Keeping with this week’s theme of romance tonight I figured that I would rattle off some of the incredibly stupid things I have done in the attempts to find love, a relationship or just someone who would acknowledge my existence. Usually when people talk about how their relationships fail it is always because of something wrong with the other person. Looking back I’ve finally realized that I was just a complete idiot. I’m married now. After reading the following you will wonder how the hell that happened but understand why it took me nearly seven years of effort to get Kim to go on a date with me.
1) At the age of 29 I took up smoking in an attempt to look cool. Or, as one of my drinking buddies put it. “If you are going to inhale all of this secondhand smoke then you might as well get some benefit from it.” Plus there was the surprisingly accurate logic that if you sit at a bar with a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches in front of you people will talk to you, if only to bum a cigarette. That part of the plan actually worked. It is an amazing prop to have if you need one. However, I never took into account the fact that I did not know how to smoke, that I couldn’t smoke without coughing and that the entire thing made me look even less cool in the process. This culminated when a girl, who had asked me for a cigarette told me, “Give me your phone, I want to call the idiot who told you to start smoking in order to meet women.”
2) Purchased “The Mystery Method” by Mystery of VH1’s The Pick Up Artist fame. Given all of the crap that VH1 now airs why haven’t they brought that show back? We need the wisdom of Matador and J-Dog, damnit. Yes, somewhere in my book collection I have a dating guide that discusses the importance of peacocking and how to utilize negs. Theoretically I purchased this for entertainment purposes. Or at least I hoped so.
3) In the “it was a good idea at the time” category, I knew where one woman I liked would occasionally hang out and since it was near my apartment and the place served alcohol I figured that I would stop by every once in a while in case she was there because if she wasn’t, well, alcohol. This actually worked when I ran into her until I quickly realized that I had no Step 2 to the plan and looked like a total stalker. Yeah, not my best moment.
4) Been the “let’s go out and drink coffee together” guy on more occasions than I would like to admit. This has become a running joke for Kim as whenever I discuss any girl I knew in college she reminds me that going out for coffee doesn’t technically qualify as dating. Admittedly, on an engineering campus being within fifty yards of a woman technically qualifies as dating so I still feel that having a conversation made me a superstar under the circumstances.
5) Rocked the “cool, hip t-shirt under the dress shirt” look for years in an attempt to show that I had a good job but was still with it. Yep, never worked. Never once did I have anyone mention the t-shirt. Ok, one time someone did ask if I had ever been to CBGBs but given that I purchased that t-shirt at Urban Outfitters I felt more embarrassed for being asked the question than anything.
6) Decided that my go to small talk question would be “Who is your favorite muppet?” To be honest, I still think that question is awesome.
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Monday, February 11, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Dating Blunders Volume One
It’s Valentine’s Week so that means that it is time to tell stories of love won and lost. Or in my case, I’ve decided to use this week to write about some of my worst dating experiences ever. Oh and I will tell the story of my first date with Kim on Thursday as it will tie in nicely and at least that one will not rank as one of my worst experiences ever. I have more than enough of those to go around.
Now before I tell some of my stories I have to remind people that in the not too recent past I used this very blog to openly promote myself as a date for Valentine’s Day. In fact, I had a standing offer in Kansas City to take any woman who volunteered to be my date on Valentine’s Day to the following: 1) Dinner at the Outback Steakhouse (value up to $25, everything above $25 directly ordered by said date must be paid separately. Shared appetizers will be split evenly but please bear in mind that I have a strong dislike of Bloomin Onions because there are some things that even deep drying does not improve, 2) Tickets to see Air Supply in concert at the Harrah’s Casino and 3) one cocktail of their choice at the Casino venue and let me say as someone who had a lot of $6 beers at that damn Voodoo Lounge in that place that is a very nice addition to the package. No one ever took me up on the offer but one of the girls on a competing team did say that she would have but she had to be out of town that day. Seriously, I would have done it just because the sheer thought of seeing Air Supply on Valentine’s Day with a random person would be too good to pass up.
Things were so backwards in Kansas City that I did actually utilize the It’s Just Lunch dating service. Of the many things I learned from that experience number one is that I shouldn’t choose dating services based solely on their advertising in every in flight magazine that I have ever seen. I went on fourteen or fifteen dates in the year or so I was a part of it and I saw a grand total of one woman on a second date. And there was another that gave me her number but never returned my calls. So yeah, not a great history there. However, my final date using them has to be the worst blind date that I have ever been on, made worse by the fact that I technically paid for the experience.
It was either January or February and it was the only time the restaurant where the date was set up to be was within walking distance of my apartment. Given that I lived in the nightlife / entertainment district of the town this never made any sense to me but oh well, at least this time I could trudge through the snow to get there. I sit down, starving for dinner, order a beer and wait fifteen minutes for this woman to appear. When she finally does you can tell that she really doesn’t want to be here either.
I was always surprised at how game people were on these blind dates. I mean, it was an entirely contrived experience, this meeting of a random stranger that someone told you about over the phone for dinner on a Tuesday night. And some nights after a crappy day of work the last thing you want to do is sit down across from someone and make small talk. I always tried and for the most part I always at least had an interesting conversation. Besides I can always talk about books or music or pop culture and find some common point of interest. This night however there was nothing we had in common.
She wasn’t in to music while I was going to concerts every week. She was into hiking whereas I felt that if God wanted us to climb mountains he would have made them smaller and installed hand rails for safety purposes. The crowning moment came when she mentioned that she was originally from Washington and I sensibly asked if she gets the opportunity to get back home and visit her family much. To which she let me know that both of her parents had passed away.
I believe the awkward pause that hung in the air after that statement is still going on.
Trust me, there is nothing you can say in that circumstance that can make you feel like you’ve recovered even though this was a subject that I had no idea about and quickly apologized and switched topics. It is just this feeling of being the biggest ass in the world. We both decided quickly that we didn’t feel like ordering dinner (even though I was absolutely starving) and I walked her to her car and let her know I was walking home. I watched her drive away and then quickly walked one block over to my favorite bar where the bartenders were pouring a beer for me the second I walked in the door. To be honest, for those five years in Kansas City Harry’s was as much of a home for me as my apartment and that night, after sitting through the most awkward conversation that I had ever had, the only person I wanted to talk to was a bartender.
Now before I tell some of my stories I have to remind people that in the not too recent past I used this very blog to openly promote myself as a date for Valentine’s Day. In fact, I had a standing offer in Kansas City to take any woman who volunteered to be my date on Valentine’s Day to the following: 1) Dinner at the Outback Steakhouse (value up to $25, everything above $25 directly ordered by said date must be paid separately. Shared appetizers will be split evenly but please bear in mind that I have a strong dislike of Bloomin Onions because there are some things that even deep drying does not improve, 2) Tickets to see Air Supply in concert at the Harrah’s Casino and 3) one cocktail of their choice at the Casino venue and let me say as someone who had a lot of $6 beers at that damn Voodoo Lounge in that place that is a very nice addition to the package. No one ever took me up on the offer but one of the girls on a competing team did say that she would have but she had to be out of town that day. Seriously, I would have done it just because the sheer thought of seeing Air Supply on Valentine’s Day with a random person would be too good to pass up.
Things were so backwards in Kansas City that I did actually utilize the It’s Just Lunch dating service. Of the many things I learned from that experience number one is that I shouldn’t choose dating services based solely on their advertising in every in flight magazine that I have ever seen. I went on fourteen or fifteen dates in the year or so I was a part of it and I saw a grand total of one woman on a second date. And there was another that gave me her number but never returned my calls. So yeah, not a great history there. However, my final date using them has to be the worst blind date that I have ever been on, made worse by the fact that I technically paid for the experience.
It was either January or February and it was the only time the restaurant where the date was set up to be was within walking distance of my apartment. Given that I lived in the nightlife / entertainment district of the town this never made any sense to me but oh well, at least this time I could trudge through the snow to get there. I sit down, starving for dinner, order a beer and wait fifteen minutes for this woman to appear. When she finally does you can tell that she really doesn’t want to be here either.
I was always surprised at how game people were on these blind dates. I mean, it was an entirely contrived experience, this meeting of a random stranger that someone told you about over the phone for dinner on a Tuesday night. And some nights after a crappy day of work the last thing you want to do is sit down across from someone and make small talk. I always tried and for the most part I always at least had an interesting conversation. Besides I can always talk about books or music or pop culture and find some common point of interest. This night however there was nothing we had in common.
She wasn’t in to music while I was going to concerts every week. She was into hiking whereas I felt that if God wanted us to climb mountains he would have made them smaller and installed hand rails for safety purposes. The crowning moment came when she mentioned that she was originally from Washington and I sensibly asked if she gets the opportunity to get back home and visit her family much. To which she let me know that both of her parents had passed away.
I believe the awkward pause that hung in the air after that statement is still going on.
Trust me, there is nothing you can say in that circumstance that can make you feel like you’ve recovered even though this was a subject that I had no idea about and quickly apologized and switched topics. It is just this feeling of being the biggest ass in the world. We both decided quickly that we didn’t feel like ordering dinner (even though I was absolutely starving) and I walked her to her car and let her know I was walking home. I watched her drive away and then quickly walked one block over to my favorite bar where the bartenders were pouring a beer for me the second I walked in the door. To be honest, for those five years in Kansas City Harry’s was as much of a home for me as my apartment and that night, after sitting through the most awkward conversation that I had ever had, the only person I wanted to talk to was a bartender.
Monday, July 27, 2009
We do rank first in corn related hazing incidents
When you have been online for as long as I have you end up with a large number of email addresses. Some are the official ones that you give to people when they meet and others are for some of the activities that you undertake online that you would rather not be directly linked to your name. Those are the accounts you check occasionally to see what interesting emails come your way.
That was the case yesterday when I checked my email to find that I had received an email from the speed dating people. You all remember my speed dating adventure at the beginning of the year (if not, check the January archive.) Well, seems like they were having another session last week and they were short of men and they wondered if I would be willingly to attend for free. To which I would pleasantly like to reply, “Screw you! I have a girlfriend now! I never want to have to experience that torture again!”
To be honest, I am trying to figure out how you would volunteer to go again. While the first time I paid for the privilege to be rejected by a dozen women in this case I would go through the entire rejection process out of the goodness of my own heart because otherwise there would be empty tables. It’s like “I’m such a nice guy I am going to appear here just so you have another guy to say “Nope, not my type” to.” Because really, that is the entire point of speed dating. I’d much rather stay with the best girlfriend on the planet, thank you very much.
In other news I would like to congratulate Penn State on being named the number one party school in the nation. Yes, they beat out Florida this year followed by Mississippi, Georgia and Ohio (not The Ohio State, just Ohio.) I feel at least a slight sense of pride in that the Big Ten was finally able to defeat the SEC in something. Especially given that we start with a huge disadvantage in terms of bikini weather. However, I have to hang my head a little in terms of the poor showing by my Illini. This is what happens when the pride and joy of your school is the engineering campus.
In fact, let us look at the two greatest developments in the history of the University of Illinois (not counting the Morrow Plots, the oldest experimental cornfield in existence.) They are 1) Hugh Hefner (who lived in my dorm) and 2) Mosaic/Netscape (developed by guys in my physics class.) Thus Illinois provided the world with not only Playboy and the subsequent proliferation of paper based pornography but we also created the platform for internet pornography. This is what happens when one whole portion of the campus is only ten percent female. You really do not want to know about the developments taking place in the hologram labs. Other than they are truly, truly, truly outrageous.
That was the case yesterday when I checked my email to find that I had received an email from the speed dating people. You all remember my speed dating adventure at the beginning of the year (if not, check the January archive.) Well, seems like they were having another session last week and they were short of men and they wondered if I would be willingly to attend for free. To which I would pleasantly like to reply, “Screw you! I have a girlfriend now! I never want to have to experience that torture again!”
To be honest, I am trying to figure out how you would volunteer to go again. While the first time I paid for the privilege to be rejected by a dozen women in this case I would go through the entire rejection process out of the goodness of my own heart because otherwise there would be empty tables. It’s like “I’m such a nice guy I am going to appear here just so you have another guy to say “Nope, not my type” to.” Because really, that is the entire point of speed dating. I’d much rather stay with the best girlfriend on the planet, thank you very much.
In other news I would like to congratulate Penn State on being named the number one party school in the nation. Yes, they beat out Florida this year followed by Mississippi, Georgia and Ohio (not The Ohio State, just Ohio.) I feel at least a slight sense of pride in that the Big Ten was finally able to defeat the SEC in something. Especially given that we start with a huge disadvantage in terms of bikini weather. However, I have to hang my head a little in terms of the poor showing by my Illini. This is what happens when the pride and joy of your school is the engineering campus.
In fact, let us look at the two greatest developments in the history of the University of Illinois (not counting the Morrow Plots, the oldest experimental cornfield in existence.) They are 1) Hugh Hefner (who lived in my dorm) and 2) Mosaic/Netscape (developed by guys in my physics class.) Thus Illinois provided the world with not only Playboy and the subsequent proliferation of paper based pornography but we also created the platform for internet pornography. This is what happens when one whole portion of the campus is only ten percent female. You really do not want to know about the developments taking place in the hologram labs. Other than they are truly, truly, truly outrageous.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Simple things are not my forte
When I started this blog back in the heady days of 2004 (back when My Beloved Lindsay was still a fresh faced eighteen year old) one of the main goals was to track my journey in finding love while stuck in Kansas City. It was a road fraught with danger and adventure and my being rejected in numerous creative and disconcerting ways. But over the years there was one constant: I could always be counted on to do something incredibly stupid. Always well meaning of course but I am a master of the act that makes people wonder just how I earned so many diplomas. Now that I have found the girl of my dreams (or found her again or she found me or I should really explain the whole chain of events one night because it really doesn’t fit in an aside) I had hoped that my days of well intentioned foolishness were behind me. Oh how wrong I was. So now, part one in an ongoing series called “Yep, I am an idiot.”
Kim and I are at the moment part of a long distance relationship (I’ll explain the whole situation later.) What this means is that all of our time together is dependent on flights and airports and the will of numerous factors that are controlled by the unseen hands governing the universe. This means that we never know precisely when the other is going to appear at the airport. However, it is readily apparent that if a mistake can be made I will be the one to make it.
First time was when we both flew into Chicago to celebrate her birthday. We had timed our flights so that we would land within twenty minutes of each other and could meet up with minimal hassle. Which was a great plan except I neglected to take into account the wonder that is the Philadelphia airport in which a soft mist can put the entire airport in a panic and as a result Kim landed in Chicago when my plane finally took off from Philly. There are many things a woman would like to hear on her birthday. “Go to Harry Carry’s at the airport and start drinking without me. I’ll be there in a few hours.” is not one of them.
Then there was Kim’s flight up to Philly a few weeks ago. Again, we have the wonderful Philly weather to blame as it was just one of those continually rainy day. Kim called me when she got on the plane on time so I looked at the airport information online. They had her flight as two hours late. Southwest had her flight as thirty minutes late. I leave work to pick her up betting on her being forty five minutes late. I am five minutes out of my parking lot (and a good fifty from the airport) when my phone buzzes as she texted me that she had just landed thus causing me to say once again “Find a bar and have a beer. I am on my way.” For the life of me I still can’t figure out how two hours delayed becomes on time in the span of ten minutes but no matter, I’m still the idiot.
This Friday may just take the cake, though. I fly in to Florida and Kim tells me that she will be at the airport early to pick me up (she has also been late on occasion but that is neither here nor there.) I land on time, text her that I landed and walk to the far door of the baggage claim area to wait for her. Now, I could have walked out the first door I saw and then just walked up the sidewalk to have a full view of all of the cars that were there. It isn’t a big airport and it isn’t much of a walk. That would probably be labeled as intelligent. Instead I walk directly to this one spot because, well, I’ve always stood there when she’s picked me up. I looked briefly to see if her car was waiting farther down but apparently not hard enough because for ten minutes we waited fifteen yards apart without seeing one another. It is amazing that I can fly across the country to see her, have that be my only desire in the world, and still when I land I stand in one spot because all of the other times I have stood there her car has magically appeared in front of me. As I am often forced to admit “Yes, I am an idiot.” Luckily I am adorable enough to get away with it. Most of the time.
The five random CDs for the week:
1) Cowboy Junkies “200 More Miles”
2) Beth Orton “Best Bit”
3) Hank Williams III “Lovesick, Broke & Driftin’”
4) Mindy Smith “One Moment More”
5) U2 “Rock’s Hottest Ticket”
Kim and I are at the moment part of a long distance relationship (I’ll explain the whole situation later.) What this means is that all of our time together is dependent on flights and airports and the will of numerous factors that are controlled by the unseen hands governing the universe. This means that we never know precisely when the other is going to appear at the airport. However, it is readily apparent that if a mistake can be made I will be the one to make it.
First time was when we both flew into Chicago to celebrate her birthday. We had timed our flights so that we would land within twenty minutes of each other and could meet up with minimal hassle. Which was a great plan except I neglected to take into account the wonder that is the Philadelphia airport in which a soft mist can put the entire airport in a panic and as a result Kim landed in Chicago when my plane finally took off from Philly. There are many things a woman would like to hear on her birthday. “Go to Harry Carry’s at the airport and start drinking without me. I’ll be there in a few hours.” is not one of them.
Then there was Kim’s flight up to Philly a few weeks ago. Again, we have the wonderful Philly weather to blame as it was just one of those continually rainy day. Kim called me when she got on the plane on time so I looked at the airport information online. They had her flight as two hours late. Southwest had her flight as thirty minutes late. I leave work to pick her up betting on her being forty five minutes late. I am five minutes out of my parking lot (and a good fifty from the airport) when my phone buzzes as she texted me that she had just landed thus causing me to say once again “Find a bar and have a beer. I am on my way.” For the life of me I still can’t figure out how two hours delayed becomes on time in the span of ten minutes but no matter, I’m still the idiot.
This Friday may just take the cake, though. I fly in to Florida and Kim tells me that she will be at the airport early to pick me up (she has also been late on occasion but that is neither here nor there.) I land on time, text her that I landed and walk to the far door of the baggage claim area to wait for her. Now, I could have walked out the first door I saw and then just walked up the sidewalk to have a full view of all of the cars that were there. It isn’t a big airport and it isn’t much of a walk. That would probably be labeled as intelligent. Instead I walk directly to this one spot because, well, I’ve always stood there when she’s picked me up. I looked briefly to see if her car was waiting farther down but apparently not hard enough because for ten minutes we waited fifteen yards apart without seeing one another. It is amazing that I can fly across the country to see her, have that be my only desire in the world, and still when I land I stand in one spot because all of the other times I have stood there her car has magically appeared in front of me. As I am often forced to admit “Yes, I am an idiot.” Luckily I am adorable enough to get away with it. Most of the time.
The five random CDs for the week:
1) Cowboy Junkies “200 More Miles”
2) Beth Orton “Best Bit”
3) Hank Williams III “Lovesick, Broke & Driftin’”
4) Mindy Smith “One Moment More”
5) U2 “Rock’s Hottest Ticket”
Monday, April 20, 2009
Really, what is your sign?
A few weeks ago of friend of mine requested my assistance with their eHarmony account. They had just joined the service and needed some advice as to what questions do you ask someone that you have just met online and are trying to determine if they are relationship (or at least meet for a drink) worthy. For the record: No, I do not, nor have I ever had, an eHarmony account. After the speed dating debacle I will be forever grateful if I never have to undergo such an experience again. Plus, I would change my Facebook relationship status but “luckiest man on the planet” is not one of the choices. It should be, though.
Anyway, while struggling to think of small talk conversation that would be applicable it dawned on me that there has to be lists of questions on the internet. Thanks to google and various sites here are some recommended questions to ask on a first date. And I am making none of these up.
Were you usually the dumper and the dumpee in your past relationships?: Because it is always good to set the stage for the inevitable failure right away. Plus, if they are always the dumpee it means you have free reign for a while.
Have you ever had your heart broken?: I’ve seen this question on several sites. For the life of me, I have no idea why you would ask this on a first date. It’s basically saying “Tell me about the worst moment in your life. Provide details, please.”
What is the biggest mistake that people make on the first date?: Great question actually as you have the other person tell you what not to do. On the other hand, if her answer is “Read off a list of questions that you had printed out from the internet” you are probably in serious trouble.
What career or school risks that you have taken that have turned out successfully?: There is always a danger when you look at these prepared questions. Mainly that they resemble the same questions that you would see in a potential job interview. Seriously, would you be surprised if an HR person asked you this question? This becomes an even bigger problem when you actually have been interviewing for jobs because suddenly all your answers become HR ready even though you have downed six tequila shooters.
If you were in a white room surrounded by people dressed in white, what three emotions would you feel and why?: This was taken from a list called “funny first date questions.” I’m not sure where the funny part comes from. This is a wonderful way to determine if the person across from you is open to joining a cult though so it does have that going for it.
Where’s Waldo?: This would be considered cute and possibly funny anywhere except Kansas City. There you would most likely be given a set of directions.
Describe your fighting style: Drunken Master or Angry Monkey?: It is quite possible that this one would get a reaction. In fact, if you got a positive reaction from it I could almost assure you that things would go very well. However, if you get a quizzical look followed by the expression that reads “this guy is the biggest geek I have ever seen” (an expression that I am vaguely familiar with) then you can pretty much bank on it being an early night.
Have you ever cheated in a relationship?: Again, these questions are coming from actual lists I found online. Somehow I have a feeling that grilling someone on their tendency to cheat in a relationship within the first five minutes of the date will result in their never being a chance to find out if they would cheat in this relationship.
Ever been in any legal trouble?: This should be followed up by the classic “What distance do you feel is appropriate for a restraining order?”
Feel free to use these in your next romantic encounter. Or you could always go with my favorite question: “Who is your favorite Muppet?” I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I still believe that it is a wonderful opener. Mystery would back me up on this.
Anyway, while struggling to think of small talk conversation that would be applicable it dawned on me that there has to be lists of questions on the internet. Thanks to google and various sites here are some recommended questions to ask on a first date. And I am making none of these up.
Were you usually the dumper and the dumpee in your past relationships?: Because it is always good to set the stage for the inevitable failure right away. Plus, if they are always the dumpee it means you have free reign for a while.
Have you ever had your heart broken?: I’ve seen this question on several sites. For the life of me, I have no idea why you would ask this on a first date. It’s basically saying “Tell me about the worst moment in your life. Provide details, please.”
What is the biggest mistake that people make on the first date?: Great question actually as you have the other person tell you what not to do. On the other hand, if her answer is “Read off a list of questions that you had printed out from the internet” you are probably in serious trouble.
What career or school risks that you have taken that have turned out successfully?: There is always a danger when you look at these prepared questions. Mainly that they resemble the same questions that you would see in a potential job interview. Seriously, would you be surprised if an HR person asked you this question? This becomes an even bigger problem when you actually have been interviewing for jobs because suddenly all your answers become HR ready even though you have downed six tequila shooters.
If you were in a white room surrounded by people dressed in white, what three emotions would you feel and why?: This was taken from a list called “funny first date questions.” I’m not sure where the funny part comes from. This is a wonderful way to determine if the person across from you is open to joining a cult though so it does have that going for it.
Where’s Waldo?: This would be considered cute and possibly funny anywhere except Kansas City. There you would most likely be given a set of directions.
Describe your fighting style: Drunken Master or Angry Monkey?: It is quite possible that this one would get a reaction. In fact, if you got a positive reaction from it I could almost assure you that things would go very well. However, if you get a quizzical look followed by the expression that reads “this guy is the biggest geek I have ever seen” (an expression that I am vaguely familiar with) then you can pretty much bank on it being an early night.
Have you ever cheated in a relationship?: Again, these questions are coming from actual lists I found online. Somehow I have a feeling that grilling someone on their tendency to cheat in a relationship within the first five minutes of the date will result in their never being a chance to find out if they would cheat in this relationship.
Ever been in any legal trouble?: This should be followed up by the classic “What distance do you feel is appropriate for a restraining order?”
Feel free to use these in your next romantic encounter. Or you could always go with my favorite question: “Who is your favorite Muppet?” I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I still believe that it is a wonderful opener. Mystery would back me up on this.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Adventures in Speed Dating
As I’ve mentioned before last summer I found myself writing for another website (sadly brief lived) on the topic of relationships. The idea behind my joining the site was rather brilliant. I would simply provide my perspective on the topic; that perspective being that of a 35 year old single male, never married, hell, never even engaged, who had just been dumped by his girlfriend and while not exactly as a result moved across the country to a town where he knew absolutely no one but the two events have somehow become intertwined. While my experience cannot be considered common it at least speaks to a rather standard occurrence: How in the world do you meet people in your thirties especially in a place where you are starting from ground zero? No friends, no support network, not even a bar where you are a regular. I had a list of activities that I would undertake and document to show just what it is like out there. Even though that website is no longer the idea was just too good to pass up.
Hence, I somehow found myself speed dating last week.
Now speed dating is one of those things that I had always heard about but had never even tried. Nor have I ever known anyone to try it. Just the very idea seemed like an evening of continued awkwardness along with the concern that the only people who would be at a speed dating event are people who need a speed dating event. It’s the Catch-22 behind all dating services; all of the people that you would actually want to date are obviously socially advanced to the point that they no longer require dating services. Your romantic life is one of those activities that is extremely difficult to outsource.
But after seeing an ad for one in Wilmington in a magazine I decided to sign up and see what could happen. I was a little apprehensive at the sign up process. First off, I had two options to choose from: one an event for 25 – 35 year olds and another for 45 – 55 year olds. This was quite concerning for me as I turn 36 in nine months and apparently at that point even the people who run speed dating think I’m such a huge loser they won’t allow me in the building for another ten years. Then there was the fact that you just signed up. Pretty much filled out a form and you were in. That and you had to pay a fee. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this. I paid good money for this experience.
So the big day came and I made my way there after work. That was probably my first problem because by the time I get home from the office all I want to do is lie down on the couch and sleep for an hour. All I do all day is look at numbers so it takes me a while to switch off that brain and get the social interaction part of my personality functioning. It’s tough to get to know someone when part of your brain is still writing excel formulas.
The event was being held on the second floor of a bar. To reach the second floor (and I swear I am not making this up) you had to climb up what for all intensive purposes appeared to be a fire escape with a small little banner on it promoting the speed dating event. It made the whole event seem so illicit and back alley, like I was going to have to perform a special knock and give a password to be let in the door. Also, there is nothing like climbing a fire escape in the middle of January and looking out at the city to make you wonder just how horrible your social life has become that this is now considered to be an acceptable option.
I get enough courage to enter and sign in, happy that I timed it so that I wouldn’t be the first one there, and make my way to the bar. Now one would think that if I had paid money to be at a singles’ event I would make a concerted effort to, you know, talk to people. Of course, if I told you that I had the option of a) talking to the random stranger to my left and b) watching a random Big Ten basketball game on the television set most of you would rightly assume that I would take a much greater interest in Ohio State than anyone around me. Now I didn’t just sit there silently. I did try to make small talk and crack jokes but in essence I did what I always do when I’m in a new social situation. I sit back and observe. This puts me at ease but sucks in terms of first impressions.
Then it was time for the speed dating to begin. I’ll go over the ground rules now. The women are all given specific numbers and locations to sit. The men are also numbered and we are told where we shall sit to begin. All parties are given scorecards (there is no other way to describe it. They looked like they were from a romantic themed miniature golf course) and pens. When the bell rings you introduce yourself to the other party and write down their name in your scorecard in what might be the most awkward moment I have ever experienced in my entire life. Then you have six minutes to have a conversation at which point a bell rings. At this point three things happen 1) you try to politely wrap up the conversation, 2) you then turn to your scorecard and check either “Yes, I would like to talk to this person again” or “No, those were six minutes of my life I will never get back”, and 3) the guy gets up, moves to the next table down the line, and promptly bangs his knee into a table leg.
Now I’ll admit this is not exactly a format that works to my advantage. I don’t think you can pick up my better qualities in six minutes. I’m not sure if six months would be enough time. Hell, I’m not even sure how I work and I’ve been me for a very long time. It’s the type of thing where you need to be on from the moment the bell rings and I’m much more of an ease into the situation type of guy.
Anyway, so we all go to our stations and I discover that, uh, there is no woman sitting across from me. Yes, even at speed dating I couldn’t get a date. Well, what had happened was that two of the women were late including the first person I was supposed to meet. So I just sat at a table for six minutes watching everyone else have a conversation while I just sat there feeling quite possibly as pathetic as I have ever felt in my entire life. Now I’ve been by myself when people are being social before. I know the horrors of hearing Wonderful Tonight and watch everyone else go to the dance floor while you make your way to the bar and hope that you can somehow drink yourself into numbness. But being ditched at something you paid for was another experience entirely.
Then the bell rang and I went to the next table where I met…well, no one. She wasn’t there either. This is what you call an auspicious debut. Even worse it meant that I wasn’t going to be warmed up whereas everyone else had been talking for a while. She at least arrived before the six minutes were up thus allowing me to have thirty seconds of conversation with a real person.
For the rest of the night I at least was able to talk to women so things did improve. It’s very strange having a six minute conversation with someone you have never met before. The first topic is always what do you do for a living. That is actually a rather challenging question for me as I still haven’t figured out how to explain my job. My title is Transmission Specialist, which makes me sound like a mechanic. I usually mutter something about the energy business. It is either that or I fall into the spiel I used to do when I was interviewing over the summer where I would describe my entire work history in an attempt to….ok, I have no idea what that was meant to accomplish. I did it repeatedly through the night because after months of interviewing you can discuss your work history at the drop of a hat. Exactly how my resume was meant to entice a member of the opposite sex to speak to me again is a mystery.
You also have the usual chit chat about what do you do for fun or where you have traveled to recently. Think about what you tend to talk about with a random stranger at the bar and it is similar to that. They did provide us with handy question sheets and dice so that we could randomly choose which question to ask the other. I always felt like that was the silliest thing in the world. How bad is it when within four minutes you are going “I’m just going to read off the cue cards here.” Whenever that happened I said, and I’m not making this up either, “well, if we are going to ask random questions let’s use the best random question that anyone has ever asked me in a bar. Who is your favorite muppet?” Somehow I don’t think that worked.
(For the record my answer is Rowlf the Dog. You can’t go wrong with a piano playing dog.)
The challenge is that six minutes is just long enough to become horribly awkward and short enough so that you can never have a proper conversation. There were a number of times when I was just starting to feel like we had overcome the opening jitters and were getting to know each other when the bell rang and you moved on. It’s as if you are constantly interrupted and by the end of the night all you want is to just have one conversation that doesn’t have a stop watch attached to it.
As for the women I was talking to, well, they were pretty amazing actually. Much, much better than I had anticipated and a lot of them were super cool. To the point where I really wondered just why they were there. I mean, I had a vague reason as being new to town does give me a little bit of an excuse, but some of these women should have no problems getting boyfriends. If I had known that going in I might have tried to up my game a little bit.
Finally I completed the circuit and the night was over. We stayed at the bar for a little while to finish off our drinks and talk some more but the crowd started to empty rather quickly. I was there later than most but soon made my way back home to heat up some dinner and enter my scores into the computer. See, that was the next step. We would all go online and enter whether we wanted to talk again or not. I entered my selections and waited the appropriate few days to see the results. I clicked on the link and was told:
“You have no matches.”
Sigh.
God I suck.
Hence, I somehow found myself speed dating last week.
Now speed dating is one of those things that I had always heard about but had never even tried. Nor have I ever known anyone to try it. Just the very idea seemed like an evening of continued awkwardness along with the concern that the only people who would be at a speed dating event are people who need a speed dating event. It’s the Catch-22 behind all dating services; all of the people that you would actually want to date are obviously socially advanced to the point that they no longer require dating services. Your romantic life is one of those activities that is extremely difficult to outsource.
But after seeing an ad for one in Wilmington in a magazine I decided to sign up and see what could happen. I was a little apprehensive at the sign up process. First off, I had two options to choose from: one an event for 25 – 35 year olds and another for 45 – 55 year olds. This was quite concerning for me as I turn 36 in nine months and apparently at that point even the people who run speed dating think I’m such a huge loser they won’t allow me in the building for another ten years. Then there was the fact that you just signed up. Pretty much filled out a form and you were in. That and you had to pay a fee. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this. I paid good money for this experience.
So the big day came and I made my way there after work. That was probably my first problem because by the time I get home from the office all I want to do is lie down on the couch and sleep for an hour. All I do all day is look at numbers so it takes me a while to switch off that brain and get the social interaction part of my personality functioning. It’s tough to get to know someone when part of your brain is still writing excel formulas.
The event was being held on the second floor of a bar. To reach the second floor (and I swear I am not making this up) you had to climb up what for all intensive purposes appeared to be a fire escape with a small little banner on it promoting the speed dating event. It made the whole event seem so illicit and back alley, like I was going to have to perform a special knock and give a password to be let in the door. Also, there is nothing like climbing a fire escape in the middle of January and looking out at the city to make you wonder just how horrible your social life has become that this is now considered to be an acceptable option.
I get enough courage to enter and sign in, happy that I timed it so that I wouldn’t be the first one there, and make my way to the bar. Now one would think that if I had paid money to be at a singles’ event I would make a concerted effort to, you know, talk to people. Of course, if I told you that I had the option of a) talking to the random stranger to my left and b) watching a random Big Ten basketball game on the television set most of you would rightly assume that I would take a much greater interest in Ohio State than anyone around me. Now I didn’t just sit there silently. I did try to make small talk and crack jokes but in essence I did what I always do when I’m in a new social situation. I sit back and observe. This puts me at ease but sucks in terms of first impressions.
Then it was time for the speed dating to begin. I’ll go over the ground rules now. The women are all given specific numbers and locations to sit. The men are also numbered and we are told where we shall sit to begin. All parties are given scorecards (there is no other way to describe it. They looked like they were from a romantic themed miniature golf course) and pens. When the bell rings you introduce yourself to the other party and write down their name in your scorecard in what might be the most awkward moment I have ever experienced in my entire life. Then you have six minutes to have a conversation at which point a bell rings. At this point three things happen 1) you try to politely wrap up the conversation, 2) you then turn to your scorecard and check either “Yes, I would like to talk to this person again” or “No, those were six minutes of my life I will never get back”, and 3) the guy gets up, moves to the next table down the line, and promptly bangs his knee into a table leg.
Now I’ll admit this is not exactly a format that works to my advantage. I don’t think you can pick up my better qualities in six minutes. I’m not sure if six months would be enough time. Hell, I’m not even sure how I work and I’ve been me for a very long time. It’s the type of thing where you need to be on from the moment the bell rings and I’m much more of an ease into the situation type of guy.
Anyway, so we all go to our stations and I discover that, uh, there is no woman sitting across from me. Yes, even at speed dating I couldn’t get a date. Well, what had happened was that two of the women were late including the first person I was supposed to meet. So I just sat at a table for six minutes watching everyone else have a conversation while I just sat there feeling quite possibly as pathetic as I have ever felt in my entire life. Now I’ve been by myself when people are being social before. I know the horrors of hearing Wonderful Tonight and watch everyone else go to the dance floor while you make your way to the bar and hope that you can somehow drink yourself into numbness. But being ditched at something you paid for was another experience entirely.
Then the bell rang and I went to the next table where I met…well, no one. She wasn’t there either. This is what you call an auspicious debut. Even worse it meant that I wasn’t going to be warmed up whereas everyone else had been talking for a while. She at least arrived before the six minutes were up thus allowing me to have thirty seconds of conversation with a real person.
For the rest of the night I at least was able to talk to women so things did improve. It’s very strange having a six minute conversation with someone you have never met before. The first topic is always what do you do for a living. That is actually a rather challenging question for me as I still haven’t figured out how to explain my job. My title is Transmission Specialist, which makes me sound like a mechanic. I usually mutter something about the energy business. It is either that or I fall into the spiel I used to do when I was interviewing over the summer where I would describe my entire work history in an attempt to….ok, I have no idea what that was meant to accomplish. I did it repeatedly through the night because after months of interviewing you can discuss your work history at the drop of a hat. Exactly how my resume was meant to entice a member of the opposite sex to speak to me again is a mystery.
You also have the usual chit chat about what do you do for fun or where you have traveled to recently. Think about what you tend to talk about with a random stranger at the bar and it is similar to that. They did provide us with handy question sheets and dice so that we could randomly choose which question to ask the other. I always felt like that was the silliest thing in the world. How bad is it when within four minutes you are going “I’m just going to read off the cue cards here.” Whenever that happened I said, and I’m not making this up either, “well, if we are going to ask random questions let’s use the best random question that anyone has ever asked me in a bar. Who is your favorite muppet?” Somehow I don’t think that worked.
(For the record my answer is Rowlf the Dog. You can’t go wrong with a piano playing dog.)
The challenge is that six minutes is just long enough to become horribly awkward and short enough so that you can never have a proper conversation. There were a number of times when I was just starting to feel like we had overcome the opening jitters and were getting to know each other when the bell rang and you moved on. It’s as if you are constantly interrupted and by the end of the night all you want is to just have one conversation that doesn’t have a stop watch attached to it.
As for the women I was talking to, well, they were pretty amazing actually. Much, much better than I had anticipated and a lot of them were super cool. To the point where I really wondered just why they were there. I mean, I had a vague reason as being new to town does give me a little bit of an excuse, but some of these women should have no problems getting boyfriends. If I had known that going in I might have tried to up my game a little bit.
Finally I completed the circuit and the night was over. We stayed at the bar for a little while to finish off our drinks and talk some more but the crowd started to empty rather quickly. I was there later than most but soon made my way back home to heat up some dinner and enter my scores into the computer. See, that was the next step. We would all go online and enter whether we wanted to talk again or not. I entered my selections and waited the appropriate few days to see the results. I clicked on the link and was told:
“You have no matches.”
Sigh.
God I suck.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
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”
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”
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The Curse of the Nice Guy
Author’s Note: Back when I was pegged to write for another website in order to provide the mid-thirties, chronically single perspective on life one of my first major posts was supposed to be on this subject. However, thanks to my aversion to deadlines and the fact that the website was apparently managed by lemurs the website was shut down before I could actually write the article. Here it is, in its full glory. Enjoy.
The Curse of the Nice Guy
A friend recently forwarded me this link with the subject: “This totally explains your problem”. I’m always frightened by the thought that Yahoo may hold the answer to any of my difficulties so I cautiously took a look at the article pleasantly titled “Why Nice Guys Finish Last” written by the botox enhanced “Dating Expert” April Masini. Check it out for yourself.
Why Nice Guys Finish Last
Now as a sufferer of “nice guy syndrome” this subject is very close to my heart. Not only have I heard “I only like you as a friend” I’ve also gotten “You’re not the type of guy I want to date. You’re the type of guy I want to marry” and “You are naturally the nicest guy I’ve ever met. However, when you actually try to be nice you freak me out to the point that I want to call the cops.” Now this sets up a very awkward scenario as I have always been given the advice to “be myself”, which is being a nice, considerate guy, but as this article proposes that is the worst thing imaginable.
Let’s run through April’s arguments (ignoring the fact that a dating expert should not look like someone prowling the edge of a divorcee bar). First, apparently nice equates to boring. Really? So women prefer the excitement of being treated like crap and ignored over being treated with respect? Or purposefully being ignored so that when the guy pays attention to them they get to feel as though they have earned it and changed him even though he was just following the rules laid out to him on a VH1 reality show?
I hate this argument because it assumes that one cannot be both nice and confident. Since when have those states been mutually exclusive? True, it is one thing if a guy is nice to the point of letting a girl walk all over him. For example, if you drive the girl of your dreams to another guy’s house because her car is in the shop you probably do fall into the category of being too nice. But as a guy I feel I can be damn confident of myself and go “You know what, I like you and I want to treat you the way you deserve” and not play any stupid games around the way that I am feeling. I never understood why two people who like each other will spend months avoiding each other’s company just to prove that they do, in fact, like each other. A simple questionnaire would solve that issue in minutes. If in grade school we could use a note with “Do you like me, check yes or no” as the basis of courtship I don’t think that we need to make it much more difficult as adults.
Now the second (and to be honest, only) point of the article is about how relationships work in terms of a negotiation. Admittedly, this could be the whole reason for my lack of a girlfriend because I suck at negotiations. I’ve been beaten at negotiations by people who are more fluent in Klingon than English. On some level I can even agree with this argument. In dating we are all trying to judge whether we are dating within our league, testing the power dynamic, and running the counterparty past a set of impartial judges in order to determine their true mating value. In such a situation it is best to place yourself in a position that indicates just how worthy you are in terms of breeding stock. Anything that indicates that you realize that you are way out of your league, and trying to do everything right is one of those things, does place the relationship at risk.
But just read the way I phrased that and you can tell how ludicrous the entire thing is. The guy is being punished for trying to do things right. In fact, the nice guy does absolutely nothing wrong in the entire scenario and yet he still doesn’t get the girl. He doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t leave her waiting by the phone sobbing, and he doesn’t sleep with her sister giving the excuse “it was late and I got confused.” That guy gets second and third chances because of his long hair and motorcycle. The nice guy just sits at the bar drowning his sorrows until the relationship shatters into a million pieces and he is left to put her back together hoping that maybe this time she’ll notice before the next guy with a tattoo walks through the door.
What is missing from April’s piece, and what I would love to see written just once when they discuss why nice guys don’t get the girl, is the simple statement: “Women are completely irrational. Nothing that they do or say can be viewed in any sort of logical construct.” Nowhere in that article does is state that women are doing anything wrong with ignoring the nice guy even though by definition they are. They talk about showing yourself as having value when by being considerate you are showing that you have value. Hell, it shows that you have values! But that apparently doesn’t matter.
As much as people talk about relationships in terms of negotiations it isn’t as though the woman is sitting there performing a net present value calculation as to the benefit of dating the other party. If so, I’d have a full social calendar just do to the sheer fact that I am willing to pay for dinner. Yet that is what all of this advice is meant to portray. Show value by being a jerk. Don’t pay attention. Let her walk away. God help you if you are actually honest about your feelings for once in your life. That is romantic suicide. Act like your twelve and pull on her hair to indicate your desire.
What gets me most about this is that it assumes that there are no women out there looking for nice guys. There has to be even if I seem to have a hell of a time finding them apparently. If the world’s fattest man can get married even though he needed a flatbed truck to get to the church you would think that I could get a woman to not break up with me just because I like opening a door for her occasionally. So instead of trying to change who I am into someone I clearly am not I want to pose the question this way. Where does one find a woman who is looking for a nice guy? Where are the women who are looking for a guy who will pay attention and be there when they need support? Because trust me, if you let me know where they are hiding I’ll be out there handing out resumes complete with references as to just how nice of a guy I actually am.
The Curse of the Nice Guy
A friend recently forwarded me this link with the subject: “This totally explains your problem”. I’m always frightened by the thought that Yahoo may hold the answer to any of my difficulties so I cautiously took a look at the article pleasantly titled “Why Nice Guys Finish Last” written by the botox enhanced “Dating Expert” April Masini. Check it out for yourself.
Now as a sufferer of “nice guy syndrome” this subject is very close to my heart. Not only have I heard “I only like you as a friend” I’ve also gotten “You’re not the type of guy I want to date. You’re the type of guy I want to marry” and “You are naturally the nicest guy I’ve ever met. However, when you actually try to be nice you freak me out to the point that I want to call the cops.” Now this sets up a very awkward scenario as I have always been given the advice to “be myself”, which is being a nice, considerate guy, but as this article proposes that is the worst thing imaginable.
Let’s run through April’s arguments (ignoring the fact that a dating expert should not look like someone prowling the edge of a divorcee bar). First, apparently nice equates to boring. Really? So women prefer the excitement of being treated like crap and ignored over being treated with respect? Or purposefully being ignored so that when the guy pays attention to them they get to feel as though they have earned it and changed him even though he was just following the rules laid out to him on a VH1 reality show?
I hate this argument because it assumes that one cannot be both nice and confident. Since when have those states been mutually exclusive? True, it is one thing if a guy is nice to the point of letting a girl walk all over him. For example, if you drive the girl of your dreams to another guy’s house because her car is in the shop you probably do fall into the category of being too nice. But as a guy I feel I can be damn confident of myself and go “You know what, I like you and I want to treat you the way you deserve” and not play any stupid games around the way that I am feeling. I never understood why two people who like each other will spend months avoiding each other’s company just to prove that they do, in fact, like each other. A simple questionnaire would solve that issue in minutes. If in grade school we could use a note with “Do you like me, check yes or no” as the basis of courtship I don’t think that we need to make it much more difficult as adults.
Now the second (and to be honest, only) point of the article is about how relationships work in terms of a negotiation. Admittedly, this could be the whole reason for my lack of a girlfriend because I suck at negotiations. I’ve been beaten at negotiations by people who are more fluent in Klingon than English. On some level I can even agree with this argument. In dating we are all trying to judge whether we are dating within our league, testing the power dynamic, and running the counterparty past a set of impartial judges in order to determine their true mating value. In such a situation it is best to place yourself in a position that indicates just how worthy you are in terms of breeding stock. Anything that indicates that you realize that you are way out of your league, and trying to do everything right is one of those things, does place the relationship at risk.
But just read the way I phrased that and you can tell how ludicrous the entire thing is. The guy is being punished for trying to do things right. In fact, the nice guy does absolutely nothing wrong in the entire scenario and yet he still doesn’t get the girl. He doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t leave her waiting by the phone sobbing, and he doesn’t sleep with her sister giving the excuse “it was late and I got confused.” That guy gets second and third chances because of his long hair and motorcycle. The nice guy just sits at the bar drowning his sorrows until the relationship shatters into a million pieces and he is left to put her back together hoping that maybe this time she’ll notice before the next guy with a tattoo walks through the door.
What is missing from April’s piece, and what I would love to see written just once when they discuss why nice guys don’t get the girl, is the simple statement: “Women are completely irrational. Nothing that they do or say can be viewed in any sort of logical construct.” Nowhere in that article does is state that women are doing anything wrong with ignoring the nice guy even though by definition they are. They talk about showing yourself as having value when by being considerate you are showing that you have value. Hell, it shows that you have values! But that apparently doesn’t matter.
As much as people talk about relationships in terms of negotiations it isn’t as though the woman is sitting there performing a net present value calculation as to the benefit of dating the other party. If so, I’d have a full social calendar just do to the sheer fact that I am willing to pay for dinner. Yet that is what all of this advice is meant to portray. Show value by being a jerk. Don’t pay attention. Let her walk away. God help you if you are actually honest about your feelings for once in your life. That is romantic suicide. Act like your twelve and pull on her hair to indicate your desire.
What gets me most about this is that it assumes that there are no women out there looking for nice guys. There has to be even if I seem to have a hell of a time finding them apparently. If the world’s fattest man can get married even though he needed a flatbed truck to get to the church you would think that I could get a woman to not break up with me just because I like opening a door for her occasionally. So instead of trying to change who I am into someone I clearly am not I want to pose the question this way. Where does one find a woman who is looking for a nice guy? Where are the women who are looking for a guy who will pay attention and be there when they need support? Because trust me, if you let me know where they are hiding I’ll be out there handing out resumes complete with references as to just how nice of a guy I actually am.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Further Tales from the KC Dating Scene...
The farther removed from Kansas City I find myself (both in terms of time and pure geographic distance) the easier it becomes for me to fill everyone in on all the stories that I would not tell on the grounds that they could come back to haunt me. Especially my tales of what is was like being single in that town. This story from my first few months in town pretty much encompasses what it was like for me during my five years there as well showcasing what I loved and absolutely hated about the city. It also was, until my last year in town, the highlight of my dating adventures in KC. Which, when you read the story, will indicate something rather amazing. Names have been kept the same because I am really too lazy to change them at the moment.
Now first off I need to explain two important things. The first is that Kansas City is notoriously bad for single people. Usually when they rank the 40 largest cities in the US KC falls somewhere around 38th in the rankings. A lot of people in town say that this is wrong and it is a great place to be single. That is because they are a) from the town, b) went to either Missouri, Kansas or Kansas State, and c) got married at 24. Because that is what the entire single scene in Kansas City consists of: people under 24 who went to one of three colleges and know each other from high school. My moving to town as a 30 year old alumnus of Notre Dame and Illinois who didn’t know a soul in the entire bistate area put me at a distinct disadvantage.
The other point is one about where I was at in my life when I moved to KC. I had just left Notre Dame after what was probably from a social perspective the most amazing few months of my life. I went to school as an incredibly shy person with little self esteem and came out as someone who was just having a blast with life and was at least going out with, if not technically dating, women. That was a huge accomplishment given where I started. But even with that I was miles from who I am now in terms of confidence in myself. (Sometimes I wish that people I met before could meet the person I am now. So many things could go differently.)
Anyway, so the first few months in town were spent going to various bars, talking to people and realizing that for the most part I was too old for the crowd. It is fun to talk to a 23 year old but as a 30 year old you begin to wonder if this is the right path to take. That and I was never really getting anywhere and I was missing all of the people I knew in South Bend. I hadn’t made a single friend who wasn’t a bartender and everyone I knew was drifting away and in one memorable instance did so by threatening to never speak to me again. So I was kind of adrift in a town I wasn’t quite sure I liked.
But I had at least found one place that I liked and that was Davey’s Uptown Ramblers Club, which was a small music club in town that was conveniently located a) two miles from my apartment and b) directly across the street from an adult book store. Very seldom do you find the perfect storm of alcohol, music and porn on one street corner but here it was. I quickly became a regular at shows and friends with the owner and staff. This fall night I was there to see Pieta Brown, a singer-songwriter that I had seen a few times before and quite liked.
(Side Pieta Brown story: At another concert I was introduced to Pieta by her step-mom Iris Dement, another singer I am a huge fan of. The fact that she introduced me in a tone of voice that said “this is a guy you should date” is still one of the highlights of my life.)
I was sitting at the bar before the show having a beer and watching a Johnny Cash tribute show on television. Next to me was this guy with two women, maybe a few years younger than me, also watching the show and we started talking about it and Pieta and life in general. Nothing specific, just general pre-concert bar banter. As the show is about to start we all walk over to the stage together. As we stand there mesmerized by the performance, Kristen, a cute blonde who I had talked to the most, turned to me and said a line that I have never forgotten
“If I wasn’t sweating right now I’d have chills.”
After the show we all returned to the bar for another round of drinks. Kristen and I continue talking and don’t even really notice that the other two had left. We spent time talking about all of the obscure music we loved: Neko Case, Kelly Willis, Kathleen Edwards, The Be Good Tanyas. All of those acts that I continually mention but no one has ever heard of because they’ve sold 2,000 CDs in their career. Well, we both were one of the 2,000 that had them and you could feel that connection. She told me of her career goal of being a museum curator while I mention my goal of writing my way out of a finance job. All of the while I am stunned at how amazingly well we are hitting it off. Everything was effortless, we had a ton in common and we both seemed to be two good souls who would get along well together. I swore to myself “Get her number, see her again, this is the first person you’ve met in this town that is worth dating.” Just as I was getting up the courage to ask for her number we had the following exchange:
Kristen: “Did you happen to see the score of the Kansas State game this afternoon?”
EC: “Yeah, K State won pretty handily.”
Kristen: “Good, my boyfriend will be happy. He was at the game.”
My heart fell out of my chest, slid down the left leg of my jeans, and bounced four times before coming to rest leaning against the Golden Tee machine. Finally I had met someone and hit it off and it ends before it starts. Even Kristen seemed rather disappointed in that she had to tell me this because she knew it was going to end the conversation. It was as if she had to sigh before she said it and I had to bite my tongue in order to not yell, “Want to date me instead? I know I’ve never met your boyfriend but given that he went to K State I’d put money on the fact that I am better than he is. Unless for some reason you are really, really fascinated by corn.” Instead I just politely continued the conversation while silently cursing my life. We said goodbye without exchanging numbers but saying that we will see each other around. Given our musical tastes it was certain that we would.
Which we did five days later when I ran into her and her boyfriend Bill, who was a really nice guy, at a bar. Just randomly ran into her and she introduced me as “the guy I was telling you about from Saturday night.” This then led to us meeting each other roughly every four months for the next several years. Whether it was in Kansas City or Lawrence, at a Ditty Bops show or a Robert Earl Keen concert, we would continually run into each other. There are two stories in particular of our random meetings that I have to share.
The first took place at a Lucinda Williams show at the Voodoo Lounge at Harrah’s Casino. I hate casino shows because almost no one is there for the music and the dregs of humanity you see in the buffet line really does not put you in the mood for a concert. They also seem to have no sense of timing as while I got to the show at ticket time the opening act had apparently started a half hour earlier. As a result there were no seats on the floor so I snuck up to the balcony and sat in the very last row. Fifteen minutes later, out of a crowd of maybe 800 people, Kristen and Bill randomly show up and sit next to me and we all act as though this is perfectly normal. I’ve called people to meet me at shows and have had a harder time finding them. We didn’t even have each other’s numbers and for some reason we always found ourselves next to each other.
The other took place at a time when I completely did not expect it. Being a single guy who works I spend much of my weekends running all the errands I ignore during the week. That means trips to Walgreens to get all of the things you need to keep an apartment clean. So on this day I was running around with dishwasher detergent, Kleenex and a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner in my hand when I turn a corner and run straight into Kristen and Bill. It is incredibly difficult to have a meaningful conversation while holding toilet bowl cleaner in your hands. Especially when the one thing you want to say is, “Will you please break up with him so I can go out with you? Seriously, it’s been three years since I’ve met you and you are still the coolest person I’ve found in this town. Look, I’m willing to scrub my toilet for you. Hell, I’ll scrub yours if it would help.”
But no such luck. Every time I saw them it was Kristen and Bill. Don’t know what happened to them (I’m not sure if I ran into them when I knew I was leaving town.) I hope they are married and living a perfectly happy life. It wasn’t until I was set to leave town that I met someone who topped her. But that is a story for another day.
Kansas City is a tough town for an outsider. Everyone knows each other and seems to have no need for additional people in their lives. People couple early and being by yourself leaves you ostracized. By being a smaller city I could enjoy a music scene that allowed me to see everyone I wanted without having to drive more than a few miles though it would mean that I would see the same faces around town day after day after day. And that is what the Kristen story is all about. We never dated, I never got her number, hell, I never even knew her last name. But she was a constant in my life and a sign that there were women in KC who were worth dating. You just had to find them during the five minutes that they didn’t have a boyfriend.
Now first off I need to explain two important things. The first is that Kansas City is notoriously bad for single people. Usually when they rank the 40 largest cities in the US KC falls somewhere around 38th in the rankings. A lot of people in town say that this is wrong and it is a great place to be single. That is because they are a) from the town, b) went to either Missouri, Kansas or Kansas State, and c) got married at 24. Because that is what the entire single scene in Kansas City consists of: people under 24 who went to one of three colleges and know each other from high school. My moving to town as a 30 year old alumnus of Notre Dame and Illinois who didn’t know a soul in the entire bistate area put me at a distinct disadvantage.
The other point is one about where I was at in my life when I moved to KC. I had just left Notre Dame after what was probably from a social perspective the most amazing few months of my life. I went to school as an incredibly shy person with little self esteem and came out as someone who was just having a blast with life and was at least going out with, if not technically dating, women. That was a huge accomplishment given where I started. But even with that I was miles from who I am now in terms of confidence in myself. (Sometimes I wish that people I met before could meet the person I am now. So many things could go differently.)
Anyway, so the first few months in town were spent going to various bars, talking to people and realizing that for the most part I was too old for the crowd. It is fun to talk to a 23 year old but as a 30 year old you begin to wonder if this is the right path to take. That and I was never really getting anywhere and I was missing all of the people I knew in South Bend. I hadn’t made a single friend who wasn’t a bartender and everyone I knew was drifting away and in one memorable instance did so by threatening to never speak to me again. So I was kind of adrift in a town I wasn’t quite sure I liked.
But I had at least found one place that I liked and that was Davey’s Uptown Ramblers Club, which was a small music club in town that was conveniently located a) two miles from my apartment and b) directly across the street from an adult book store. Very seldom do you find the perfect storm of alcohol, music and porn on one street corner but here it was. I quickly became a regular at shows and friends with the owner and staff. This fall night I was there to see Pieta Brown, a singer-songwriter that I had seen a few times before and quite liked.
(Side Pieta Brown story: At another concert I was introduced to Pieta by her step-mom Iris Dement, another singer I am a huge fan of. The fact that she introduced me in a tone of voice that said “this is a guy you should date” is still one of the highlights of my life.)
I was sitting at the bar before the show having a beer and watching a Johnny Cash tribute show on television. Next to me was this guy with two women, maybe a few years younger than me, also watching the show and we started talking about it and Pieta and life in general. Nothing specific, just general pre-concert bar banter. As the show is about to start we all walk over to the stage together. As we stand there mesmerized by the performance, Kristen, a cute blonde who I had talked to the most, turned to me and said a line that I have never forgotten
“If I wasn’t sweating right now I’d have chills.”
After the show we all returned to the bar for another round of drinks. Kristen and I continue talking and don’t even really notice that the other two had left. We spent time talking about all of the obscure music we loved: Neko Case, Kelly Willis, Kathleen Edwards, The Be Good Tanyas. All of those acts that I continually mention but no one has ever heard of because they’ve sold 2,000 CDs in their career. Well, we both were one of the 2,000 that had them and you could feel that connection. She told me of her career goal of being a museum curator while I mention my goal of writing my way out of a finance job. All of the while I am stunned at how amazingly well we are hitting it off. Everything was effortless, we had a ton in common and we both seemed to be two good souls who would get along well together. I swore to myself “Get her number, see her again, this is the first person you’ve met in this town that is worth dating.” Just as I was getting up the courage to ask for her number we had the following exchange:
Kristen: “Did you happen to see the score of the Kansas State game this afternoon?”
EC: “Yeah, K State won pretty handily.”
Kristen: “Good, my boyfriend will be happy. He was at the game.”
My heart fell out of my chest, slid down the left leg of my jeans, and bounced four times before coming to rest leaning against the Golden Tee machine. Finally I had met someone and hit it off and it ends before it starts. Even Kristen seemed rather disappointed in that she had to tell me this because she knew it was going to end the conversation. It was as if she had to sigh before she said it and I had to bite my tongue in order to not yell, “Want to date me instead? I know I’ve never met your boyfriend but given that he went to K State I’d put money on the fact that I am better than he is. Unless for some reason you are really, really fascinated by corn.” Instead I just politely continued the conversation while silently cursing my life. We said goodbye without exchanging numbers but saying that we will see each other around. Given our musical tastes it was certain that we would.
Which we did five days later when I ran into her and her boyfriend Bill, who was a really nice guy, at a bar. Just randomly ran into her and she introduced me as “the guy I was telling you about from Saturday night.” This then led to us meeting each other roughly every four months for the next several years. Whether it was in Kansas City or Lawrence, at a Ditty Bops show or a Robert Earl Keen concert, we would continually run into each other. There are two stories in particular of our random meetings that I have to share.
The first took place at a Lucinda Williams show at the Voodoo Lounge at Harrah’s Casino. I hate casino shows because almost no one is there for the music and the dregs of humanity you see in the buffet line really does not put you in the mood for a concert. They also seem to have no sense of timing as while I got to the show at ticket time the opening act had apparently started a half hour earlier. As a result there were no seats on the floor so I snuck up to the balcony and sat in the very last row. Fifteen minutes later, out of a crowd of maybe 800 people, Kristen and Bill randomly show up and sit next to me and we all act as though this is perfectly normal. I’ve called people to meet me at shows and have had a harder time finding them. We didn’t even have each other’s numbers and for some reason we always found ourselves next to each other.
The other took place at a time when I completely did not expect it. Being a single guy who works I spend much of my weekends running all the errands I ignore during the week. That means trips to Walgreens to get all of the things you need to keep an apartment clean. So on this day I was running around with dishwasher detergent, Kleenex and a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner in my hand when I turn a corner and run straight into Kristen and Bill. It is incredibly difficult to have a meaningful conversation while holding toilet bowl cleaner in your hands. Especially when the one thing you want to say is, “Will you please break up with him so I can go out with you? Seriously, it’s been three years since I’ve met you and you are still the coolest person I’ve found in this town. Look, I’m willing to scrub my toilet for you. Hell, I’ll scrub yours if it would help.”
But no such luck. Every time I saw them it was Kristen and Bill. Don’t know what happened to them (I’m not sure if I ran into them when I knew I was leaving town.) I hope they are married and living a perfectly happy life. It wasn’t until I was set to leave town that I met someone who topped her. But that is a story for another day.
Kansas City is a tough town for an outsider. Everyone knows each other and seems to have no need for additional people in their lives. People couple early and being by yourself leaves you ostracized. By being a smaller city I could enjoy a music scene that allowed me to see everyone I wanted without having to drive more than a few miles though it would mean that I would see the same faces around town day after day after day. And that is what the Kristen story is all about. We never dated, I never got her number, hell, I never even knew her last name. But she was a constant in my life and a sign that there were women in KC who were worth dating. You just had to find them during the five minutes that they didn’t have a boyfriend.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
So I was reading the paper the other day...
Due to all of my childhood recollections there are a great number of serious news stories that I have neglected to comment upon in the past week or so. I’ll try to catch up…
The Gov. Blagoevich Scandal: As I have been telling everyone for the past week: bribery is not a crime in Illinois so I don’t see what the big deal is. Who doesn’t get paid for a senate seat? And if the Children’s Hospital wants some additional funding I see nothing wrong with them ponying up some additional cash for the old campaign fund. (That is the most insane part of the entire story. He blackmailed a freaking Children’s Hospital.) Even better is the picture of the Governor outside of his Chicago home next to a sign promoting “Rat Catching” services.
I really didn’t think he would last the week but it now looks as if we are in for a long haul of impeachment hearings, court cases and nothing happening in the state until we can finally get him out of office. I really want to understand his mindset. Even if he is not convicted his political career is over. So instead of stepping aside he decides to fight to the end and take the entire state down with him. Maybe common sense will hit him at some point like a flying shoe. Speaking of which…
The shoe throwing incident: Others have written about this and I will have to agree. I have no love loss for this president. I started the blog after he was reelected and I will be glad to see him out of office. The state that the country is in right now is his legacy. But even with that, I am disgusted by the way that this was immediately treated as a joke. A “look at the wacky hijinks Bush has gotten himself into this time” type of thing like a sketch on a bad comedy show. He is the leader of my country, the most powerful nation on the planet. We are a country that does not bow our flag to any world leader. We stand with pride and honor at all times. But now our president has been reduced to ducking shoes like some honcho of a banana republic (either the nation or the clothing store). I’m ashamed and disgusted by the act.
Simply Red releases a Greatest Hits CD: I saw this a little while back. I know of only one Simply Red song. I can’t actually name it but I know that they had one song. Now they apparently have twenty tracks for a Best of disc. This astounds me. I couldn’t believe that anyone would want one tack, much less twenty. Or even remember who they are. That is marketing for you.
Whopper Perfume: For those of you who are like me and are desperately seeking to find that perfect gift for that special someone in your life I direct you to go to your nearest Burger King and pick up a bottle of Eau d’Whopper. I am not making this up. Some of the people at Burger King came up the idea of a scent of “flame broiled goodness” called Flame and they are actually selling it. So if you like your women smelling like grease and looking like they are available on the dollar menu here is your best opportunity.
This just tops the Penn State fragrance that was all released this month. Because even Mystery can’t compete with Joe Pa.
Space Shuttles for Sale: Ok, I am going to call upon my financing team to work with me on this one. I know the markets are tight but this might be the best thing ever in terms of impressing women. I originally thought that buying Bjorn Borg’s Wimbledon trophies would be the smartest move I could make (bring a woman back to your place, have her see the trophies and when she asks go, “Oh, I won Wimbledon a few years back.”) but this would top it. Some guys buy a sports car for their mid-life crisis. I buy a freaking space shuttle.
Of course, once I purchase it a few improvements will need to be made. Racing stripes for one. A kick ass stereo system and some hydraulic jacks will also be added. To pay for it I’ll get MTV to film it as a series called “Pimp My Space Shuttle”. Xzibit probally could use the work.
Publishing note: I’ll post another Kansas City dating story over the weekend as a treat for those of you who do check the site. I think I’ll tell the story of my introduction to the Kansas City scene. It is definitely worth checking out.
The Gov. Blagoevich Scandal: As I have been telling everyone for the past week: bribery is not a crime in Illinois so I don’t see what the big deal is. Who doesn’t get paid for a senate seat? And if the Children’s Hospital wants some additional funding I see nothing wrong with them ponying up some additional cash for the old campaign fund. (That is the most insane part of the entire story. He blackmailed a freaking Children’s Hospital.) Even better is the picture of the Governor outside of his Chicago home next to a sign promoting “Rat Catching” services.
I really didn’t think he would last the week but it now looks as if we are in for a long haul of impeachment hearings, court cases and nothing happening in the state until we can finally get him out of office. I really want to understand his mindset. Even if he is not convicted his political career is over. So instead of stepping aside he decides to fight to the end and take the entire state down with him. Maybe common sense will hit him at some point like a flying shoe. Speaking of which…
The shoe throwing incident: Others have written about this and I will have to agree. I have no love loss for this president. I started the blog after he was reelected and I will be glad to see him out of office. The state that the country is in right now is his legacy. But even with that, I am disgusted by the way that this was immediately treated as a joke. A “look at the wacky hijinks Bush has gotten himself into this time” type of thing like a sketch on a bad comedy show. He is the leader of my country, the most powerful nation on the planet. We are a country that does not bow our flag to any world leader. We stand with pride and honor at all times. But now our president has been reduced to ducking shoes like some honcho of a banana republic (either the nation or the clothing store). I’m ashamed and disgusted by the act.
Simply Red releases a Greatest Hits CD: I saw this a little while back. I know of only one Simply Red song. I can’t actually name it but I know that they had one song. Now they apparently have twenty tracks for a Best of disc. This astounds me. I couldn’t believe that anyone would want one tack, much less twenty. Or even remember who they are. That is marketing for you.
Whopper Perfume: For those of you who are like me and are desperately seeking to find that perfect gift for that special someone in your life I direct you to go to your nearest Burger King and pick up a bottle of Eau d’Whopper. I am not making this up. Some of the people at Burger King came up the idea of a scent of “flame broiled goodness” called Flame and they are actually selling it. So if you like your women smelling like grease and looking like they are available on the dollar menu here is your best opportunity.
This just tops the Penn State fragrance that was all released this month. Because even Mystery can’t compete with Joe Pa.
Space Shuttles for Sale: Ok, I am going to call upon my financing team to work with me on this one. I know the markets are tight but this might be the best thing ever in terms of impressing women. I originally thought that buying Bjorn Borg’s Wimbledon trophies would be the smartest move I could make (bring a woman back to your place, have her see the trophies and when she asks go, “Oh, I won Wimbledon a few years back.”) but this would top it. Some guys buy a sports car for their mid-life crisis. I buy a freaking space shuttle.
Of course, once I purchase it a few improvements will need to be made. Racing stripes for one. A kick ass stereo system and some hydraulic jacks will also be added. To pay for it I’ll get MTV to film it as a series called “Pimp My Space Shuttle”. Xzibit probally could use the work.
Publishing note: I’ll post another Kansas City dating story over the weekend as a treat for those of you who do check the site. I think I’ll tell the story of my introduction to the Kansas City scene. It is definitely worth checking out.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Tales from the KC Dating Scene...
Now that I have left Kansas City in a cloud of dust (with a fifty cent lighter and a whisky buzz…) I feel that it is time to reveal some of my dating stories from my time in the Cowtown. I think there just might be enough distance between myself and the land of barbecue that it is now safe to tell the tales. Names have been changed to protect the slightly less guilty. Also, if these stories do not automatically get me cast in The Pick Up Artist 3 nothing will.
The first tale: The Dark Knight Returns
Like all good stories, this one begins in a bar which for me was Harry’s, easily the best bar outside of the Linebacker that I have ever found. What I loved about the place is that it was a bar plain and simple. No décor, no shot girls wandering around, no mechanical bull left over from the urban cowboy phase in the seventies, just a bar and some tables and some music on an iPod. It was the type of place where you could just head in, take a seat at the bar, and spend the entire night drinking, thinking and people watching. And that is precisely what I did most weekends for five straight years. When I told them I was moving they had to adjust their budget.
Well on this night I was in my usual seat at the corner of the bar, joking with Jim the Bartender (one of my New Orleans compatriots) and trying to understand just why Sprint had sent me to Seattle and back where my main accomplishment was a) not falling asleep during any of the meetings and b) getting really good seats to Cirque du Soleil. It had started off as a really standard night when these two girls walked in and sat next to me.
Now for the most part, I tend not to start conversations in bars. I’ll engage in them of course, it’s not like I just sit around and drink morosely in a corner, but I tend not to open sets. However, in this case the girls were talkative and were discussing area bars so I joined the conversation. I found out that the two girls were sisters and I found myself talking to…let’s call her Alison because I have a fun story about a girl named Alison from Australia that I should tell one of these days.
So I’m talking to Alison when several guys of the striped shirt and Abercrombie and Fitch wardrobe variety all begin a valiant attempt to pick up her sister. Valiant in the manner of being horrible and pathetic. Much of what I talk about with Alison is how bad these guys’ game is and how it is never going to work. This goes on for an hour where I mention that I a) just flew in from Seattle, b) was in the fourth row at Cirque and c) didn’t pay a dime for any of it all while Jim the Bartender is taking care of our drinks for me. Finally her sister discourages the guys enough to leave her alone as it is time for them to go and Alison asks me “I would really like to keep talking to you.” My reply…
“Here is my card. My cell phone number is on it. Give me a call if you want.”
Now there is still much debate as to whether or not that is a proper move on my part. I am very fond of it for a number of reasons. First, it dispels any of the potential stalker fears that a girl might have. I can’t call you so you’re in control at the moment and if you really do like me you will call. More importantly, it means that I will not have to endure the following scenario. The girl gives me her number. Two days later I call her and leave a message on her voice mail. Four days after that I call and leave her another message on her voice mail. A week later I leave one last half-court shot message on her voice mail with the hope that maybe, just maybe, she will acknowledge my existence, which of course she won’t so I’ll just spend three weeks moping around thinking about how big of a loser I am. At least if I give her my number I won’t have to go through the whole Swingers scenario.
So what happens next? Not surprisingly, a few days later she gives me a call. I say not surprisingly because we did hit it off really well and I wanted to talk to her some more but mainly because she mentioned that she was about to turn thirty and that immediately raised a red light over my head. In Kansas City if you are not married by the time you are twenty five you are viewed quizzically. To turn thirty and not be dating someone, well, that is just setting yourself up to be a social pariah. We talk some more, set up another meeting at Harry’s during the week, have another really fun conversation and decide to go out on Friday night for what would be considered a proper date.
Her suggestion as to what we should do on this proper date? Play miniature golf. Now I understand that this is a rather cliché thing to do on a date, especially a first date, but in my entire life I never went miniature golfing on a date. Not even when I was in high school and my options were rather limited. Given that I can now legally drink I’ve always assumed that the ability to imbibe in beverages in order to avoid awkward silences is recommended if not actually required. Instead we played at a rather downtrodden course, rescued a dog that had gotten loose on the street, ended up in a bar (thankfully) and finished the night in a vaguely romantic fashion.
(Look, I’ll explain a lot of things here but not everything. For some parts you will just have to use your imagination.)
I was feeling pretty good about myself as to how all of this was progressing. Remember I met her by pointing out how all the guys were doing a horrible job hitting on her sister and by not hitting on her I had ended up dating her. Now we were talking regularly and we had plans to meet up right before her birthday so I could take her out to dinner and celebrate. Which we did and had another good night. So she turned thirty and had a guy like myself with all that entails if not wrapped around her finger at least highly interested.
However, I knew we were going to have to spend a little time apart as right after her birthday I was heading down to New Orleans to do some volunteer work. This was a huge event for me. My love for New Orleans is pretty well known and this was my chance to help after Katrina. I joked with myself that just wait I’ll come back and everything will have changed. But come on, you’re dating a guy who is using his vacation time to rehab homes of complete strangers. How rare of a find is that?
My time in New Orleans was life changing I came back full of stories to tell. I call Alison, get her voice mail, and leave a message. A few days later I leave another message. And then a week later I leave another one. Finally, she calls me, tells me that she has been incredibly busy and we talk for a while and set up a theoretical meeting some point in the future. A week later we randomly meet at the bar, talk for a bit, we do one of those vague friendly hugs, she heads out to the patio to be with her friend, and I contemplate following her out later but decide discretion is the better part of valor and decide to not hover about her.
A month or so passes. I leave a few messages on her voice mail but never hear anything back. I’m not calling every day or anything. Maybe every two weeks. She had said nothing to me other than she was really busy and that she really enjoyed spending time with me. But let’s face it, even I could tell that this one was kaput. However, in a million years I never would have expected the following to happen.
I had taken a Friday off from work just so I could have a long weekend. As a result, I headed over to Harry’s on a Thursday night. When I walked into the bar I was immediately met by someone who looked much like a member of the Insane Clown Posse. That person was flanked by a fat guy in a suit and someone in a Robin costume. It took a little while but when the guy in the Batman costume turned around I figured out that for some reason there were a group of people in Harry’s dressed like the cast of Batman (including Joker and Penguin). I walk past the comic book characters, say hi to Jeremy the Bartender, and as I am about to sit down in my regular corner stool I realize that sitting at a table is Alison joking with a bunch of her friends. They are the only other people in the bar.
I went through the following thought process as Jeremy put my Boulevard Wheat in front of me.
“Shit”
“Ok, so I have the cast of Batman to my left and the girl who won’t return my calls to my right. What should I do?”
“I can’t leave the bar. Jeremy knows me and if I leave after one beer, especially when I’ve told him that I’m not working tomorrow, he’ll know something is wrong.”
“I can’t stay where I’m sitting right now because this is just the freakiest thing in the world. I mean, is that guy actually dressed as Mr. Freeze?”
“I can’t go over to her table and say hi because there is not a single sentence that I could say in that situation that would not lead to something really bad happening.”
“The patio bar should be open. Jamie will be working and she always knows what to do.”
So I down my beer quickly, tell Jeremy that I’m heading outside and flee. Jamie is working and when I tell her about the cast of Batman she just looks me dead in the eye and goes “I don’t serve superheroes.” While I’m sitting there we are randomly joined by one of my favorite people on the planet in Heather the Bartender who had moved to Chicago earlier in the year and was just in town for the weekend. I had a mad crush on Heather and she served me more free drinks than anyone else in Kansas City. As I told her once, I wasn’t sure if she loved me or if she wanted to kill me. Heather and I spend the next few hours talking and when I finally leave I glance through the window on the way out and still see Alison sitting at the table. And I hoped, or maybe wished, that she had stepped outside to talk to me only to see me embracing a beautiful redhead.
You can guess the ending of the story from here. I left one last message for Alison, which I ended with “give me a call or if not, have fun.” I never heard from or saw her again. It still bothers me that it ended with, well, nothing. She just stopped talking to me. Treated me like I didn’t exist. I felt I deserved a little more than that. At least if she called me an asshole I would know that I had done something wrong. So that was that. Except…
A few weeks after the whole Batman night was my birthday. A few days later I came back to my apartment to find sitting in front of my apartment door a small Styrofoam food container housing a piece of pound cake with whipped cream as well as a bag of trail mix and candy wrapped with a nice ribbon. No note, no card, no explanation whatsoever. It was just sitting there right in front of my door. In five years of living in that apartment in Kansas City it is without a doubt the strangest thing that I ever came across.
To this day I have no idea who it was from. Maybe it was meant as a welcome gift from a new neighbor. But in my gut I really like to think that it was Alison. She was one of the few people who actually knew where I lived, when my birthday was, and who would have a reason to do such a thing. Maybe it was her way to try to have the whole situation end on a happier note. Even if it wasn’t her I’ll think of it that way. I’d rather have it be a meaningful attempt at reconnection than a random stranger leaving food at my doorstep.
The first tale: The Dark Knight Returns
Like all good stories, this one begins in a bar which for me was Harry’s, easily the best bar outside of the Linebacker that I have ever found. What I loved about the place is that it was a bar plain and simple. No décor, no shot girls wandering around, no mechanical bull left over from the urban cowboy phase in the seventies, just a bar and some tables and some music on an iPod. It was the type of place where you could just head in, take a seat at the bar, and spend the entire night drinking, thinking and people watching. And that is precisely what I did most weekends for five straight years. When I told them I was moving they had to adjust their budget.
Well on this night I was in my usual seat at the corner of the bar, joking with Jim the Bartender (one of my New Orleans compatriots) and trying to understand just why Sprint had sent me to Seattle and back where my main accomplishment was a) not falling asleep during any of the meetings and b) getting really good seats to Cirque du Soleil. It had started off as a really standard night when these two girls walked in and sat next to me.
Now for the most part, I tend not to start conversations in bars. I’ll engage in them of course, it’s not like I just sit around and drink morosely in a corner, but I tend not to open sets. However, in this case the girls were talkative and were discussing area bars so I joined the conversation. I found out that the two girls were sisters and I found myself talking to…let’s call her Alison because I have a fun story about a girl named Alison from Australia that I should tell one of these days.
So I’m talking to Alison when several guys of the striped shirt and Abercrombie and Fitch wardrobe variety all begin a valiant attempt to pick up her sister. Valiant in the manner of being horrible and pathetic. Much of what I talk about with Alison is how bad these guys’ game is and how it is never going to work. This goes on for an hour where I mention that I a) just flew in from Seattle, b) was in the fourth row at Cirque and c) didn’t pay a dime for any of it all while Jim the Bartender is taking care of our drinks for me. Finally her sister discourages the guys enough to leave her alone as it is time for them to go and Alison asks me “I would really like to keep talking to you.” My reply…
“Here is my card. My cell phone number is on it. Give me a call if you want.”
Now there is still much debate as to whether or not that is a proper move on my part. I am very fond of it for a number of reasons. First, it dispels any of the potential stalker fears that a girl might have. I can’t call you so you’re in control at the moment and if you really do like me you will call. More importantly, it means that I will not have to endure the following scenario. The girl gives me her number. Two days later I call her and leave a message on her voice mail. Four days after that I call and leave her another message on her voice mail. A week later I leave one last half-court shot message on her voice mail with the hope that maybe, just maybe, she will acknowledge my existence, which of course she won’t so I’ll just spend three weeks moping around thinking about how big of a loser I am. At least if I give her my number I won’t have to go through the whole Swingers scenario.
So what happens next? Not surprisingly, a few days later she gives me a call. I say not surprisingly because we did hit it off really well and I wanted to talk to her some more but mainly because she mentioned that she was about to turn thirty and that immediately raised a red light over my head. In Kansas City if you are not married by the time you are twenty five you are viewed quizzically. To turn thirty and not be dating someone, well, that is just setting yourself up to be a social pariah. We talk some more, set up another meeting at Harry’s during the week, have another really fun conversation and decide to go out on Friday night for what would be considered a proper date.
Her suggestion as to what we should do on this proper date? Play miniature golf. Now I understand that this is a rather cliché thing to do on a date, especially a first date, but in my entire life I never went miniature golfing on a date. Not even when I was in high school and my options were rather limited. Given that I can now legally drink I’ve always assumed that the ability to imbibe in beverages in order to avoid awkward silences is recommended if not actually required. Instead we played at a rather downtrodden course, rescued a dog that had gotten loose on the street, ended up in a bar (thankfully) and finished the night in a vaguely romantic fashion.
(Look, I’ll explain a lot of things here but not everything. For some parts you will just have to use your imagination.)
I was feeling pretty good about myself as to how all of this was progressing. Remember I met her by pointing out how all the guys were doing a horrible job hitting on her sister and by not hitting on her I had ended up dating her. Now we were talking regularly and we had plans to meet up right before her birthday so I could take her out to dinner and celebrate. Which we did and had another good night. So she turned thirty and had a guy like myself with all that entails if not wrapped around her finger at least highly interested.
However, I knew we were going to have to spend a little time apart as right after her birthday I was heading down to New Orleans to do some volunteer work. This was a huge event for me. My love for New Orleans is pretty well known and this was my chance to help after Katrina. I joked with myself that just wait I’ll come back and everything will have changed. But come on, you’re dating a guy who is using his vacation time to rehab homes of complete strangers. How rare of a find is that?
My time in New Orleans was life changing I came back full of stories to tell. I call Alison, get her voice mail, and leave a message. A few days later I leave another message. And then a week later I leave another one. Finally, she calls me, tells me that she has been incredibly busy and we talk for a while and set up a theoretical meeting some point in the future. A week later we randomly meet at the bar, talk for a bit, we do one of those vague friendly hugs, she heads out to the patio to be with her friend, and I contemplate following her out later but decide discretion is the better part of valor and decide to not hover about her.
A month or so passes. I leave a few messages on her voice mail but never hear anything back. I’m not calling every day or anything. Maybe every two weeks. She had said nothing to me other than she was really busy and that she really enjoyed spending time with me. But let’s face it, even I could tell that this one was kaput. However, in a million years I never would have expected the following to happen.
I had taken a Friday off from work just so I could have a long weekend. As a result, I headed over to Harry’s on a Thursday night. When I walked into the bar I was immediately met by someone who looked much like a member of the Insane Clown Posse. That person was flanked by a fat guy in a suit and someone in a Robin costume. It took a little while but when the guy in the Batman costume turned around I figured out that for some reason there were a group of people in Harry’s dressed like the cast of Batman (including Joker and Penguin). I walk past the comic book characters, say hi to Jeremy the Bartender, and as I am about to sit down in my regular corner stool I realize that sitting at a table is Alison joking with a bunch of her friends. They are the only other people in the bar.
I went through the following thought process as Jeremy put my Boulevard Wheat in front of me.
“Shit”
“Ok, so I have the cast of Batman to my left and the girl who won’t return my calls to my right. What should I do?”
“I can’t leave the bar. Jeremy knows me and if I leave after one beer, especially when I’ve told him that I’m not working tomorrow, he’ll know something is wrong.”
“I can’t stay where I’m sitting right now because this is just the freakiest thing in the world. I mean, is that guy actually dressed as Mr. Freeze?”
“I can’t go over to her table and say hi because there is not a single sentence that I could say in that situation that would not lead to something really bad happening.”
“The patio bar should be open. Jamie will be working and she always knows what to do.”
So I down my beer quickly, tell Jeremy that I’m heading outside and flee. Jamie is working and when I tell her about the cast of Batman she just looks me dead in the eye and goes “I don’t serve superheroes.” While I’m sitting there we are randomly joined by one of my favorite people on the planet in Heather the Bartender who had moved to Chicago earlier in the year and was just in town for the weekend. I had a mad crush on Heather and she served me more free drinks than anyone else in Kansas City. As I told her once, I wasn’t sure if she loved me or if she wanted to kill me. Heather and I spend the next few hours talking and when I finally leave I glance through the window on the way out and still see Alison sitting at the table. And I hoped, or maybe wished, that she had stepped outside to talk to me only to see me embracing a beautiful redhead.
You can guess the ending of the story from here. I left one last message for Alison, which I ended with “give me a call or if not, have fun.” I never heard from or saw her again. It still bothers me that it ended with, well, nothing. She just stopped talking to me. Treated me like I didn’t exist. I felt I deserved a little more than that. At least if she called me an asshole I would know that I had done something wrong. So that was that. Except…
A few weeks after the whole Batman night was my birthday. A few days later I came back to my apartment to find sitting in front of my apartment door a small Styrofoam food container housing a piece of pound cake with whipped cream as well as a bag of trail mix and candy wrapped with a nice ribbon. No note, no card, no explanation whatsoever. It was just sitting there right in front of my door. In five years of living in that apartment in Kansas City it is without a doubt the strangest thing that I ever came across.
To this day I have no idea who it was from. Maybe it was meant as a welcome gift from a new neighbor. But in my gut I really like to think that it was Alison. She was one of the few people who actually knew where I lived, when my birthday was, and who would have a reason to do such a thing. Maybe it was her way to try to have the whole situation end on a happier note. Even if it wasn’t her I’ll think of it that way. I’d rather have it be a meaningful attempt at reconnection than a random stranger leaving food at my doorstep.
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