Archive | June, 2012

Your Father Is/Isn’t… Ethan

29 Jun

I get excited about big drinks too!

I notice Ethan’s profile picture because he is making a ridiculously excited face and holding up an oversized margarita, which proves that at the very least we can be friends. In our initial messages, he comes across as goofy but sweet and uses the word ridiculous a lot. We bond over our families’ misadventures with shots (his mom decided she wanted to try a buttery nipple. My cousins have been on a creative Jello shot kick) and decide to meet for dinner.

As we plan our date we realize that we only live a mile apart, so Ethan creepily generously offers to give me a ride to the restaurant. An involuntary flashback through all of my past dates proves this: the guys I like most online tend to rate the highest on the not-actually-dateable scale in person, so an escape route is an absolute must. Plus, getting a ride increases the awkwardness quotient significantly (as if it’s not high enough on its own. Case in point, this entire blog).

I’d be lying if said I didn’t consider the fact that this could play out like so many movies…. he’s actually a homicidal maniac and the only real question is whether I’m the dumb blonde killed off in the beginning or the surprisingly scrappy heroine who uses her wits to escape, then inevitably stumbles upon a much broader crime, and finally confronts said maniac later to take him down. I figure that any leading woman would make sure she has a vehicle, so I make up a lie about driving to work that day and tell Ethan I’ll meet him at the restaurant.

We’re meeting on a Wednesday after work and I commute via the ever-pleasant-and-timely public bus system, so I don’t foresee any kind of complications with my plan.  Of course, it just so happens that one of DC’s infamous rainstorms rolls in right at the end of the day and it’s a well known fact that metro DC residents are known to panic at the first sign of precipitation, to the extent that nearly every storm is given a apocalyptic pun name, such as Snowmageddon (it snowed), or Derechosaurus Wrecks (thunderstorm. I wish I was lying).

I try to leave work early, to no avail, and soon find myself standing at the bus stop, drenched despite my umbrella and cute Target raincoat that isn’t really water repellant, waiting for a bus that never comes. Traffic is awful anyway, so I text Ethan with a mostly true white lie about being stuck in traffic (I am, or at least my bus is, wherever that may be) and run for the Metro, which is also a disaster.

Nearly an hour after I was supposed to be at the restaurant, I finally reach my car and break land-speed records for a dysfunctional Audi on wet back roads getting to the restaurant. I weigh the value of trying to fix my makeup, brush my hair or even check myself in the mirror against being even more absurdly late. Instead I step through the door, fumbling with my sopping umbrella, still in flats, and pat down my frizzing hair in a feeble attempt to look less like a wet dog. Ethan is nearly finished with what may or may not be his first beer but hides any annoyance at my unfashionably late arrival… or my unfashion.

Four hours later, the cozy, firelit restaurant is closing and we’re still talking animatedly, flitting from topic to topic with the excitement of finding a surprisingly kindred spirit. We disagree on many things, but the argument is high-level, fast-paced and… exciting. I feel a little breathless by the end. I start to hope that maybe he’ll forget that I was an hour late- and look a hot mess- because of this witty repartee we have going. I never said I was rational.

As we both reluctantly agree that it’s time to go, I fish in my purse for my keys before heading back into the rain. Like many women, my purse is a bottomless pit containing more useless necessities than Mary Poppins’ magic bag, so the process of finding my keys can take an eternity and this time is no exception. In fact, this time is worse: imagine trying to catch a goldfish with your bare hands… and you’re missing two fingers… on each hand. The slippery little suckers get the best of me and I end up dumping my purse onto the table in my frustration.

I get so caught up in my futile battle with my possessions that I completely forget about Ethan for a minute, who is hovering over me with a concerned look on his face, most likely for my sanity more than the fruitless search for my keys. I’m red-faced and yammering excuses and apologies by the time I finally find them, which lends a certain symmetry to the date.

~~~

Kids, if Ethan calls me after this disaster of a date, it will be a complete miracle. Or, I could end up a post on HIS blog about how he didn’t meet his kids mother. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Your Father Isn’t…Tim

12 Jun

The first message I’ve received since returning to OkCupid that has less than five spelling errors, less than three cheap pick up lines and/or less than one proposal is from Tim. We’re a 99% match according to the magic algorithms of love and he’s wearing a tux in his profile picture that makes him look a little bit like James Bond.

I’m intrigued but skeptical, thanks to a year’s worth of bloggable dates and the fact that I’m fresh off the relationship boat. What are the odds of meeting “the one” (even saying that makes me cringe a little bit) on your first date back in the game? Hah! If only I was actually that reasonable, but in all honesty, I manage to convince myself this is a possibility.

We talk for a little bit online and he explains that he’ll be going out of town later this week, so would I be interested in getting together sooner rather than later? I hate dragging these things out virtually and I have plans with friends at 8pm on Monday (READ: escape plan. Not that I’ll need to. OkCupid says we’re perfect).

On Sunday, we set up the meeting for the next day via text, but he keeps trying to continue the conversation via text message. Now, I love texting as much as the next non-Justin-Beiber-fan, but trying to describe your ideal vacation in 160 characters or less doesn’t leave much space beyond “palm tree, beach, margarita.”  I subtly hint that conversing a la middle school isn’t the best way to reach me by just not answering.

Mid-morning on Monday I get a message via OkCupid:

“My phone is being weird, so I thought I’d try this. How’s your day going?”

Oh, that’s kind of sweet, I think. I also realize that he might have tried to text me or noticed that I stopped answering last night, so I check to see if he commented on my lack of responsiveness.

Lo and behold, his phone DOES seem to be working, but I think Siri might have gone on strike, like the commercial where the navigation system won’t let the guy be an idiot and forces him to a jewelry store. I think I received fewer texts on my birthday than I have from him, one after another, seemingly oblivious that they were just echoing off each other with no input from me. I would love to be flattered that he likes me so much, but even I can’t muster that strong of a delusion. He’s never even met me.

The time finally comes and I’m more emotional than I expected. Am I ready for this? Do I even remember how to do this? I remind myself of the 99% perfect Christian world-traveling James Bond that I’m meeting (he had mentioned he has a slight British accent from living in London for much of his childhood). Of course, I’m disappointed on all counts within a few minutes of meeting. In fact, I quickly realize, I’m on a date with DC.

Tim is the perfect summary of DC, from the power suit at happy hour to the twisting of a Texas-sized class ring while telling stories about “my time on the Hill.” He moved to DC to intern for his Congressman and now works in the broader realm of politics. He loves to tell me about his degree, his job, his clients, even his “good old days” in college. He recites his stories with a ‘top that’ attitude then sits uncomfortably when I do. He tells me how hard his day was because he only had one intern available, and explains that a “not for profit is a nonprofit.” I get silly from chugging my margarita, which he thinks is “adorable.”

Although I’ve worked hard to avoid all these traits during my time in this city, I can accept this as an inevitable risk of living here, the way you accept getting bitten by a lion if you live in the jungle. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. The DCishness was not the killer of the evening; it was something else I’ve seen plenty of times but never known a name for, so I just made one up.

neck muffin: 1. when a man wears a shirt with a neck that is much too tight for him and keeps it buttoned. 2. The muffin top as applied to the neck.

I leave the date by dodging a kiss and meet my friends to watch the Stanley Cup, where they promptly persuade me that ordering a round of shots is not the way to shake off the specter of this date. Smart ladies.

~~~

Kids, please promise me you will wear clothes that fit and I will promise you that your father isn’t Tim.

Say Yes to the…?

8 Jun

Hello friends. It’s been a while, but I’m back (if you want background on the past few months, ask me in person) and today I decided to reactivate my OkCupid profile, more for kicks than an actual desire to go on dates. I don’t even look around on the site, literally close the window and go back to doing laundry, so imagine my surprise when I come back and find I have six messages. Within ten minutes. Seriously.

For a moment, I actually believe that I’m just so awesome and my profile is just so irresistible that it’s a virtual feeding frenzy the second I dip a toe back into the online dating waters. I imagine guys all around the world spotting my profile and shouting to their friends, “Heather’s back!” and their buddies dropping beers, books, or frisbees (this is more of a montage sort of scene, so there are all types) and elbowing each other out of the way to get to a computer and message me. I picture the alert going viral, the click heard round the world, and the website crashing from all the traffic to my newly active profile.

Of course, I quickly realize that it’s more likely that OkCupid is conspiring to keep me engaged (damn them and their ego-stroking!), and upon looking through the sources of these messages, my enthusiasm wanes. Ah well, such is life.

That said, I did get one message that has had me laughing out loud for the last ten minutes. Enjoy!

Sweetheart,

Pick one and say yes. All these other guys can’t treat you right or give you what you need- short term or long term-I can! www.bluenile.com

Mitch