First Date

With my reoccurring failures at the bars, you may wonder if I ever make it to a first date.

For better or worse, I do.

The other night I met a guy, Chris, at a bar in Santa Monica.

Don't worry, that's his actual name.

We were set up by a co-worker of mine, as Chris is also an editor.  He works for an advertising agency.  He says it's very much like Mad Men.

Ok.

So he's waiting outside the bar when I get there.  He's tall, attractive, well dressed...off to a good start.

The bar is closed.

He suggests we walk to the Promenade and we end up at Cabo Cantina.  He orders us a massive margarita to share.

Ugh.

I don't like sharing things with people I don't know.  Especially when we both have to lean in to suck on straws that are three inches apart from each other.

I had four sips.

It was the most textbook first date I've ever been on.

What kind of sports do you like?  Music?  Movies?  Books?  We hit every. bullet. point.

He doesn't really like watching sports.  I can't wait for college football to start.

He loves line dancing.  I love getting sweaty to some hip hop.

He wants to spend forty minutes talking about Lynch and Aronofsky.  I want to spend forty minutes quoting Elf and I Love You Man.

Get my point?  Though, I do give him credit for knowing his literature, that was impressive.

We nerded out about Final Cut Pro for a minute, but I was over it much sooner than he was.

I knew I wasn't really into it after an internal groan when he ordered dinner.  He asked if I was hungry.

No!  I signed up for drinks only, thanks.

This was about the time I zoned out and started looking around.  Poor guy was oblivious.

Finally, we were walking back to our cars.  Every time we stopped at a light he would get ridiculously close.  I felt if I looked at him, he would kiss me.  I avoided eye contact at all costs.

Ten minutes after saying goodbye, I received a text:  I was delighted tonight - thank you Cheryl.

Sigh.

So this guy is pretty decent on paper - good looking, intelligent, stable career, thoughtful...but there were two issues.

The first - he didn't really make me laugh.  That's key.  You make me laugh, I can relax and be my sarcastic self.  Otherwise, I don't know what the fuck to say to you.  If you can make me smile, I'm pretty much putty in your hands.

The second - I knew within the first minute of meeting him that I had almost no interest in dropping my pants for him.

Not that I'm looking to slut myself out.  Quite the opposite really.  But, I do find extreme pleasure in sex.

The build in sexual tension.  Kisses turning from slow to aggressive as hands start to explore.  The anticipation of entry.  That moment of ecstasy as it first slides in.

Yeah...

There's little potential with someone I can't consider sleeping with.

Still, part of me feels like I should give him a second chance.  Maybe he's just as bad with first impressions as I am.

Unfortunate for him.

Plus, I know I'm difficult to read, therefore difficult to date.

You know, I can't wait until I'm having consistent sex again.  I'd much rather write about that.