Misadventures of Dating

Hi there, friend. Monday's over, and let me say, I feel much better than last Monday. You see, an old friend came into town last Sunday, and I was just so excited I forgot I have a real job now, and my zero trips to the gym last week confirm that I do not recover like I used to. Ahh adulthood. I bought myself house plants. Then I read the care instructions, and I give Eleanor about three months max, especially because the care instructions say it needs bright indirect light. Currently, all it's getting is smog as Seattle has poorer air quality than Hanoi, a city that burns their trash regularly. I think Teddy has better odds, but I'll bet in five months they will be replaced by fake houseplants. I don't know why I named them after the Roosevelts, except that I'm still watching West Wing.

I also bought myself a wine rack and plenty of colorful liquors to go on my bar cart - for when I entertain, you know. I'll mix classy cocktails and pour fine wine, oozing sophistication. Don't judge me - I got fireball. Just kidding, but that wold be funny. Possibly on brand.

Caveat: I have been on many dates, some that have led somewhere, and some that haven't. And I wouldn't be critiquing this one if it weren't for how he behaved at the end of the date.

In the spirit of adulthood, I also went on a date. I know, I know, I'm usually not pro dating. One of my issues dating people I don't know well is that I could have a very entertaining conversation with my table, learn its life story, and make myself laugh. Plus, there are so many people I enjoy spending time with and so many activities I enjoy, why is this a good use of my time? However, since arranged marriages haven't yet made their way to the States and the guys I know are committed or have the maturity of my nephew*, I occasionally peak my head above my burrow and look around.

I met this particular guy at his protein shake shop. I should have known then this was going nowhere good. The shake shop was beneath my apartment building. I ventured in there one day. We chatted for a bit, and I ran into him a couple times after our initial meeting. One of those times, we were talking about a good book or a good event or some other stupid excuse to get my number, but he asked for my number so he could send me the details. A couple weeks later, he asked me to go salsa dancing, and I couldn't go. He asked me out again; I couldn't go. He asked me out again, and I said yes to brunch. Harmless enough.

He chose a Mexican restaurant, which is great because I love breakfast tacos. He arrived in a cutoff muscle shirt. Strike one, but to be fair, it's a Saturday, and he owns a gym and a protein shake shop, so maybe it's a check swing. Or maybe I shouldn't have gone to begin with.
We sit down; I order a margarita. "Ahhh, you're a margarita girl," he says. "Well, yes, when I'm at a Mexican restaurant that serves margaritas." Don't be cute with me. You don't know me well enough to be cute with me.

He slouched in his seat and spoke in that meathead tone that slightly slurs every word, and you're not sure if they think they're from Jamaica or are part of the cast of Dazed and Confused or are trying to hit on you with the question, "Do you like cats or dogs?"

He's quite entrepreneurial, dabbling in all sorts of different gigs, and they seemed pretty successful, which might be somewhat attractive if he weren't licking his lips so much. Why are you licking your lips so much? They're going to get chapped.

I said I had never been to this part of town and asked what his favorite spots were. He answered and asked what my favorite spots were. "Well, I don't know, because I stated one minute ago, I've never been to this part of town." Are you listening?

I was so glad I was wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to make eye contact, but I also had some promising pork tacos on the way which I was pumped about. Our conversation took a welcomed pause when he turned around to chat with the two women sitting behind us.

The tacos came. They were delicious. I asked him why he moved to Seattle.

"I moved here for you."

"No, really, why'd you move?" Clearly, I wasn't picking up what he was throwing down. And I get signals. I've been single for a long time; I know when I'm putting off a vibe that I'm into you. But he pressed on.

"You want to come back to my place after this?"

"No, that's okay."

"Why not?"

"I'm meeting some friends at 3." He was upset I had scheduled my day so tightly. I said I didn't expect this to be very long.

The check came, and he graciously paid after I offered to split. After which he commented again: "You have time for one more drink, though, right? Let's go back to my place."

"No. No, I don't. I already said I don't."

We leave. He says good bye to the women sitting behind us. Conveniently, his condo was less than a block away from the restaurant. He points it out and says, "Come on, you know you have time. Come in."

"No." I quickly gave him a hug, said thank you, and turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm and pleaded, "Come here. Give me a kiss." Are you a puppy dog? How desperate are you? For the love of God, it's three o'clock in the afternoon. Alternative: You could say you had a nice time and ask me out again. Where's my burrow?

I firmly said no and scurried on my way.

It's a shame, because the shack had some good protein shakes, and I refuse to support his business. I could make a lot of commentary on the entire interaction, but I'll refrain. The bright side is, though, sometimes I get lonely. Then I go on a date like this, and I think, well, my glass of wine, some Jason Isbell, and a bit of writing is company enough.*

* Actually, he could be more mature.
* At least until someone who's not a tone deaf, entitled idiot with an inflated sense of self comes along.