Spring Training

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!

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! 

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...

 Whether she was telling the truth or not, she said she would love to.  More telling though, was another strong hug.  Yea yea, save your second-grade banter for another forum.  I’m not basing all of my judgments over two hugs and two hours of good conversation.  It’s still better than the metaphysical curb sandwich I always expect when I ask out a pretty woman.

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!