Thursday, July 16, 2015

In which I am shallow: part one.

I recently returned from a nice long visit back to Western New York. I had a lovely time, and got to see tons of people, many of whom mentioned they love my blog. It was surprising, but so wonderful to hear that people enjoy what I have to say about dating and all its related drama/craptasticness. Honestly, I took a break from dating from about January-June, and now I am casually seeing someone that, yes, I met on Tinder. He's gorgeous, sweet, funny, treats me like a queen, and I would say more but you don't care about the good things, you just want to know about the fail whales. It's okay. I'm with you.

Back in September, I met a man on Tinder. Not just any man. Legitimately one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen (until recently). I was shocked when we matched, even more so when he actually started talking to me. We seemed to click, although I admit to having a slightly weird vibe, which I was willfully ignoring because HELLO HANDSOME. We didn't end up meeting in person for a few weeks, as we both had traveling scheduled in our near futures, and he lived in San Francisco. We ended up texting a LOT, perhaps too much. His grammar wasn't the greatest, but again, willing to make sacrifices. I know, you can say it: I was thirsty. I am not ashamed. Okay I am slightly ashamed, but shit happens, and I can't take back what ended up transpiring.

Now that that's out of the way... We ended up meeting for dinner at a Thai restaurant in Palo Alto. If you are unaware of Northern California's various divisions, Palo Alto is where Stanford University is located. It's full of rich people and smart, preppy college students. He got there before me, and was seated in a corner booth, arms splayed over the top of the booth, taking up lots of space. He stood up to greet me...and we were the same height. Now, I'm not a short woman, and both of my big-time exes were about the same height as me. I'm just mentioning this now as it's important later on. Ooooh, suspense. I'm going to call this guy Brad. So, Brad sits back down, and resumes sitting in the same position, arms akimbo over the top of the booth. Strange, but whatever. Again: GORGEOUS. Like slap-your-mother gorgeous.

(In which I am Louise Belcher for a change, rather than Linda or Tina. I am also constantly living with this feeling at the moment.)

We're looking at the menu, and our waitress comes over, and Brad is immediately very rude to her. She walked away and I called him out on it, saying, "Uh, you were actually totally rude to that woman just now." He said something along the lines of, "No, I'm here a lot, and if I don't order this way, they mess up my food." For the rest of the night, I am overly polite to all the waitstaff at the restaurant. Our conversation flows relatively easily, with several strained/awkward spots. But hey, first date, right? His favorite author is Hunter S. Thompson, and his favorite book is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Slightly cliche, but at least he likes to read. He mentions that he's leaving his job and moving to Chicago with his sister at the end of October. Okay, this wouldn't be a long-term thing anyway, but I can have some fun with this guy, potentially.

The food is fantastic, and I am, again, overly polite and sweet and smiling to the waiter who brings it out. He smiles at me and glowers at Brad. We are talking about something and all of a sudden, Brad grabs my knee under the table. I smack his hand away. "Ooooh, feisty," he said. "No, it means don't touch me, thanks. Also why do you sit with your arms on top of the booth like that?" "It's more comfortable for me." Mmmmmkay, sure. He suggests we go get dessert. I will never say no to dessert. So we walk across the street to a French cafe that's also a buffet-style dessert place. I mean we went to heaven. Come on that's MAJESTIC. BUFFET OF FRENCH DESSERTS?! But we ended up leaving because he had a hissy fit that they were out of eclairs or some shit.

He held my hand as we walked down to the Cheesecake Factory. He didn't order anything, he just said he wanted to watch me eat cheesecake. Ooooookay but shit I will NOT turn down cheesecake. I'm roughly certain about 30% of my body is made of cheesecake. Just call me Dorothy Zbornak. #spiritanimal

When I was finished and the waiters were ignoring us because, again, he was rude to them, Brad asked if he could sit in the booth next to me, and cuddled me uncomfortably in the restaurant. I am shooting glares at any waiter that's passing and in my mind saying, "bring the fucking check NOW OKAY THANKS." At the same time, it was weirdly flattering. I am not a tiny person, by any means, and at the time, I had gained some weight and felt totally unsexy. But here was this man, who wanted to watch me eat and wanted to grab me in public because he liked me that much. That's flattering, right? No?

We finally leave; he says he'll drive me to my car. I say that I prefer to walk. He asks if, when we get to my car, I'll drive him to his. I say no. He doesn't understand why I, you know, don't want to get in a car with him. I explain briefly that, you know, I barely know you and that's just not happening tonight. All of a sudden, middle of walking, he stops, turns, and kisses me. Hard. Full-on makeout session happening in the middle of the sidewalk for about 10 seconds before I stop him and keep walking. Uh. Okay then. I get to my car, he asks yet again for a ride to his car. I refuse. I drive home. I'm trying to decide how to feel about all of this. Of course I now know he's a total asshole, but at the time, he was a gorgeous dude who was into me at a time of even-lower-than-usual-self-esteem. He sensed the vulnerability I was trying to hide from him, and from the world at large. It was a strangely magnetic quality.

We kept texting after the date. He was so sweet in text, even with not-fantastic-grammar. I consulted with Ashera, explaining my mixed emotions. She said to just go out with him again and have some fun; he's moving soon, and why do I need a serious boyfriend? If I go again and it's awful/I get bad feelings, drop him. If we go out and have fun, drop my pants. So, I agreed to meet him in San Francisco that Friday night for a second date. To be continued...

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