A few months ago, I had
more free time than a bored child on summer vacation. I was reading about two books a week. Started writing one even. Absolutely destroyed two of the three
Call of Duty games that I missed out on over the years. Transcribed two or three tunes a week,
sometimes even two a day. Watched
almost every fantastic 76ers game from early in the season (including Malik
Rose’s amazing color commentary).
I even worked up to finishing some Thursday NYT Crossword puzzles. Hell, I even had time to investigate
the world of Online Dating and then muse on the subject to the ether.
Example of Malik Rose's amazing commentary. Pump your volume a bit, it was a crappy job done by the poster...
At first it was pretty
awesome. Due to circumstances (that’s all you get), I
was still getting a steady check.
It was also the mildest winter that Philadelphia has seen in years. All in all, it’s not a bad way to spend
the wintertime.
And then Spring Training
started. Every year (that I’ve
been home at least), when pitchers and catchers report to camp, everything
starts to move a lot faster. Gigs
start coming my way. Offers and
random events lead to bigger things.
Slowly, my calendar starts to have ticks and marks on it, reminding me
that I have somewhere to be.
Holy cow, I have
somewhere to be? That means
somebody wants me around!
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| Ugh, sappy shit. Remember, I fart rainbows and shit unicorns. |
Seriously though, I went
from having time to schedule four or five dates a week (I didn’t, obviously) to
having to pencil in “Laundry” onto my calendar. Talk about a paradigm shift.
At first, the newfound
busyness was oppressive. When I
got home, the first thing I did was put down my bag and dump my jacket on a
chair. The second thing was to
pour several fingers of Jameson.
The third, and last, was to plant my ass firmly on the couch and not
move until the next morning. I
barely trolled OkCupid or JDate, let alone go on any dates. If no dates, then I don’t really have
much to write about, eh?
For the record, I stand
fast in my belief that my time was better served learning Rihanna and Katy
Perry songs instead of going out for birthday celebrations.
[this is where I’d
normally post a silly apropos image, but I refuse to acknowledge the popular
addiction to these type of stars]
It’s been a few weeks
now of the schedule madness and I’ve finally adjusted to it. Instead of coming home and crashing,
I’m coming home, doing work, and attempting the dating scene again. I’ve had some better luck with ladies
responding and I’ve tweaked my profile to make me seem a little less
turd-ish. Not that I’m a turd, but
I’m definitely not Prince Charming either…
In fact, I actually had
a date with a lady I met on OkCupid.
The first lady was from JDate, and well, I already told you how that one went. The woman I
met was cute, intelligent, and kept me entertained with wild, anecdotal
stories. She even had natural red
hair and bright blue eyes.
One day I’ll tell you a
story about the scariest woman I ever met. She too had red hair.
Between then and now, I had trouble looking at a redhead, let alone
going on a date with one…
Anyhow, this past
Saturday afternoon I met this neat redheaded woman at a bar that was halfway
between our respective abodes.
Enjoyed some classy cans, ate some greasy food, and then it was time to
depart. Sensing some interest, I
proposed that I walk her home (knowing full well it was about a mile in the
wrong direction).
So, does that make me a
creep? According to my naïve sense
of gentlemanliness: Not a creep.
If she wasn’t into me, she would have found some nice way to put me
down, right? I just wanted to hang
out with her for a bit longer before it was off to our own social obligations
for the evening. I guess I wasn’t
as appalling as I thought – she allowed me to accompany her on a stroll through
South Philadelphia… It’s not like
I had much else to do until nightfall and it was a lovely afternoon.
We walk. We keep chatting. Alright!
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| I know, I sound about as lame as this movie looks. Sue me. |
Please note: A good
first date means absolutely nothing when it comes to activities, potential girlfriend possibilities, or even a second
date. Unless the mood and
situation is right, I don’t even like kissing on the first date. Generally, I take a post-date hug as a
good sign.
Before I even started
going on dates, I decided that I would ask every girl why she was trying online
dating. Although I’ve only been on
two actual dates, I’ve asked a few of the women that I’ve traded emails with
and not actually seen.
The general responses:
Not enough time, tired of meeting dudes at bars, bad luck meeting dudes at
bars, or some variation thereof.
Substitute “lady” for “dude” and you have my reasons too.
I was feeling a little
bold on Saturday. It may or may
not have been the two beers on an empty stomach talking, but I asked her: “How
has the online dating thing worked for you so far?”
No shit, it obviously
hasn’t gone swimmingly if she is meeting me for a date.
I’m still not 100% sure
why I asked. According to my naïve
sense of gentlemanliness, it was not a question for a first date. It does however fall under my “Test The
Boundaries Early” rule. She passed
with flying colors when it came to the story telling and core beliefs. The answer, though not surprising, gave
me an interesting angle but also a potential dealbreaker (for her).
Me: “So how has the internet
dating thing gone for you?”
Redhead (after looking
slightly surprised by the question): “Not too terribly. But not too great either. I’ve met a couple of cool guys, but
they were too busy.”
Me (sotto voce): Crap.
 |
| Crap crap crap. |
It was time to channel
all of my inner Chris Matthews and figure out how to spin that to my
advantage. I make it no secret
that I am a busy guy. I’m still
not looking for a wife, but I am definitely willing to make time to hang out
with a cool woman.
The entire walk I’m
pondering how to word that sentiment.
It seems clear to me that she’s willing to see me again, but has doubts
considering my wacko schedule. I
push the Chris Matthews-esque spin away in favor for a Cole Hamels type
curveball. However, I purposely
throw one that hangs out in the middle of the plate, giving her a chance to
smash it, or harmlessly foul it away.
And by “harmlessly foul it away” I actually mean “kick my sorry ass to
the curb.”
[by the way, couldn't find a good video of Cole Hamels getting homered on, but we all know what that looks like anyway...]
Before I know it, and
before I have any idea how to word it, we’re in front of her house. She hugs me, and not a wimpy
shoulder-first hug either. Didn’t
much stock into that one hug, but I feel slightly less anxious.
It’s time to ask her out
again. I know it sounds
super-cheeseballz, but here’s a paraphrase: “If you didn’t find me too
appalling, I’d like to see you again soon. I fail at the ‘being too busy’ thing, but I want to make
time to see you again!”
 |
| So apparently I vomit bunny rabbits too... |
So hopefully our
schedules will link up again in a timely fashion. There’s nothing worse than having a great date derailed by
the fact that it’ll be two weeks before we can see each other again. In the meantime, I have assloads of
work to do and plenty of other women to try and have a date with. I like being busy – it keeps me honest.
I forgot an important
part! The redheaded chica had a
fantastic ass… Hopefully I'll see it, I mean HER again!
