4. The Bear

Name:  The Bear

Where It All Began:  Online dating website (paid)

The Date:  I hate going on a first date on a Friday or Saturday night.  It’s a lot to gamble and risk wasting a portion of your precious weekend on a total stranger.  But because I don’t want the world to end having only been on three dates of the fifty I’ve promised to you and to myself, I agreed to meet The Bear at a pub for happy hour on Friday after work.

I walked in to the pub ten minutes late.  I am struggling to call this “fashionably late” as I was dressed in a tank top, cardigan, jeans, and dirty white Chucks.  The clothing was fine, especially considering I had spent the whole day in the field walking through dirt and weeds.  Still, I believe both parties should make an effort to dress like they care.  Half the reason I agree to these dates is because I finally have an excuse to wear the so-cute shoes I have piled at the bottom of my closet.  My self-consciousness over my footwear was magnified when I heard the clack-clack of The Bear’s cowboy boots on the wood planked floor of the pub.  Great, a guy in heels.  I tried to get over the disparity in our fashion choices as we sat down with our drinks.  We immediately started chatting about all the normal first date things: job, hobbies, background, education, etc.  When my drink was nothing but melted ice, The Bear offered a second drink and fetched it from the bar himself. 

A couple drinks and three and a half hours later, we both realized we were hungry and decided to go to dinner.  Because I had to run to make sure my car didn’t get locked in a parking garage (a lesson learned on my second date with Maverick) and because The Bear needed to replace his phone battery, we parted ways and agreed to meet at a restaurant.  I spent the next fifteen minutes wondering if the phone battery was just an excuse to get rid of me and my filthy shoes.  But then he walked around the corner in a completely different shirt and jacket than what he’d been wearing at the pub.  He explained that he had been cold, but I couldn’t see how this justified a mid-date wardrobe change. 

The restaurant that we wanted to go to was closed, so we walked to three or four other eateries only to find huge lines or closed doors.  I whipped out my phone to look up additional restaurants when The Bear uttered the following sentence: “I have food at my house, but I don’t want to creep you out, so I don’t know where to go at this point other than Del Taco.”  My heart stopped.  For those of you who don’t know me, know this: I LOVE Del Taco.  I will never turn down a free meal, especially at a fast food joint where you can order a burrito AND chili fries.  And chili fries I did order.  He apologized for taking me to Del Taco and made me promise to tell people that we went to some fancy Mexican place with a Spanish name I couldn’t pronounce.  Oops.

After a lovely dinner, I agreed to go with him and meet a few of his friends at a local dive bar.  As I shook the hands of four girls in dresses and a guy in a tie, The Bear verbalized what I had been thinking, “What the hell?  Why didn’t anyone tell me to dress up?!”  Apparently, the group had decided to go out and dress Mad Men style.  As I cursed my shoes for the third time that night, the group was moving toward the exit in search of a less crowded drinking establishment.  We found one and The Bear ordered a round of drinks for himself and the rest of his friends, saying that he felt bad for meeting up with them so late in the evening.  It’s always awkward meeting new people, but this group was fairly nice and even invited me to their Rapture party this weekend.

The evening ended seven hours after it had begun and overall, I’m not sorry I spent my Friday night amongst strangers.  I am sorry about the shoes, though. 

Deal-makers:

·         Cooks

·         Buys girls drinks

·         Likes Del Taco

·         Listens to country music and the Glee station on Pandora radio

Deal-breakers:

·         Is an MP (Mountain Person).  For additional information on this species, please refer to Mrs. Ninja’s blog: http://wifeofaninja.blogspot.com/

·         Has a compulsive need to check work email

·         Is short (so I guess it may have been a good thing I didn't wear heels)

3. Shrek

Name:  Shrek (because he looks like a less green version of the cartoon ogre, plus he allegedly smells like a swamp, which will be explained below)

Where It All Began:  Online dating website (paid)

The Date:  I’ve been called a bitch more than once.  This post might confirm that for some of you, but I’d like to preface what I’m about to tell you with this:  I am only telling the truth about each encounter, trying to leave nothing of importance out of these stories, and I’m trying to do it in the most objective of ways.  Forgive me, but I call them like I see them.  When I first viewed Shrek’s online dating profile, I nearly choked on my spinach salad with low calorie vinaigrette (ok, it was a box of pastel Junior Mints from the Easter Bunny… ok, they were from my mom, don’t judge me).  It appeared that based on what he wrote and the backdrop of nearly all of his photos, he worked in the same industry and same building as someone I spent a very long time talking to/semi-dating/pining after.  Things ended abruptly with this person and I don’t care to see him unless it involves a colossal apology.  He shall go by the name, Nevertheless.  I immediately emailed Shrek out of curiosity – Does he know Nevertheless? Does he work in the same industry?  Does he run in the same circle, which at least 50% of the people I meet these days seem to do?  Once I confirmed that though they do work in the same industry, Shrek does not know Nevertheless, I allowed myself to continue communication.  Shrek seemed easy going, down to earth, funny, and manly.  Yes, manly.  Ladies, is it not important that a guy own a toolbox, know how to hook up your cable box, or mix a stiff drink?  The fact that Shrek works in professional sports signified to me that he is, indeed, in possession of a Man Card.

Last weekend, I went back to my hometown to celebrate Mother’s Day with family.  Turns out, Shrek was also in town on some sports related business.  After a few hours of exchanging text messages, I invited Shrek out to have a drink.  This guy seemed to have an awesome personality and my excitement built as my dreams of a Bachelor-style hometown date drew near.  My sister, Casper, and my cousin, Cobra, and I were going to Cobra’s friend’s (Mr. Diamond’s) bar.  We shall call this establishment Diamond Bar, not to be confused with the god-awful city in Southern California of the same name.  Originally, Shrek had plans to drive all the way back home, but quickly scrapped them when I proposed drinks.  I am THAT charming over text message.  Anyway, Casper, Cobra, and I got to Diamond Bar first, so we ordered a round of drinks.  I began with a drink known as the Jager-bomb.  Normally, this particular beverage causes me to time travel and I avoid it at all costs because I don’t like to wake up on someone’s couch wondering what happened last night, only to be reminded by my friends that I was hot mess.  However, I would be on a first date in the presence of my sister and cousin, who are ridiculously good at embarrassing people, and would need something to make the experience bearable.  I sipped the shot because Mr. Diamond mixes a stiff drink (Man Card!) and I’m not a 19 year old college student anymore.  While waiting for Shrek, I ordered another drink and sat down at a small table and made small talk with Mr. Diamond’s patrons.

Shrek lumbered in a few minutes later.  He was instantly recognizable, not only because I had seen his pictures, but because he radiated awkwardness.  I hopped off my bar stool and shook his hand.  I couldn’t help but give him the once-over.  His red sweater had a single stripe across the chest and looked like something my eighth grade lab partner got from Anchor Blue circa 1998.  I told myself not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself, and went all Maverick on that sweater for the rest of the night.  Before he sat down, Shrek walked to the far end of the bar to order some liquid courage.  He came back with a beer and sat down.  We started chatting about the baseball game he had just come from.  Then we talked about the job he used to have covering the local basketball team.  Then we talked about hockey, football, college basketball, college football, and cricket.  Ok, maybe we didn’t talk about cricket, but at this point, I had started drinking Casper’s drink because mine had reached empty and Shrek hadn’t offered to replace it even though I clanked the ice against the glass with the straw for 20 minutes.  I had wanted to like this guy so much, but it became very clear to me after chatting for nearly two hours that this man was passionate about exactly one thing: sports.  Don’t get me wrong, I love sports; I played sports in high school and was captain of my dorm’s intramural flag football team in college.  It’s just that after making attempts to change topics to things like what he does for fun, where he grew up, what he went to school for, etc., we just couldn’t get away from bats, balls, and national titles.  At some point, Shrek asked if I was ok.  At first I wasn’t sure what this meant, but considering he fetched himself another round from the bar, I assume he was asking me if I wanted a drink?  I don’t know, I don’t read minds.

As we were discussing some amazing upset in the 1996 World Series (if you’re a dude and you’re reading this, I don’t know a damn thing about the 1996 World Series… if you’re a girl and you’re reading this, yes, I faked it; therefore, I don’t remember this part of the conversation), a short and stout drunken man approached our table and asked Shrek about the can of Copenhagen on the table.  One of Mr. Diamond’s patrons had left it there and the drunken man clearly wanted or needed a dip.  So, Shrek handed him the can.  The drunken man opened the can and inspected its contents.  I glanced over to notice a dark wet-looking substance I could only identify as chewed tobacco.  The drunken man didn’t notice that this had been pre-chewed and promptly put the ABC dip in his mouth.  I couldn’t help my childish giggles as he demanded Casper’s water.  When she denied him, he filled with rage and complained to Mr. Diamond about the incident.  I’m not exactly sure what happened next because suddenly bells were dinging, lights were switched on, and we were ushered toward the exits.  Casper, Shrek, and I walked outside where I half-hugged Shrek and urged him to “Keep in touch!” as though it was the last day of school and I was signing the yearbook of a classmate I didn’t want to see or hear from until September.

When he was out of earshot, Casper looked at me and said, “That guy is a square.”  I nodded, and got in the car, knowing that even though it was a bit insulting, she was right.  The next morning, Casper and Cobra recounted my date for some other family members.  I learned that each time Shrek got up to order another drink, he crop dusted the rest of the bar.  I really wanted to like Shrek, and I honestly put forth a sincere effort to get to know him, but at the end of the date, I just could not give him the rose.  I have to send him packing.  I’m also mad that the Jager-bomb failed me for the first time in history, allowing me to remember the entire sequence of events.

Deal-makers:

·         Is passionate about sports

·         Has an awesome job, the kind of thing little boys dream about

·         Is a nice-guy

·         Made huge sacrifices of time, plans, and probably some money to spend 2 hours with a total stranger

Deal-breakers:

·         Doesn’t appear to have interests outside of sports

·         Didn’t directly offer to buy me a drink

·         Crop dusted the bar

·         Spends most of his time commuting to and from work (a two-hour drive, each way)

2. Maverick

Name:  Maverick

Where It All Began:  Internet dating website (paid)

The Date: Sigh.  I’ve been on this internet dating website for a little over a week sifting through the city’s most eligible bachelors hoping to find a decent specimen worthy of my time.  Various individuals have contacted me, most of which I think should be behind bars (either for pedophilia or as zoo exhibits).  See the “Like I Really Would” section on the right hand side of this blog for further details on people I refuse to date.  That said, it surprised me when an attractive young man with dark hair, green eyes, and an affinity for tropical vacations emailed me with direct responses to things mentioned in my profile (swoon!).  His emails were funny, and though he misspelled a few words, he also came off as smart.  A few text messages later, I agreed to go out with him on Thursday.  Tuesday rolled around and as I was making my weekly visit to the local Target to see what unnecessary trinkets I could waste money on, I received a text from Maverick.  Apparently his adult kickball league practice had been cancelled and he was suddenly available for the evening.  First of all, I thought adult kickball was just an excuse to drink beer while simultaneously “exercising,” so I’m not sure what to make of this alleged “practice.”  Second of all, would accepting a last-minute date be a rookie mistake?  I really didn’t need those spring themed dishtowels from the Dollar Spot and my only other plan for the evening involved me and the newest episode of Glee.  Wouldn’t a first date would be a better way to spend a Tuesday evening?  I thought so.  

Two hours later, I casually walk up to the outdoor patio at a bar downtown and find Maverick.  He’s half a gin and tonic ahead of me, but it takes about fifteen minutes to flag down a waitress.  Another fifteen minutes pass before I get my mojito, during which the two of us make small talk and ogle the next table’s brownie.  The sweet minty freshness of the mojito eases some of the awkward first date conversation.  He makes a few jokes, but doesn’t appear as funny or as confident as the emails and text messages had suggested.  Maybe he’s shy?  I finally get to the bottom of my mojito and Maverick suggests going down the street to a different bar.  I agree.  At this point, Maverick tries to get the waitress’ attention.  The following is a transcript of the interaction:

            Maverick: Excuse me, ma’am… Ma’am… … … MA’AM!
          Ma’am: I’m sorry…
            Nosy girl at the next table: She’s not a MA’AM, its Miss!
            Ma’am: Hi, sorry, I didn’t… my name is Tori…
            Me: (sitting, observing)
            Maverick: (mad mugging Nosy)
            Nosy’s boyfriend: (looking panicked)
            Me: (sitting in stunned silenced, heart rate begins to increase)
            Maverick: I’d like to close my tab…
            Ma’am: The name on the card?
            Maverick: (mad mugging Nosy with a very intense green stare)
            Me: (THIS this is why I have decided to blog about this entire experience!)
            Ma’am: The card?
            Nosy: (mumbles something)
            Maverick: (death stare, round three)

 Me: (looking straight at Maverick) Just don’t… (looking up at ma’am with a forced smile) The  name is Maverick.

            Maverick: (breaks death stare to long enough to mutter) Sorry, yes, Maverick.

We awkwardly sit in silence as Ma’am goes to fetch the bill and card.  The table Nosy and her boyfriend are sitting at is about a foot away from ours and I wonder how long it will take to install bulletproof glass.  Maverick and I pretend to make conversation, something about peanut butter or the weather.  I want to run away for fear someone will get hurt and it will probably be Maverick and I don’t know how I feel about cleaning up the blood of a guy I just met and am not sure I even like.  An eternity passes, but finally we make our way down the street and he attempts to explain himself and his actions.  I agree that Nosy should have said nothing, but he shouldn’t have raised his voice or tried to shoot lasers from his eyes.  I also explain that “ma’am” isn’t always the best way to address a young lady.  This part of the conversation is lost on him as he is from the East Coast and doesn’t speak California.

We enter the second bar, order another round of drinks, make small talk with a couple of people at the bar, then sit down in a little cubby hole that contains a couch and a TV.  Maverick suddenly seems at ease.  I start to wonder if he takes medication for bipolar disorder or if the incident I witnessed twenty minutes before was just a fluke.  We chat and all seems to go smoothly.  I make hilarious jokes, he laughs.  He makes not-as-hilarious jokes, I kind of giggle.  Then, because it’s a school night, we end the date just before 10:00 p.m.  He walks me to my car, like a gentleman.  He gives me the shortest kiss goodnight.  I let him, because I’m nice and more importantly, I don’t want to turn to stone.  (My mother is probably reading this, so Hi, Mom!)  He asks me if we are still on for Thursday and I say, “Sure.”

When I get home, I see that Maverick has texted me.  We exchange a few texts and I’m just about asleep when the phone goes off and I get a text asking me if the jokes I make about being ghetto are serious or just playful humor.  A lot of what I said during the date was funny.  He laughed!  Now, I feel like he’s accusing me of putting on some kind of act or being someone I’m not.  I’m offended, so I just go to sleep wondering if I should weasel my way out of the Thursday date or if I should give him a second chance.

Deal-makers:

·       Likes peanut butter

·         Has a charming, somewhat Southern accent

·         Knows the importance of color coordinating his shower curtain and his comforter

·         Was honest in his inability to distinguish between sarcasm and seriousness

Deal-breakers:

·        His looks can kill

·        Thinks I’m ghetto

·         May or may not have a toolbox

·         Isn’t able to distinguish between sarcasm and seriousness

1. R.J. Phelps

Name:  R.J. Phelps (R.J. because he looks like R.J. Berger of MTV’s “The Hard Times of R.J. Berger.”  Phelps because a friend thinks he looks like Michael Phelps of Olympic and bong scandal fame.  I don’t see the Phelps, but maybe my friend knows something I don’t… like what R.J. looks like in a Speedo.)

Where It All Began:  Skype

The Date: My friends and I Skype once a week.  It’s mostly an attempt at gossip and girl talk, but gets interrupted by a whole bunch of “your video is frozen” and “where did Snookie go?”  (Note:  I don’t actually have a friend named Snookie, but I’m protecting the innocent, remember?)  Anywho, R.J. showed up to Snookie’s house last night and sat in on our Skype session.  After establishing that he looked like a cross between a D-list celebrity and a 420 time gold medalist, I asked him out.  He told me he was leaving for a month-long European vacation and that Snookie was driving him to the airport first thing in the morning.  How am I supposed to go on fifty first dates if all the guys I meet skip the country?  So I proposed that we make this online encounter our first date.  And, a first date it was:  we asked all the requisite get-to-know-a-total-stranger questions, I cracked a few jokes, he made some awkward comments, and we each had a drink (his was Jameson out of a copper cup like he was on an 18^th century camping trip, mine was a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade because I’m classy), at the end of the night, he announced he was tired, I gave him my address, and he promised to send a postcard.

Deal-makers:

·         Looks like a celeb

·         Drinks manly drinks

·         Surfs

·         Has a car

·         Is an architect

Deal-breakers:

·         Will be in Europe for the next month

·         Lives 400 miles away (but there’s Skype?)

·         Has a “vintage” Motorola Rzr

·         If we had children, they’d definitely have red curly hair