Sunday Special: The Really Bad Date

So between the time that my husband and I met 12 years ago and re-dated, there was some time apart where we lived in different states-and-or-countries and there was some dating people other than each other. Which neither one of us really care to hear about and that’s just fine with us.

It was a time when we kept in touch but weren’t sure we’d ever get together again, though I’d like to think that deep down we knew we would.

And in this period of not-togetherness, there were, what I would call, some really bad dates.

I mean, really bad.

I tried dating the guy from work. That guy that you date, kind of fall for even, but then when it all falls apart and ends badly, it is really awkward but you still have to work together even though he’s schtooping some other girl at work who gives you dirty looks all the time when really it should be the other way around because he dumped you for her and you’re even pretty sure they might have started “dating” before he dumped you.

Then there was the internet dating. Back when it was still a bit taboo to admit you were doing this. You were still making up how you actually met each other, like the mutual “friend” you have in common and you make up some random name but really that name is “personal computer”, in some dot-com matchup-room for 20-somethings. (Now it’s commonplace to meet people online, date, and even get married. Oh how times do change.) I gave myself three shots at this before I gave up. I met the guy who never had any money to do anything and lived like a slob, the married guy who didn’t say he was married until we were out on the date and he disclosed his “open” relationship with his wife, and the uber-rich guy whose family had the chalet in Switzerland who was ultimately “too good” for little ol’ modest me.

Then there was the blind date. The “Oh, I have this friend – you guys would be perfect together!” thing -- which is a variety of friend-induced matchups. The pity-type matchup, which is because, for some reason, you’re pathetic in this period of your life and/or reeling from a breakup or suffering from particularly low-self-esteem and all of your friends want you to get out of your apartment for once and do something other than cry into your Hagen Daas. Or the friend who really wants you to meet that guy with the “great personality” which we all know doubles as the not-so-good-looking friend or the short friend (sorry, how insensitive of me). But really, the short friend? As if I’m not short enough for the both of us. I always hated when friends would try to set me up with the short guy. Being 5’ 1’’ and all. Where it was quite possible neither one of us would meet the height requirement to ride anything at the fair.

And then there was the club date. Where you meet a guy at a club and he was so cool and fantastic (at the time) and you thought he was so good-looking, a total dreamboat even, you still hardly believe he picked YOU out from that entire crowd! (But the lights were off and let’s face it you were drunk).

So you exchange phone numbers, wait the allotted number of days to receive your phone call but miss it and then wait the allotted amount of time to return it after kicking yourself for missing it (since you’ve been waiting and waiting and turning your phone on and off because you thought maybe it was broken) and then you set something up to where you meet again, this time sober, in the light, hopefully out in public.

This resulted in, perhaps, one of my worst dates ever.

I met a guy when I was out at a club with friends when I lived in New York City. We exchanged phone numbers. He had a lot of the good qualities: smart (check!) good-looking (check!) well-traveled (check!) good job (check!). I thought, ok, now we’re getting somewhere.

I had tickets from work to see an independent French film (I love independent films in any language), so during our phone conversation I mentioned we could meet there and he suggested we go out to eat afterward. Great! This was my type of date.

So we met at the theater. Actually, I met at the theater. He was a half-hour late.

That’s ok, I’m a really understanding person. I pride myself on how understanding I can be.

But of course, when he finally gets there, the theater’s pretty full, so we sit up near the front and strain our necks to look up at the screen. But thankfully we only really missed 15 minutes of the film because it started late. See? Cup half full.

Then, his phone rings. Loudly. Which is fine because who doesn’t forget to turn their phone off once in a while. The problem was that he answered the call and began talking. Actually carrying on a conversation. For about 10 minutes. Which is a really long time when you’re watching a movie listening to the person next to you jabbering on the phone. So now I’m a bit irritated.

But, ok, I’m gonna hang in here because I really am understanding (like I mentioned) and maybe it was really important. I couldn’t really hear him anyway because there was a chase scene going on.

The movie was over (and it was fantastic by the way, thank you very much for asking!) and we went to find somewhere to eat. We dipped into some Asian place he’d been to before, but it was really like a takeout-only place with a few chairs and really bright fluorescent lighting.

Fine. It’s about the company anyway, right? So we got to talking about traveling, and he was really quite interesting. He’d been to way more cool places than I had and knew two other languages. He even got some of my jokes. I thought the date might actually be rebounding!

Until he told me, “Go ahead! Order anything you want! I can expense it!”

Which is always something you want to hear on a first date. Right? This guy was out to impress.

Then the comedy of errors occurs: the food was brought out after taking forever, I killed a few ants that were crawling on the table, found a leg of some small bug in my food, yada yada yada, and now by this time I am really

He walked me to my door and just like he had played the part of Cassanova all night, actually had the cajones to go in for a kiss. Which actually flabbergasted me! I mean, did he think this was a great date? Am I missing something? In that split second, time froze and the events of the night flashed through my head frame by frame: showing up late, talking on the phone, in the movie, whilst on a first date, being el-cheapo (out loud) and taking me to a crap place with buggy food.

Maybe he is that oblivious, or maybe I am that cute. (Snicker).

But in the end, when time un-froze, I did the turn-your-head-avoid-the-kiss-thing, gave him a quick hug with the tap on the back-type-of-thing and ran away. Never to be heard from again. Because this is the type of date you don’t walk away from. You run.
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My Sunday Specials here are trips down memory lane. Sit down, have a cup of tea, and kick back while I share way too much about myself.

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  1. I'll be after some of those dates you are glad you are married!

  2. If I had a nickle for every nightmare date I went on...

    Thank God I found my husband!!

  3. oh the dating scene...good times, good times.

  4. Hahahaha, "schtooping" is my new favorite word. All of these sound like the kind of dates that have to make you want to snuggle that much closer to your man. He really said he could expense it? Eek.

  5. Those are some crazy dates! Glad you guys found each other again :)

    A whole week of posts just showed up in my bloglines!!! strange. . .


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