What kind of sexless, lame-ass shit is this, anyway? Are you kidding me?
Our first phone conversation made me want to kill myself. He went on and on about his boring techie hobby and I had to constantly redirect him with more personal topics. Imagine a relationship full of this, I thought to myself. Right then and there I knew there was no hope, but did I listen to myself? Nooooo. I’m trying to acquire new skills like “developing” a relationship instead of being a heat-seeking missile. I told myself to have patience and give it time. Ha.
Our second convo went much better with joking, laughter, teasing and a mutual interest in all kinds of music. So when he asked me out, I said yes. Ok, so I bailed on him the first time because of my pms breakdown, but he was right there with the calls and the concern, and if there’s one thing I respond to is a sustained pursuit.
So he arrives to pick me up and once we’re in his car (Nissan Maxima), we take a good look at each other. “You’re beautiful, you look just like your pictures,” he says. “Thank you,” I say. As I look at him I think he’s ok-looking, but there’s nothing I’m responding to. As I feel the great big absence of spark, chemistry, what-have-you, I ask myself what moved me to contact him in the first place? I feel nothing.
I can’t remember his profile, because I haven’t looked at it since I first contacted him. He seems…older, but I don’t know. We drive off into the night, I decide to roll with it and we start talking. Dude is laconic, but occasionally humorous.
But why are we going to a movie theater in the middle of nowhere in Queens? Neither of us lives there. Immediately I’m thinking he’s married but he says there’s never anywhere to park in Manhattan, and that it was about the the timing of the movie. Cheap and married, I decide.
We arrive at the theater about 40 minutes before the show starts and he says why don’t we stay in the car and chat until it’s closer to show time. It’s not like I have a choice because everything in the little suburban-looking center where we are is closed except for the theater. I give him a look, but whatever.
We should get inside and get good seats because we’re watching the number one film in the country and it will be packed. But if he hasn’t thought this through, fuck him.
Ten minutes to showtime we leave the car. He walks off a little ahead of me and my already annoyed ass is disgusted. We are walking across a dark parking lot, I’m in heels. He is supposed to (MEN TAKE NOTE) assist me out of the car and hold my hand or hold my elbow or palm the small of my back (very sexy), whatever, and walk with me until we get to where we are going. Not walk ahead and do a half turn to make sure I’m still there every so often. Are you kidding me? If I had had any attraction to him whatsoever, my vagina would have dried up right there.
Don’t men (and this is no teenager) know anything about chivalry and the art of seduction anymore? Basic politeness? Goddamit get a clue guys.
We get on the ticket line. People start coming out complaining that there are no seats left together except all the way in front. I turn to look at him and he’s all, “it’ll be fine.”
So we go upstairs, where he offers to buy popcorn, etc. but I decline. Cheap-ass motherfucker. We find seats together in the second or third row and I’m groaning in protest but he says “No this is great, I feel like I’m at home,” and he sits down, stretches and leans back in the seat. Of course. if there’s one thing you look for during a first date is that feeling of sitting in a barco-lounger in the basement. I stand there and look at him half wanting to walk out. But I’m in the middle of nowhere and there are no cabs or subways or buses…imagine if 911 could rescue you from a bad date.
911 what’s your emergency?
I’m on a date with an asshole who may be married. And I’m outside of Manhattan so I have cold sweats and palpitations.
Where are you ma’am?
At the movies. In Queens.
I’m sending paramedics immediately.
This is very important: Do not stay in the theater. Step away from the asshole and find the closest exit. Do not engage the asshole in any way, do you understand?
The asshole elimimination squad is on it’s way.
If only. I’m trapped so I take a seat next to him, lean back and decide to enjoy the movie, Think Like a Man.
In my condition (fuckless) that flick was half torture, half pleasure. The men were so hot, the women so gorgeous, I could basically do the whole cast. But Michael Ealy first and last. Damn, he’s fine.
Throughout the movie, my date (who I forgot about on occasion because I was enjoying the movie so much), never once touched me in any way shape or form. Not to put his arm around me, hold my hand, touch my knee, nothing. Not that I wanted to be touched by someone I was suspecting is married, but if you’re on a date, its usually because you’re attracted to the other person, no? I didn’t feel attracted to him, but worse, I felt he wasn’t attracted to me either. I mean there was not one sign. Play the fucking dirge already and let’s get outta here.
Back in the car, we’re having a pretty enthusiastic conversation about the flick, when he asks to hear about the mama’s boy (one of the male types in the movie that I happened to have had the misfortune of experiencing personally). “Oh I can’t talk about that without a glass of wine or something. That story requires libation,” I say. And what does prince chump do? He refuses. He reminded me that he had told me (he had, but I don’t care) that he had an early morning the next day because of an event he had to attend, so no, we couldn’t do wine now cause he had to get home and get to sleep.
A man who is interested in you will do anything to remain in close proximity for as long as possible. This guy…I don’t know what his deal was but being with me, impressing me, romancing me was not on his agenda. On the first date. Can you imagine what he’s like after a year?
“Oh.” I say. I buckle my seat belt and stare off into the distance. He pulls out of the parking lot, and starts repeating that he had told me this earlier in the day, that he has to get up at the crack of dawn, blah, blah blah…really? Shut up.
After a while I ask: “When was the last time you went out on a date?” He’s caught off guard and starts blathering. “I’m not interested in your personal life, but I just want to know if this is what you normally do on a first date. A movie?” I don’t even try to keep the contempt out of my voice. I feel manipulated and hoodwinked. Why should I be nice?
He says that he chose the movie because we were both interested in seeing it and that he had offered to take me out to eat the first time we were supposed to go out (a weekday early evening) and that he would do something more appropriate next time. Next time? I don’t think so.
We drive up to my building and I say good night. Motherfucker does not take his hands off the steering wheel or in any way move to A. assist me out of the car or B. peck me on the cheek. Good fucking night.
This morning I finally have a moment to go on the dating site where I found him and check out his pics again. Hot, sexy and about 15 years ago. No wonder I had no idea who I was sitting next to in the car. At one point during the movie I looked at him and thought, this guy must be pushing 60. His profile claims he’s 48. Please.
I never expect to hear from him again, but this afternoon he called. I just stared at his name on the screen and let it go to voice mail. “Hi sweetheart,” I’m just calling to say hi and see how you are…” Delete.
This dating bullshit will be the death of me.
Image: Rotten ecards