Tuesday, January 5, 2010

the whiskey dick of dates.

I apologize for the graphic nature of the title of this blog post, but, I've spent several days trying to figure out what else to call it, and I just couldn't come up with any title more appropriate. So, onto the said date...

Mr. Sisters. I've written about him previously. He has a keen ability to ask amazing, thoughtful questions. Witty banter abounds in our emails. He gets it. He seems to get me. We talk on the phone and minus a few awkward pauses (kind of like that part of making out when he tries to take your shirt off and it gets stuck on your head) its good. So, Mr. Sisters and I make plans to go out on a date. Great! I'm excited. I think "how can it not be good? we obviously connect. We obviously will have a great time. Obviously."

Obviously, my blind optimism that has somehow consumed my soul as of late still has some work to do on its accuracy in predicting the future. We meet for dinner at a restaurant where I live (about 25 minutes, and apparently another universe from where he lives). I tell him the wrong name of the restaurant (because I'm a genius, or I just recently moved back to the area).

He pulls up... In his GEO METRO. A red, circa 1994 geo metro. When he walks over to where I'm standing near the restaurant he then exclaims: "I would have parked over here, but, I didn't want you to get jealous of 'The Red Dragon'". What? Did I just hear that right? You have a nickname for that thing you call a car and are obviously very, very proud of? Awesome! Good for you! (There's that optimism coming out again...)

Ok, let me pause and make a disclaimer here. I am not someone who is big into guys needing to drive really nice, new, expensive cars. I'm a realist and know that my car is nothing to do jumping jacks about. However, I also know that I'm not going to talk about how amazing my car is, let alone give it a nickname that equates it with a powerful, mythical creature. Let that be known.

From there, the date continues as one would expect. There's pad thai, a couple beers. A few awkward "shirt over the head" type of moments. But, overall, no fireworks. No "I hope he can't see how excited I am about him based on my facial expressions!" moments. More like "I hope he can't see how confused and disappointed I am with this date." moments.

In the end, we went to a bar for a drink after dinner, before we were supposed to go see a movie. When he wasn't excited about the fact that I told him my best friend and I had recently submitted our names to be on "Wheel of Fortune" for "Best Friends Week" I knew it just wasn't right. How can you not be excited about that but go on for paragraphs via email about how exciting you think it is that I have a dog who I frequently put sweaters on?!? I don't get it. How can you be someone who shows an amazing amount of depth and emotional maturity online, but, you've never lived away from home and had moments of real life maturity? Again, I don't get it. Furthermore, who keeps their debit card in a plastic sleeve. Honestly. I should have ended it there. Someone must really be confused about their identity if they drive a geo, but are so anal-retentive they keep their debit card neatly packaged.

So, in the meantime I'm left here wondering what is worse: To experience these great conversations in the world of technology only to have no excitement in real life. To be left turned on and hot emotionally but cold and dried up physically? Or, to have excitement and passion, with no real depth? To meet someone and be able to see them and say to yourself "this is bad news." but do it anyways because you know it'll be fun?

Maybe I'll just stick to literal whiskey dicks, rather than figurative ones. For whatever reason, those awkward moments when my shirt gets stuck on my head sound better than awkward moments where I talk about how awesome it is to have irritable bowel syndrome to fill space.

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