The Email that Started it All

From: Sallie

To: Erin

Subj: How was the date with RayHer?

Reader, to give you a little background, RayHer (name has been shortened to protect identity...and any possibility of dating in the future) is a guy I met while out one night with my friend Sallie. We went on one date. ONE. I'll leave it at that and let you learn the rest for yourself below.

Note: All facts in this story are true and have not been embellished or exaggerated. I literally COULD NOT make this stuff up.

MY RESPONSE:

Sallie,

It was good...he picked me up from work and we went to this sushi place in...Lakeview? It was Lincoln and Irving Park called Tank. It was really fantastic, but I was sort of surprised he picked it b/c we went to Second City afterwards. Now, you know I am the planner and like to offer my opinion, but I was really trying to hold my tongue and let him go w/ his plan. (There are about 50 amazing restaurants within 2 blocks of Second City in Old Town. Why were we going so far north?)

So, we drove from my office all the way to Lincoln and Iriving Park and then all the way back down to North and Wells. Whatever.

These are the things I took issue with:

• The sticker on the back window of his very nice Toyota Tacoma truck is of a kid urinating on the New York Yankees logo. Was he serious?
• When he pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant, he parked between two cars in a very tight spot (no joke, there were FIFTY open spots in the lot). I had to shimmy out of the passenger side door. I actually couldn't keep quiet about that one. E: "Wow...this is a tight spot. You see the FIFTY other spots that are open, right?" RayHer: "Yeah, but it will be so much easier to get out afterwards." E: [confused look] (I'm sorry, are we at a Pistons game? Why again do we need an easy out from a restaurant parking lot on a Monday night in frickin' Lakeview...when we came out, no one had parked in any of the empty spots)
• As soon as we sat down, he said, "So, what do you want to get?" He wasn't even talking about a drink, he was talking about the sushi...I don't think I had even taken my coat off yet. In his defense, he was pretty nervous.

I will synopsize the dinner snafus using numbered bullets:

1. He slammed the glass of Sake we each got...very hard to do since it was served in a champagne flute
2. When the waitress delivered the Saki (and his beer), he told her we were ready to order while she was holding a tray in one hand and an empty bottle in the other...she said, "Just let me go grab her beer first." Seriously RayHer? She hasn't even dropped my drink off yet...and you're a freakin' server. Give her a second. Oh, and he poured what was left of his beer in the glass and then chugged the rest out of the bottle. (Not sure I hid my mortification well.)
3. I started asking questions and found out that he's never been to a festival in the summer in Chicago...he's lived here for three years
4. He grew up "not really listening to music" and "doesn't really care for concerts"...CHECK PLEASE!
5. He ordered a second beer...I wasn't even half way through mine
6. Kept looking at his phone for the time b/c the show started at 8. Hmmmm...maybe we shouldn't have driven to Canada for dinner

Back to bullets...

• Okay, so we get back in the car for the road trip back down south. I shimmy back into my seat...probably rubbing salt and dirt all over my beautiful black coat
• Music comes on the radio and I say, "Do you know who this is?" He can't figure it out. Seriously? It's Aerosmith "Livin' on the Edge." I listened to that CD 3,000 times in middle school. This guessing game occurs a few more times (Really? "Jungle Love" by Steve Miller Band doesn't ring a bell? Let me out of this car)
• We get to the theater. He parks in a spot that I don't think is a spot. He does. He claims he's never gotten a ticket. Fine. Park there then. Get towed.
• Oh, forgot to mention that on the ride to dinner and at dinner, he mentioned about 200 times how much he had to drink last night...and that he totally didn't even feel it. "I mean, I was ordering like triple vodka tonics, three at a time at our open bar work party and I was totally fine...like totally. I remember everything...I mean, when I got home, I fell asleep for an hour and then, when I woke up, I puked. But I was totally fine." (I was like, "Did he just tell me that story?")
• Second City was FANTASTIC. They were so funny. RayHer had three Jack and Cokes. He would actually grab the waiter and order them while the show was going on...and not even ask if I wanted a drink. Not cool
• Mid-way through, he started to do the hand on knee, holding my hand, we're in a relationship thing. The most awkward part was his insistence on putting his arm around me b/c he's not very tall and I had to slouch in order for it to "work." I was like, give me some space! I'm trying to watch the show here! I felt like I was in middle school planning to break up w/ a boy, but needed a ride home from the mall from his mom, so had to suck it up.
• Afterwards, I asked him to drop me off at Midas (very hot, I know) b/c my brakes had been worked on and my car was ready to be picked up. I'd take any short cut out of this date...even if it involved a car repair shop parking lot.

So, although he is a very nice guy and paid for everything...it's just not going to work. There are a few things that my seem minor, but in the grand scheme, would make me lose my shiz over time. So, I have to figure out how to fade him out. I asked what days he usually works at the restaurant. He may have thought I was trying to see when he was free. But, I wanted to make sure we can still hit up the $4 burgers and beers on Thursdays at the bar. We can. He's off on Thursdays.

So, that's that. I have a date at Maeve at 8:00 w/ a 24 year-old tonight. As long as he doesn't talk about binge drinking and puking, he may be able to pull out ahead in the race.

xoxo,

E

Falling Just Short

Running late for a first, blind date is a sure-fire way, in my case, to give the guy a preview of things to come. In my defense, I’ve gotten better over time. I’ve embraced the numbers. I’ve learned that SAT questions do have their place in real life: If you have 5 minutes to spare before you need to be at Location A, and you choose to “fit something in” that takes 15 minutes at Location B, how pissed are your friends going to be on a scale of 1 to 10? The answer varies on this one. But, when I arrived at Justin’s Beer Garden (an actual bar and not a friend’s man cave) a full 15 minutes late, hair wind blown in a wind tunnel sort of way, looking like a bag lady with my oversized purse and workout bag in hand, I was mortified.

Until I saw my date.

To give him credit, he was wearing the red shirt he informed me ahead of time he’d be sporting, but there was no mention of the “I’m a tourist and comfort is #1” tennies. I’m not talking cute, trendy, casual-chic New Balances. These were white running shoes. And they had seen better days. The first thought that popped into my head was, “Well, if you weren’t even going to take the time to get dressed, I would have left my heels in the cab and rocked my Havaianas.” But, I had banked the calories of an Oberon into my allotted caloric intake that day, so I forged on.

His nervousness was palpable. It’s hard not to notice when the table is shaking from the person’s leg bucking beneath it. Throughout the evening, he kept reaching into his pocket for what I thought was his cell phone, but nothing ever emerged. Lucky Match.com blind date rabbit foot? I still don’t know.

Regardless, it’s an unsettling thing to watch someone do in excess. The waitress took our drink order and told us about the specials…which included 2-for-1 burgers. At this, my eyes lit up and I may have even leaned in to show my interest. He did not have the same reaction. It was pretty much at that point that I decided I was ready to order my 2-for-1 burgers to go and watch Next Food Network Star on my couch in sweatpants. But, I stayed…and thought about all of the friends I could bring to Justin’s next Tuesday for this amazing deal.

The more and more dates I go on, the more I discover that those traits I’ve decided a guy “must have” start to lose their attractiveness when in excess. For example, too often, I’ve dated guys who just sort of sat back and observed…not saying much, even when asked to say anything. A guy that can hold up his end of the telephone tin can is great. But, in this case, I started to get annoyed. With myself. The number of times I heard my voice uttering “uh huh,” “wow,” “hmh” exceeded the number of times the Beastie Boys sing “jump” in their song appropriately titled, “Jump.” It was a mean game of verbal Double Dutch where my attempts to insert comments, reactions, questions or – can you believe it – facts about myself became too tiring. I sat back, Oberon in hand, and listened to his oral autobiography.

Almost two hours in, my second Oberon sitting abandoned and warm, I wished that I had pulled the waitress aside at the beginning. You know, to work out a sign or a gesture to let her know that it was time to drop the check and move us on our way. Every time she came by, his response grated on my ears: “We’re okay…right now.” I wanted to rip those “right now’s” right out of their conversation bubbles and scream, “We’re all set!” Which I eventually did, with slightly more restraint. I even, to cushion the blow of my blatant readiness to be dunzo, went as far as to say, “I’m just getting so old. I’m exhausted.” Really? I have maybe two years on this kid and I’m AARP’ing it? But, at that point, I was desperate. I would have lied and said I needed to go home to relieve the babysitter.

As we stood from our seats to leave, I observed that his 5’9” status was about 3 inches off…in the wrong direction. But, he was a gentleman; as much of a gentleman as a 26 year-old is capable of being. As he acted out each chivalrous behavior, he verbalized it. That’s right. He was like a new actor that didn’t realize you aren’t supposed to read the words in the script that are italicized. Those are actions. “I’m going to stand here with you until you get a cab.” Great. I was noticing that…since you were standing here with me…until I get a cab. “I’m going to open the door for you now.” You’re all intelligent people, so I’m just going to assume that you’ve caught on to what his next move was. It was too bad…because those two actions could have been the life preserver that pulled this drowning date out of Lake Match.com. A few of my other dates have merely shouted, “Can you lock it from the inside on your way out?” as I departed. So, this was a step in the right direction.

But, a step was not enough. Back at home, as I laid my head on my pillow and began to dream of 2-for-1 burgers, the sound of a new text message jolted me from my reverie. “Hey! Hope u made it home safe! Hope to see u again soon :).” Letters for words and an emoticon to top it off. [Insert exasperated sigh.]

It was the icing on my date.

I'm (Almost) Thirty...Where Is He?

Something happens when you enter your late twenties and are a single girl living in a big city. That something is called panic. As you sit at your favorite watering hole and look around at your extremely attractive, highly intelligent, witty, funny, sports-loving girlfriends, you start to wonder: What’s wrong with us? Why are we all single? Are we going to die alone? It’s totally different for guys. They are sitting at that same bar wondering: What’s wrong with our waitress? Why are we all sitting here with empty beers? Are we going to die of hunger?

You can see where the disconnect happens.

Are they faced with a nail polish color cruelly dubbed “I’m 30. Where is he?” that mocks their singledom while nicely complimenting the ruddy undertones of their pale, Irish skin? No. They are not. (I have two bottles.)

Everyone has that wave of six weddings in one summer or the three girlfriends who are excitedly expecting and expecting you to care. Don’t get me wrong. I do care. I’m happy for the newly wedded and the parents-to-be. But, there is no celebration for the girls who “didn’t get married to the wrong guy” or “didn’t go home with the right now guy after a few too many vodka sodas.” No. We single girls are left to our vices. So, when faced with another weekend of cocktails with my girls – which really was code for “discreet husband hunting” – I couldn’t bear the pressure. I figured, hell, I’m online enough already (I can stalk a new love interest on Facebook while I search for that hot Michael Kors watch on Nordstrom.com and pay my Comcast bill…all at the same time. What’s the word you’re looking for? Skills.). Why not use this technological prowess to my advantage? And so, I turned to the dating professionals: Match.com.

Now, I will have you know that I am totally normal. Ok…almost totally normal. I have a few idiosyncrasies and neuroses that make me totally adorable and original, right? Right. So, I was a little weary of entering this uncharted dating domain. Wasn’t “Match” (as the seasoned users affectionately refer to it) for the freaks? The people who had no social skills and were holed up in their basements in holey pajama pants eating Cheetos by the fistful? I was skeptical and judgmental. But, the dudes on there all looked so normal. I take that back. Most of them looked so normal. And some of their profiles made them sound normal, too.

So, I decided to get over myself and give this thing a shot. The online hunt began…it was actually more of a one-handed scroll so I could dedicate my left hand to the bowl of Cheetos.

After hours of crafting the perfect one-pager comprised of all of my professional and personal accomplishments, sprinkled with egomaniacally downplayed highlights ("I’m blonde, love sports and eat hot dogs without mentally adding up the calories…until later that night"), I felt like I was ready to launch “Cyber E” into the dating universe. I chose not to do a quick search of the three blocks in my area where 329 other women were also simultaneously clicking submit – and 32 men were clinking some Wits. I had put myself out there. Literally. And now, I just had to sit back and wait for the men to come a flocking. And to step away from the browser refresh button. Was this thing broken?