I get a text in the morning asking what my plans for the night are. “Not sure yet” says I. Crickets from his end. Not a word. Until 6pm when I’m comfortably sitting on the couch with a girlfriend eating crab rangoon and watching a terrible movie and I receive a text. “I guess we’re not hanging out tonight, huh?” Well, sir, you did not make any plans so… After plenty of back and forth it was determined that he didn’t want to go out and would really only settle with coming to my apartment to “hangout.” I had a number of qualms with this:
A little put off, I extended the olive branch and offered: “pick a night this week, a time and a place, and I’ll be there.” Perfect – he said – how about Tuesday? Done deal.
Now, we all know that if things had gone well, I wouldn’t be writing this post.
Once again, somewhat bothered that day-of-date no details had been determined, I texted Tuesday morning to see what the plan was. Crickets. All day crickets. Crickets well into the evening. Enough crickets that I decided it was time to cut him loose. A quit snip of a text and off he went, free into the world. More crickets. Then, at 10:30 he called. Judge all you want, I didn’t answer (amen to that).
So here’s what I’m writing. I know there are plenty of girls who are down to hangout. Who are up for a good time. Who don’t care if you decide last minute to head to a dive bar. But I am not one of those girls. I still advocate The Date. The formal, somewhat awkward, courtship of two individuals as they get to know each other. I’ve got a schedule on my hands and the sitting-around-waiting-for-you-to-text thing? I did that all through high school, I’m not up for it any more. I’ve got better things to do. I know there’s all this nonsense swirling about a hook up culture but I refuse to succumb to it. You want to date me? Well, you’re going to have to date me.
Oh, christ. Back to the drawing board.
Blind dates have a bad reputation and I’ve always been curious as to why. One friend knows another friend and, for some reason, thinks the two of you will hit it off. Can’t be that bad, right? Well, I don’t know about blind dates but I let a friend try to set me up this weekend and, I can’t even lie, I was blindsided by how bizarre it was.
Alright, the background:
My friend comes over for a drink Friday night. We’re sitting around chatting and he tells me about his oh-so-charming, really sweet, super smart friend. He thinks we would really hit it off. Will I let him set us up? Ok, sure, whatever. I like charming, sweet, smart guys as much as the next girl. Send him my way. Toss him my number. Throw me a bone. Whatever. But that’s not how it turns out.
Here’s how it turns out:
It’s the Saturday of the weekend before Halloween. I am dressed as a bridezilla, decked out in a full on bridal gown, bustle and all. I have plans to powwow with some girlfriends at a house party but will inevitably end up in a bar. My friend texts me – I’m with said charming/sweet/smart guy, what are your plans for the night? he asks. I give him details but continue on with my life, fiestaing at will. We hop from bar to bar and find ourselves in the classiest of Chicago’s neighborhoods, Wrigleyville at it’s finest. We hang around a bit and finally, I’m lured down the street to meet up with my friend and this potential charmer. First, I should mention that neither of these men were wearing costumes. So I was being introduced to a supposedly potentially date-able person in Wrigleyville, at a bar, at 2am, he’s in normal close, I am in a wedding dress. Did I mention that by this time I’m solidly sober? That’s not even the worst bit. The worst bit goes like this: friend brings over the potentially date-able and introduces us then ever so gracefully steps outside to let us chat. How’s your day been? I say. Tiring he says. How do you know (mutual friend)? he asks. Oh, from high school! You two went to school together, right? I reply. Yeah, hey, listen I’m sorry but I have to go. Could we maybe continue this conversation at another time? says he. And off he goes. Leaving me somewhat dumbfounded, standing soberly in a wedding dress. Stood up at the bar after 90 whole seconds of conversation. Now I know some guys have commitment issues, but come on dude, the dress is just a Halloween costume! Essentially, I was like…:
Ever so charmingly, the mutual friend assures me that I am neither repulsive nor smelly and that the guy had been trying to bail pretty much all night, and that I really shouldn’t over think things. It still stung.
So now I’m rethinking my whole stance on set ups and blind dates. If it can be that awful in 90 seconds, I’m literally cringing at how painful an entire dinner could be.
Ouch. Wine would certainly be needed.
Thoughts? Anybody ever been set up successfully? I’m suddenly feeling very skeptical…
I had my sneaking suspicions before even showing up to my date the other night, but as soon as we sat down and started talking, I easily settled into that kind of comfort that you only really have when you know someone well. The funny thing: I had never met this guy before. It was a first date (a tinder date, no less) but I swear to all things holy and good, if you had written out this gent’s resume (life resume, not professional resume,) it would be pretty much identical to that of a guy I had spent a solid six+ months trying to date in high school (followed by another three years of the on-again-off-again crushing-on-but-simultaneously-hating thing.) Even the way he sat, the clothes he wore, the way he talked, probably even a little bit in how he looked (or that might’ve just been me reading into things too much,) were all the same. Needless to say it was strange. And strangely comfortable.
Any one of my high school lady friends can tell you, my 17-year old self was chasing after some nasty nonsense with this guy, who I found to be misunderstood yet still entirely charming, while everyone else saw he was, well, just an asshole in sheep’s clothing. But every girl has to have her saint-like period of trying to pick up that bruised and battered, misunderstood diamond in the rough, only to realize that no amount of pressure could turn a piece of dung into a diamond, right? These cliches are killing me. Anyways, the point is, this first guy was bad news and I was naive. I searched endlessly for ways that we connected and was eternally optimistic that things would turn around. Despite the trouble of the situation, we did have a decently good time together (or at least a perceived good time) and I’m curious to see, in the end, just how similar this new personality-doppelganger really is. Maybe this will end in a slow fizzling disaster, too. Maybe I’ll read the signs properly this time. Or maybe this new guy is actually different enough that I get all those good things I remember and wonderfully avoid all the bad. Only one way to find out! Date #2 coming up this Monday!
I’m curious, has this ever happened to anyone else? I feel like it happens to me all the time. I meet someone and immediately think “hmm… you remind me of someone…” But then again, it’s never been someone I’ve tried dating. Does this count as dating someone twice (of course not! That’s ridiculous.) Anyway, anyway, more to come. Stay tuned!