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