“My care, my coat. Leave on a high note. There’s nowhere to go but on.” – Feist
I know five days ago I was like, “MY HEART IS BLEEDING EVERYWHERE SEE IT BLEEDING OH AND IT’S CRYING TOO BECAUSE IT’S TERRIBLE!” I mean, it still is, but I attempted to tourniquet that shit by getting my ass back online and messaging as many people as I possibly could. I took no joy in doing so; being proactive about anything isn’t necessarily my strongest attribute. I mostly look at things as if they are capable of completing themselves: “Aren’t YOU DONE YET?” It never works, and I’m still trying to figure out why.
As of the writing of the last post, I had a coffee date set up. I worried about it, even so. I usually prefer to message guys with something I can make a joke out of (I do this because if guys were left to their own messaging devices, all they would say is [read: ALL THEY DO SAY IS] “Hi beautiful.” like I’m supposed to respond “AWWW. WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEXT TUESDAY? SEX, THEN MARRIAGE, YOU THINK?”), and I did that with this guy but the conversation didn’t have a great flow to it. Also, I was the one who was like, “We should meet for coffee” (he later told me that had I NOT done that, he probably wouldn’t have suggested anything).
Regardless, he agreed, and chose the place (not Starbucks, which I kind of appreciated). He had sent me a text that said that he might be about 10 minutes late, and I responded, “I might still be on time.” The level of giving no fucks: high.
I suppose I’m not exactly giving credit where credit is due. Unlike other experiences, I had no expectations because I wasn’t particularly excited about anything. This was just something I was doing because I didn’t give myself another choice. I recognized, however, that it was kind of perfect because it allowed me to be present in a way that I hadn’t been. The awful/wonderful thing about having a creative brain is that you can make up lifetimes in seconds. I’d been so busy with what the future might look like, I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening now (which… objectively … probably more important).
Anyway, we met, I wasn’t a bitch, he wasn’t an asshole. He was normal-looking, pretty funny, and we discovered that we shared the same regard for dealing with people: We could do it, but we definitely needed some me-time at the end of each and every day. I think I changed his life by telling him that Chopped was on Netflix. We traded stories about families and jobs over coffee that was actually very delicious (it was in a bowl! and came with a shot of bourbon! amazing!). I tell him – because I don’t think there’s a point in NOT telling him – that I write about all of these experiences, so I hope it doesn’t scare him off. He says that it doesn’t, but if he ever saw it, he might wait a bit to read anything.
Afterward, we headed over to my best friend’s house because she was grilling (she was supposed to have more people over but they were all tired/drunk/noncommittal so it turned out to be just the three of us), and spent close to three hours hanging out on the roof and drinking whiskey. It was great, but mostly because I felt like I was doing a one-woman show. There was no joke I told that didn’t land. He even laughed when, after he told us he had eaten fried caterpillars once but didn’t like the texture (a pop, and then a squish), I gracefully said, “Oh, so it’s like a zit.” And he laughed because it was polite, or he wanted to sleep with me, or both.
At one point, my friend looked at me and we had the kind of silent conversation that you can only have in a 15-second timespan: ::she points to him; thumbs up:: I nod back. Seal of approval.
We left my friend’s place; he invited me to a street fest next weekend. I accepted, and as my cab pulled up, I went for the hug, he went for the kiss annnd it was like… whatever. Weirdly, even though we seemed to get along and I generally enjoyed his company, I still wasn’t exactly feelin’ it (COULD THIS BE THE GHOST OF DREADED SPARKS PAST?).
Which leads me to my next date, the very next night. Yes, friends, I met with two different men within 24 hours of each other (don’t worry, I think this might actually be what normal people do, but I still feel weird about it, so if you’re feeling weird about it, I gotchu covered). That was set up not too much longer after I had set up my coffee date, but he actually asked me out instead of the other way around. I had to consult with my friend about this, first: he had these amazing eyes, but he liked musicals, and apparently had memorized “The Raven” for fun (???). So I showed her his profile and said, “Does he look like a serial killer to you?” and she confirmed he did not.
So when he said, “Would you want to grab a drink some night?” I thought, “No, I would love to stay home.” but I said, “I would love to. Which night?” He suggested Saturday, at first, which I couldn’t do because of aforementioned other date, but since it was a holiday weekend Sunday worked for both of us. He then told me that he enjoyed whiskey but not coffee. My heart broke a little bit but I recovered. I suggested a bar with an amazing beer/wine/spirit list, and prayed that the date would go well so that the place itself wouldn’t be ruined forever in my memory.
I showed up early, as is my penchant, and texted him to let him know. I was not prepared for him to text back, “I just parked; be right there,” BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK ELSE SHOWS UP EARLY TO THINGS? But it got off to a good start. I immediately brought up my murder fear.
I said, “So I’m about to make you uncomfortable, but, here’s the deal. You have these gorgeous eyes. But you also like musicals. And then there’s that whole “Raven” thing. Are you a serial killer? Be honest.”
And he said, “… No?”
(I suppose the same question could be posed for “are you gay?” but that spidey-sense wasn’t tingling for me. Just the serial killer vibe.)
I said, “Are you sure?”
And he said, “As far as I know.”
See? Good start.
So Dexter Morgan and I talked families and jobs as well; he’s from Indianapolis originally but moved to Chicago a few years ago and now manages a spy store. I asked how that worked; was he constantly dealing with people who were like, “MY GIRLFRIEND IS CHEATING! I NEED A CAMERA IN HER SHOES”? … and he said that yeah, they did get some of that, but the day-to-day stuff was mostly home security systems, etc.
We talked a lot about the weirdness that is online dating, but I admitted that I avoided the creeper tendency by visiting a profile I liked, and taking screenshots so I could reference them later. He laughed and said, “I will tell you something. You’re very weird. But I like you.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that except: “Thank you.”
We moved onto other topics, mostly nerd/pop culture stuff (our hatred of the misuse of “your” and “you’re”, books, how I’ve never seen Firefly or Serenity and how I about lost my shit when he said he’d never seen Buffy but then he referenced Kingdom Hearts, which is this video game that I adore even though I shouldn’t because I’m 30).
I told him that if this went anywhere, we would be fucking watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I didn’t know that it was a requirement to date me until that precisely that moment, but… yeah. Buffy’s my girl, and you can’t mess with that.
And five hours later, after two whiskeys for him (responsible driver, yadda yadda) and too-many whiskeys for me (I wasn’t drunk but was getting dangerously close so I switched to water quickly), the date ended. We set things up for another date (which was good because we had agreed earlier in the night that if one of us wasn’t feeling it, we would just let the other know. No hard feelings, no explanation needed. It was just better that way. We shook on it [for the record, he had a good handshake]).
And when he kissed me goodnight, it was the complete opposite of whatever. It was like fireworks and angel giggles and awesomesauce all mixed together in goodness, just for me.
It’ll be nice to see him again, but I’m not going to go crazy over anything. Mostly because I hope he’s not a serial killer.
Have a good day, friends. Be kind to yourselves.