So I finally went on my date with the guy from the bar. We were supposed to go canoeing, but apparently the tide wasn’t right, so we went bike riding instead. I have to admit, I’m glad we didn’t go canoeing because that would have been very close quarters for a much longer time.
Setting up the date
He waited three days to get in touch with me, as is “standard”, at which point I received a text message that said, “R u doin ok???”
I had noticed at the bar that this guy was a good bit older than me. I’d guess he’s around 30. But you’d think from the way he types, that he’s in 8th grade. And the more text messages I received from him, the less excited I was about our date. Apparently he was more fond of punctuation than letters because while he wouldn’t spell out some words, he’d add three question marks or a handful of exclamation points. To top things off, he would occasionally spell a word with extra letters. He wanted to find me on Facebook, so he wrote, “Whats ur last name agiiiiin?”
Making love ordinary
While it’s hard not to judge someone by their text messages, I wanted to withhold my final judgment until I actually hung out with the guy. So I didn’t bail on him even though I wanted to and even though I had the most curious feeling of resistance to the whole ordeal. It was as if by going on this date, I was admitting that I’d have to settle. It was making love ordinary, just another item on my to-do list: do laundry, pick up groceries, get a phone number, go on a date, fall in love…
Maybe I’m just naive, but I want something with sparks. The kind you get from the beginning, not the kind you grow to imagine are there. I don’t want to settle for less than butterflies in my stomach. I remember freshman year of college I started going out with this guy that I was so into, I had constant butterflies and couldn’t keep food down for a couple days. Obviously that’s a little extreme, but some nerves would be nice!
We scheduled the date for the afternoon, and I made sure I had somewhere to be soon after in case it didn’t go well (which I suspected it might not). I texted him earlier in the afternoon to confirm we were still on, and he told me he was very hungover. Already off to a good start. I arrived at his house and hopped on my bike as he said, “I’m not going to bring my wallet. Is that ok?” We were biking to a diner to have lunch. “Umm, ok…” (what was I supposed to say!? He basically just told me outright that he wasn’t going to pay for my lunch, in fact I’d be paying for his). “I’m not going to eat anything,” he continued. Ok, that’s a little better…but still.
Finally, we got on our bikes and started off down the road. I struck up a friendly conversation, and he said, “I thought you were blond…?”I didn’t know what to say. I almost said, “Oh, I’m sorry, should I just go home then?” But I refrained myself (barely). So, first he says he’s not even going to offer to buy my lunch, then he implies that I’m not attractive because I’m not blond. We’re definitely getting somewhere (and I’m definitely going home asap).
We get to the diner and he immediately says something about wanting a pie. I had no intention of getting a pie, but the waitress heard him say it and he made a face like, “I wouldn’t say no…” So we got a pie. He talked about his ex girlfriends, his itinerant lifestyle, his ailing uncle, and the fact that he hasn’t held down a real job in years. Clearly a winner.
the forced conversation lunch was over, and we hopped back on the bikes to peddle around the lake. The scenery was beautiful and the weather nice, so I enjoyed the ride for the most part. Except the two times he had us stop at a couple docks to “look for alligators” aka try to make a move. I leaned on the railing looking over at the lake, inching farther away from him as he kept inching closer. I’m sure it was a pretty comical sight to anyone passing by. The second time I’d wizened up, and I didn’t get off my bike, but kept it positioned so as to keep him from getting within a couple feet of me. Then I looked at my watch and said I needed to get back home or I was going to be late to my horseback riding lesson.
On the ride back, he referenced getting laid (it’s obvious where his mind was), and failed to carry much conversation. When we got back to his house, I made an excuse not to hug him and then got in my car as fast as I could. He told me to call him. I smiled politely and said I would, then drove away without looking back.
And then I ended up in a treehouse
That night I went out with some friends to the bar where I met bar guy, crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t see him there. I didn’t. But I did meet a rather attractive marine who invited us to a party three blocks away in a treehouse. I was a little skeptical, so I asked to see a picture, which he provided readily. Well damn. How often does one party in a treehouse? I decided to check it out and managed to convince one of my friends to come along (safety in numbers!).
The treehouse was legit. There was a spiral staircase leading up to a deck with a bamboo-lined railing and shabby-chic furnishings (must have been a girl helping them with the decor). There was also a giant stuffed bear, a pair of bull horns, and a guy playing a guitar backwards (but well) and making up lewd lyrics to well-known songs. The first hour we were there, I laughed and smiled so much that my face literally felt like it might split in two. It was kind of painful, actually.
A welcome distraction
The marine turned out to be a real sweetheart, but not the most intellectual guy. He was very well meaning and tended to my friend’s and my every need. Not to mention he was très cute. Unfortunately, he was also drinking straight scotch. A lot of it. And by the time my friend and I decided to head out, he was very drunk. He went to kiss me, but I dodged it, kissed him on the cheek, and told him to call me later. I’d only had 2 and a half beers…way too sober to make out with a wasted guy.
I watched him type in my number on his phone, and he called my phone to give me his, but my phone was dead. I tried to explain that I wasn’t going to have his number since my phone was dead, but I don’t think it registered in his very inebriated mind. So we’ll see if he gets back to me. That was Saturday night, so tomorrow will be three days. We’ll know then if the three-day rule is actually a thing or not.
As my friend and I got in our taxi, the marine walked up to the passenger-side window and leaned in. “Are you coming with us?” I said, teasingly. “Is that an invitation?” he replied. I laughed, “No, no. Call me when you’re a little more sober.” He walked away and we drove off. I turned to my friend – who had a conspiratorial grin on her face – and said, “He’s a lot cuter than the guy I went on a date with earlier today.” The taxi driver glanced over his shoulder at us and burst out laughing.