Your Father Isn’t…. Harry

To be honest, I’m not entirely convinced about Harry, but he picked a bar roughly three minutes from my apartment on a night I was planning on staying in anyway, I agreed to meet him. I’m pulling in to the bar, five minutes early for our date, when my phone buzzes. I dig through my purse to find this little gem from my date:

“Don’t be late I have four other dates lined up for tonight 🙂 See you soon”

Is this seriously the same guy I agreed to meet? He had showed no signs of a God complex online but now I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

After an awkward hug hello, we sit down at the bar and he playfully critiques my decision to order my favorite beer.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not adventurous.”

‘I’m here with you, aren’t I?’ I think to myself as he launches into an explanation of the job he “can’t really talk about” but he’s essentially the Jack Bauer of cyber security. Harry is apparently so well connected that I can’t utter a full sentence without unintentionally dropping the name of one of his high powered clients, but thankfully he’s willing to interrupt me each time to let me know.

“So what do you drink other than that beer?”

“I dunno… I used to drink Jack and Coke, but now I-”

“Oh, Coca-Cola’s a client of mine. I just cracked a really big case for them.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ve been drinking Jack and Gingers late-”

“Yea, so is Johnny Walker.”

“Oh. Cool.”

I must be a better actress than I thought because he’s totally buying my “I’m impressed” face and launches into further name dropping for the job he can’t talk about. The bragging crescendos with a story about a famous LA nightclub he assumes I’ve heard of (I haven’t) that he and his friend rented out for a party. Apparently Matt Damon was at the bar, where he and Harry got talking and totally hit it off.

I’m nodding along, trying to reserve my eye rolling for when he pauses to take a drink or check out the female bartender. I think that I’m caught mid eye roll when he suddenly reaches into his pocket and whips out his phone, which he thrusts in my face to show me Matt Damon’s phone number.

Harry is immensely pleased with himself and suggests a game of pool. The 8 ball gleams in my mind like the light at the end of the tunnel, so I accept knowing there will be a concrete end.

We play the longest game of pool on record (for someone who suggested it, he really wasn’t good but neither am I so that’s fine). I cannot conceal my glee when I sink the 8 ball into a corner pocket to win the game. I immediately start the “it’s been fun” conversational shuffle but Harry cuts me off.

“It’s been real babe but I gotta cut this thing short.”

“Short?” is all I can choke out. “You still have a full beer left.”

Harry tilts back the glass, opens his throat, and like Will Ferrell in Elf, his 20oz beer is gone. The glass thuds on the table beside me and I realize Harry has already made it halfway to the door. I hurry after him, utterly off balance by this turn of events, and catch him just outside the entrance to the bar.

After the usual goodbye pleasantries, I accept my fate as he opens his arms towards me and I go for the ass-out hug, leaning over carefully, head angled away. Out of no where his face is on mine, his tongue leading the brave but misguided charge. I make the fatal error of gasping in disbelief, which only grants access to his outstretched tongue before I quickly shut my mouth again.

Just as unexpectedly as he began, Harry spins on his heel and marches off, saying bye over his shoulder. I stand there shell shocked, wiping my mouth, and notice that the hulking bouncer is doubled over laughing (good-naturedly at least).
~~~~

Kids, while Harry might have protected Neil Patrick Harris from getting hacked that one time (and apparently “prevented WWIII against Russia and Bulgaria”), he is absolutely not your father.

Your Father Isn’t… Sam

When I first saw Sam’s profile, I pictured him as one of those cool academics: cute and athletic, but also laid back. The kind of guy who manages to not look like a pretentious ass gently swirling a glass of wine while an eager crowd listens to him elucidate on… stuff.

Our first date is off on the wrong foot, with each of us wandering in confused circles around Rosslyn station. When we finally find each other, I immediately realize why I had trouble.

I fib about my height as often as the next person (read: always). According to the chart my 5’11 doctor keeps, I’m not 5’3. I’m 5’2 and 3/4. Sam on the other hand has unfairly claimed a solid six inches of open airspace that his body does not occupy. I’m a bit miffed at this blatant lie but he has these huge, glassy dark brown eyes…and a distinctly squirrel-like look to him that makes him seem more like a Disney character than a date.

Sam looks up  at me (ok straight ahead, but it felt like up) and sort of squeaks, “So what’s the news?”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question, so I pretend he asked me something normal and the standard small talk commences. Throughout the awkward pauses that occur so naturally on first dates, he fixes me with a blank but intent stare, like my golden retreiver does when I stop petting her.

All in all, the date doesn’t go horribly, and he likes chocolate and peanut butter (yes I asked), so I agree to see a Matt Damon movie with him next weekend. I really want to see the movie and as you’ll see, Matt Damon has a tendency to pop up unexpectedly in my dating life. I don’t think he’s marriage materials, or even third date material in all likelihood, but I’m not about to write off a perfectly precious Reese’s lover.

As I arrive at the Courthouse movie theater, it’s raining so everyone is huddled quietly together with their heads down outside. Sam slips up beside me and asks, “What’s the news?” Having forgotten about this little idiosyncrasy, I respond literally, and we spend the entirety of the previews discussing current events. Not a great start.

As often happens, the floor below my seat was sticky, so I kept my purse in my lap. Perhaps subconsciously I didn’t want to seem too… open… so I sat with my hands folded on my purse, legs crossed, like a little old lady waiting for the bus.

I should also mention that I had been running for a train as we left the last date, so there had been no good night hug, kiss or handshake… no breaking the touch barrier of any sort. So imagine my surprise when during the movie has arm drops onto my thigh, palm up, waiting like a giant cartoon question mark.

I do what any nice, but not too nice, girl would do. I freeze. I sit with my hands clutching my purse, eyes glued to Matt Damon, especially when I feel Sam looking over at me. I can’t decide whether to shake him off or say something, so I just pretend I hadn’t noticed anything. My dog similarly places her paw on my leg when I’m not paying enough attention, so I wonder if he wants me to scratch behind his ear. Thankfully the rational side of me stays put.

Sam finally moves his arm back to his side of the divider, although he left that question out there way longer than I ever expected. Since it’s still raining when we leave the theater and he starts to walk me to my car, I make some fuss about my hair, give him a quick hug and run for the car.

~~~~

Unsurprisingly, I never heard from Sam again perhaps because I left him walk home in the rain, or because I didn’t offer him a treat for being good. I may never know exactly why, but kids, Sam is certainly not your father.