More tales from the KC dating scene

(Editor’s Note: So I was supposed to post this yesterday. Except that when I was about half way through writing it I realized that a) it was going to be really long and b) I really wanted to lie on the couch, put a blanket over my head, and ignore the world for a while. Don’t know why but I really didn’t feel right yesterday. Better now so I can complete the tale of my biggest dating mistake.)


Recently someone explained to me that the reason behind my lack of success in the dating realm is “that I have too high of standards with regards to women.” That is probably the nicest way I have ever had anyone express to me the fact that I am a total loser and should just settle for any woman with a pulse who doesn’t openly loathe my presence. Regardless as to whether she is correct or not in her opinion I would like to share the following story to show that I am not off in a quixotic dream to meet supermodels. It’s just that even when presented with a sure thing I will find a way to mess it up.

The story begins like all good stories do: with me passed out on the bathroom floor. Contrary to what everyone (including my doctors) believes, this had nothing to do with alcohol. Yet without this event happening I’m not sure if the rest would’ve occurred. I’ll try to explain.

It was September and I had somehow caught a nasty flu big. Fever, body aches and just an overall feeling of awfulness. This lasted an entire weekend in which I would wake up in cold sweats with every joint in my body screaming in pain. I knew I caught something but hoped that rest would make it better. On Monday morning I felt slightly better, got in the shower prior to work and while in the shower I came to the conclusion of “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

Luckily, I was smart enough to try to get out of the shower before I lost consciousness. I say try as when I came to I found myself on the floor with the shower curtain (rod and all) draped across my body and my right leg dangling over the edge of the tub. I also knew immediately that I had completely screwed up my back. I spent ten minutes trying to figure out who I was, where I was, and who knocked me to the ground before I got up and washed the shampoo out of my hair before my back seized up. A few hours later I make a trip to the emergency room where after several attempts to determine whether or not I had had a heart attack (no joke) I was finally told that I was massively dehydrated and had really screwed up my back. Nothing that I could do except rest and take care of things.

I say all this because that weekend I found myself at the Record Bar getting ready to see Anders Parker and The Brunettes in concert. Now when you typically find me at concerts I am standing next to the stage, beer in hand, listening to music the way it was meant to be heard. But due to my predicament I couldn’t drink (because alcohol and large quantities of Advil is a really bad combination) and I had to sit at a table (by myself because no one else I knew had heard of these acts). So keep in mind that for the rest of the story I am a) sober and b) in serious pain.

I’m just sitting at my table nursing my cup of water minding my own business. I felt stupid being at a table by myself but there was absolutely no one at the Record Bar so I at least didn’t feel guilty about it. Plus, I had come to the conclusion that if anyone asked I would just give them my extra chairs. And wouldn’t you know it after the opening act a woman did come by me and go, “Are you using these chairs?”

“No, you can have them if you want.”

“How about if I join you.”

Well, that was unexpected. When you are drinking and some person you have never met before sits down and starts a conversation with you there is sort of accepted level of interaction. Your guard is automatically down. But under the bright light of sobriety I start thinking along the lines of “Why did she choose me?”, “Could she possibly be as stupid as she sounds?” and “Wow, she seems pretty drunk for only being here for one act.” I make pleasant conversation, giving my usual explanation that no, the fact that I am out by myself does not concern me, until she goes back to be with her friends under the assumption that she would bring them back to my table. I acted cool in that I wasn’t going to get up and move for any woman without explaining that getting up would result in my wincing in pain and I could only walk in an old man’s shuffle. Neither of which I felt would make a good impression.

While I was sitting there contemplating all of this I saw another woman enter the club. Short, dark hair, glasses, cute but not in an overly cute sort of way. One of those women that just on first glance you go “She is smart and nice and probably a lot of fun once you get to know her. I’d make my way to talk to her if I could convince all of my muscles to work at the same time.” To my surprise she pretty much makes a beeline towards me and goes “Are you using this chair?”

Seriously, this was like two minutes from when the other woman got up to leave. I could be drunk at a bar every night for a month and not have this happen (and yes I am speaking from experience.) On this night I just sat there and women came to me.

She (oh, let’s call her Zooey since I’m listening to the She & Him CD at the moment) sits down with me and we start talking. Turns out that she is also a big fan of Anders Parker and we were both at the same show in Lawrence where he played. We must have been literally ten feet from each other as we watched him and Jay Farrar play. We then ran through the list of shows that we had seen and there was an immense amount of overlap. Our musical tastes were really close and as we watched the show we both appreciated the music and commented on how the other people didn’t get it. Oh, and she was smart and nice and probably a lot of fun once I got to know her. She had to go back to Lawrence so before the end of the show she took out a piece of paper, wrote down her email address and said “drop me a line sometime.” I didn’t even have to ask. For the life of me I still don’t know how I did that sober.

Over the next few weeks we started up an email conversation that was rather intriguing. It was like having a first date over email. Zooey would tell me some of her stories and I would tell her some of mine. I felt as though I was in my element. Explain myself through written words, which is my strong suit as opposed to, you know, having to actually interact with another human being. And it worked. I made her laugh, showed my fun loving side, and told her to pick up some Josh Ritter CDs which she immediately did. I thought I was totally money (you can’t go wrong with Josh Ritter) especially when I discovered that Zooey was…
· Living in Lawrence
· A huge music fan
· Politically liberal
· Had a master’s degree
· Worked in New York for a few years
· Considered herself to be a bit of an artist
· Was a librarian

Talk about a perfect situation. A cute, smart librarian who is interested in me. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, since we’re talking about me pretty much everything.

So after weeks of emailing we set up a date on a Saturday in Lawrence. I was already going to be there for a Polyphonic Spree show so I even got to act as though this was no big deal. We meet up at a restaurant for an early dinner on what was an absolutely gorgeous fall day. Maybe the best October weather in Kansas that I had ever seen. Sit down and have dinner and go through all of the typical first date conversations. We learn more about each other, what the other one actually does for a living (because I always assumed that librarians just sat around and collected late book fees and at the time I was seemingly making a career out of determining how people searched for porn on the internet) and just enjoyed ourselves. Things were going good and as the meal winded down she got up to hit the restroom and I saw the waiter and…

Honestly, I did think about being completely suave, handing the waiter my card and having him run the check without Zooey even having a chance to ask about it. It would have been debonair and stylish and all of those things I want to be. But did I do that? No, of course not. When she came back and the waiter brought out the check and she struggled for her purse did I say “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Nope. I worked on the assumption that “She lived in New York and would probably take offense if I paid for the meal. I’ll be the sensitive new age guy and gladly split the check.”

Yes, I am an idiot.

After dinner we then went and walked around Lawrence for a while until I got in line for the show. Again, having a brilliant opportunity in front of me (Saturday night, she had no other plans other than watching the World Series) I completely fail to buy her a ticket to the show on the spot. Instead I go to the show alone and then later explain to her how she missed one of the most amazing concerts I had ever witnessed. But I still had one more chance to put things right. We had already agreed to meet up again later that week to see a concert by Uz Jsme Doma.

Who is Uz Jsme Doma you might ask? Just one of the most popular bands in the Czech Republic. A band who despite the fact that I am Czech I had never heard of. In fact, after listening to their music online all I could figure out was that this was a prog rock band from Prague singing in a language that brings up memories of sitting at my grandmother’s house. This is not a band one would drive an hour one way to see. But I did exactly that and that may have been my final mistake.

Because while we did meet up at the show and had a good time joking around I knew while I was standing next to her that I had screwed up what had to have been the most sure thing I had ever encountered. Here was a librarian who was into me: she gave me her email, she called me before I called her, she was leading the charge, and I had fumbled it away. I showed I wasn’t that interested by not paying for dinner, showed that I didn’t want to hang around with her by not finding a way to get her into the show with me and now I was making a grand move to be at a concert with her for a band that she knew I probably couldn’t care less about. I just put out totally mixed signals going from cool to cocky to totally needy in the span of about five days. As we stood together at the concert I just thought “I’m blowing this. I know I am and there is nothing that I can do to stop it.”

So after the show I walk her home even though she only lived like three blocks away but that is the type of guy I am. If you are out with me late at night I’ll take you home that is the rule. We get to her street, not even to the front of her house but just the corner, and say our befuddled goodbyes. As she walked away I told myself “And that is the last time you are ever going to see that woman.” And I was right. She was kind enough to reply to some of my emails but very quickly everything went “pooft” and that was that.

Of all the relationships that I had in Kansas City that ended badly, which for all effective purposes was all of them, this is probably the one I regret the most. Because while the rest of them failed for a variety of reasons I wasn’t directly to blame or if I was it was due to some innate facet of my personality that I could never change. Maybe some women didn’t want to date me because it was clear that I wasn’t planning on spending the rest of my life in Kansas City, I can accept that. Here I was just stupid and made mistakes that cost me someone incredibly cool before I could even figure out if it could work. I couldn’t even close a date with a librarian. That doesn’t do much for the old ego.

Ok, I’m probably not the best catch in the world. When given a choice between myself and Brad Pitt six, maybe seven, women would choose me over Brad. But I would like to think that I don’t set the bar too high for others. Just be intelligent and/or artistic. In other words, don’t bore me. I don’t want to talk about the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I want to talk about life. If you can do that you’ll have my attention. I might screw it up, hell the odds are likely that I will, but I swear to God that I don’t mean to.

Anyway, just to show that I didn’t make up the band here is an Uz Jsme Doma video. If I would travel an hour to listen to this for you it means that no matter how screwed up I am I really like you.



The five random CDs for the week (yes, I am starting anew):
1) Death Cab for Cutie “Narrow Stairs”
2) Uncle Tupelo “No Depression”
3) Mike Plume Band “Song and Dance, Man”
4) R.E.M. “Eponymous”
5) Henry Rollins “Talk is Cheap, Volume One”