Dating with no end result in mind is a little like being on Columbus’ ship a week before spotting the new world. If you knew the end of the story, you’d know the only thing to do is to go forward. But, since you don’t, you’re just one pissed-off, rowdy sailor chomping at the bit to throw someone overboard.
I recognize that my “find-‘em-and-land-‘em” goal-oriented dating has led to some less than stellar dating decisions in the past. After my last crash and burn, I decided to slow it down and listen to advice. Advice like, “Don’t focus on looks, focus on compatibility.” “Look for men who are looking to commit, instead of trying to turn ones that aren’t.”
The results have been mostly boredom, interspersed with a little hilarity.
So, no, I don’t like dating for dating’s sake. I have hair to curl and bad reality tv to watch. Sitting with random strangers over food or drink leaves me utterly uninspired. (And why always food or drink? Why never table tennis or knitting class? I think I’m going to start requesting those).
Sean was the unfortunate bit player in my ambivalence on Saturday night. On paper: perfect. Okay, a little short at 5’10″, (his stated eHarmony height , which turned out to be a bit optimistic). I am 5’6″ and I reserve the right to wear 3 inch heels on dates, and I have a “looking-up-at-a-tall-guy” fetish. But, in the spirit of focusing on what’s really important in life, I told myself to let that slide. There are always flats.
On the phone: perfect. Funny, smart, politically in tune, educated at an Ivy, which appeals to the snob and the wannabe in me. Against the 51 First Dates rules, I started letting myself get really excited about him as scheduling conflicts dragged out the time between first contact and date night.
Saturday night, we met at Newark Penn since he took a train to our date. We went on a leisurely walk to find a restaurant. I don’t want to be too unkind about his appearance, since it’s really not a deal-breaker (and I’m filled with a certain dread that these guys will all find this blog and out me for the picky bitch I’m becoming), but let’s just say that based on his pictures I was expecting Robert Redford and I got Philip Seymour Hoffman. Not bad (I happen to find a young PSH pretty sexy), but a shock to the eyeballs, compounded by the fact that he kept acknowledging the few extra pounds he was carrying, like a politician trying to get all the ugly admissions out of the way. I hated that it mattered to me, of all unfair double-standards, since I’ve carried a few extra pounds and savaged guys for being shallow enough to care about that. But it mattered. There. Guilty. Dating is certainly uncovering some of the lesser angels of my nature.
We found a restaurant with a great outdoor patio and music. We talked for hours, drank sangria, ate great food, all the while soaking in the balmy air.
And this guy clearly liked me. “You’re so sexy and smart,” “I love how you pronounce the names of Spanish foods,” tripping-over-himself-to-impress-me liked me. I have absolutely no guide book for dealing with this type of man, my specialty being the “I’ll call you if I remember” variety. Ummm… you really like me and you’re telling me so? Like, two hours after you met me? It made me slightly queasy, like he wanted to show me his appendectomy scar.
After we were done eating, he wanted to take a walk so we could talk longer. He put his hand at my waist while we were crossing the street, telling me I looked pretty, not in a creepy way, but in a “that just fell out of my mouth” way. All this admiration increased my anxiety to the point that I told him a story about how someone tried to grab me when I was walking home from school in the 8th grade and I beat the crap out of him with my school bag. Be forewarned, Sean, I’ve got textbooks and I’m not afraid to use them.
The fact that he took me in stride and walked me to my car like a gentleman (and has texted me every day since) is a testament to either his obliviousness or his ability to deal with my skittishness. Or, perhaps, somewhere, Sean is writing a blog about crazy women who don’t know how to deal with a nice guy and I am perfect research.
I will say this: when he went in for a sweet, closed-mouth peck on the lips as he said a non-lingering goodbye (thank you), I appreciated his gentle ways enough to actually enjoy it.
Lesson in Date # 14: bad men are scary, but nice men are absolutely terrifying. Gotta work on that. Perhaps, if I just stick with this process, the day will come when I see land.
Catch up on the other dates:
Highest clicked-on posts:
Plenty of Fish Chats – I Think My Eyeballs are Bleeding
Date # 12 – Back-up Date is DTF. Am I?
Catch-up on all the dates:
Date # 1 – Bill a/k/a Angry Guy
Date # 2 – Little Johnny
Dates # 3-10 – Speed Dating
Date # 11 – George, Mr. Perfectly-Nice, Not-For-Me
Date # 12 – Back-up Date is DTF. Am I?
Date # 13 – The Scariest of All
Date # 14 – Just What’s Your Angle Buddy?
Date # 15 – A Threesome
More about the 51 First Dates After Divorce Project
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