Let’s do it again soon

So, I went out a second time with E. It was lovely. Just some beers after my Tuesday class. Relaxed, fun, all that jazz. He revealed that he’s not ‘officially’ divorced yet. But that he’d moved out a year and a half ago. I’m choosing not to be too worried about that at this point. He completely charmed me by spilling beer on his pants, talking about his daughter, and revealing that he was a bit intimidated and not sure he was doing this whole dating thing right. And that I’d have to let him know. He also casually mentioned something about how it had been only 10 days since we met. Amazing how something I’d be totally creeped out by if the wrong guy said it is pretty adorable when said by the right guy.

We kissed a bit and then I drove him around the corner to his car. Then the worst part. Where we say that we should see each other again. Soon. But no date is set. And so now the worst thing ever in the world. I wait for him to call. Or should I call him? I don’t know. We have set up this weird precedent (that I actually kind of love) of actually speaking on the phone. Which means I have the added pressure of not feeling like the breezy text is appropriate, but feeling like a call is too much… Hoping that I’ll hear from him tonight. I’d like to see him this weekend. 


Wine AND an appetizer?! Done.

So while Friday’s date was a disaster, I had a date to look forward to on Saturday. This was a guy that I met, in person, at a party. We know some of the same people. There were 7 people at this party, so maybe it wasn’t really a party and was more of a gathering?… I don’t know. In any case, ‘E’ was there. I was in party-mode with my buddies, which pretty much means I eat all the food and drink all the wine. And talk about how I like to watch Murder She Wrote. I’m a real prize. Suddenly, everyone besides E and me have left the room and remain elsewhere in the neighborhood of 30 minutes or more. Subtle, friends.

So, E and I chat and he’s pretty cute, and I talk too much (as usual). I wait long enough to have him walk me to my car. We kiss, briefly. At my insistence. He takes my number. I don’t hear anything – not even a text about whether I got home ok. Great. I’m pretty sure I’ll never hear from this guy again. My friends will ask about it. It’ll be weird.

Then, Wednesday night, my phone rings. Like with an actual phone number – not the robo-dialers from 1-800-CAR-INSURANCE. I don’t answer, but then this mystery caller leaves a message. WHAT?!?! What strange world is this? Although, at this point, I’m still pretty sure it’s just Walgreen’s calling about my prescription.

But then, the heavens parted and the angels sang. This guy. E. He called me on the phone. Left a very polite message and said he’d try me back the next day. Then he did. Call me the next day. We made a date for Saturday. He needed to confirm a sitter (he has a kid – which I knew about). Called me again Friday to confirm our date. Offered to pick me up. Texts me to see if casual drinks and dinner would be ok. Umm… sure…

So, he comes to pick me up. I felt like this would be ok, since we have the mutual friends and stuff. I would never usually let a first date pick me up. He parked his car and came to my door and rang the bell. Are you Fucking Kidding Me?! This guy. For reals. He then pulls up so that I’m not all in the snow. 

We go to dinner. He suggests we split a bottle of wine. He also suggests we share some pierogies to start. I’m ready to propose marriage. Lovely dinner accompanied by me talking too much (duh), but trying to remember to ask him questions, too. We talk about getting another drink, but it’s snowing and the sitter lives one million miles away. So we make out in his car for a few minutes. He wants to set up another date. Soon. Tuesday after my class. 

So, tomorrow is date 2. I like this guy. I’m a little thrown off by the fact that he has a kid. And a dog. But for now I’m willing to take it easy and let it work itself out.

Not to be a dick, but…

I’m not used to having good dates. The date on Friday, for example, was a total bust. Which I sort of knew in my gut it would be. He was reasonably good-looking, but looked much older than his photos. And he was kind of a dick. I knew that he’d been unemployed for a bit and was working on his house. I also knew that he had worked in advertising. He prefaced a comment about how much money he had made in advertising by saying ‘not to be a dick, but…’ Sorry dude. If you have to preface your comment with that, there is approximately a 110% chance that whatever you say is going to make you look like an asshole and annoy the hell out of me.

He also had this weird vocal affect that made me want to force him to clear his throat and talk like a real person. I have a bit of a track record of dating guys with weird voice stuff (the speech impediment Tinder guy was a serious lesson learned). In any case ok ‘J’ is never to be seen or heard from again. Good.

It began a year ago (or so)

Hi. I’m 34. I started dating again, somewhat unexpectedly, about a year ago. I have thought often about blogging about my misadventures in dating, and I’ve finally decided it’s time to start. I haven’t flexed my muscles as a writer in quite a long time, aside from my totally mediocre online dating profile. So this is likely going to be pretty awful for a while. Which really doesn’t matter, because I’m pretty sure no one is ever going to read this.

Let’s start with today. I have a date. For coffee on a Friday at 2:00 in the afternoon. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kidnap me, but he did offer to pick me up, so… fingers crossed I’ll live to post another day. 

I found this guy on okcupid. Or he found me, really. Encouraging things about “J”: he is tall, reasonably attractive, and writes well. Concerns: drinks ‘rarely’, is ‘Buddhist and laughing about it’ whatever that means, and hates sports. We’ll see. I am mostly worried about not having any sort of drink before. I am an awkward and nervous person by nature, so adding the element of first date? Scary. And now I’m going into it completely sober. But I think that it being a coffee date, it’ll be easy to escape if necessary. 

So long as J is not a serial killer, I’ll manage to drink away the anxiety at happy hour.