I was the new girl in town. Something I’ve been labeled often as I moved around a ton as a kid and adolescent. This time I was the new kid in town living in a city that offered miles of environmental intrigue, tree huggers stalking at every corner and earthquake fault lines that threatened me. I was an official resident of San Francisco. I realized my chances of finding heterosexual love were possibly going to be more challenging than say, Minneapolis or Anchorage.
In an effort to help me plunge right into the social scene, a colleague’s wife offered to set me up on a blind date. I gladly accepted realizing I had absolutely nothing to lose. Or did I?
An email introduction and a few phone calls later we were set for our date. He was a native of the city, and I assumed he’d offer up some suggestions as to where to dine. Note mistake number uno. A native of the city of San Francisco doesn’t necessarily equate to one who has experienced all the fine cuisine the city offers. He was versed in drive thrus and burger joints, but not well equipped to bust out creative dining suggestions. So the research effort fell on my shoulders to select a restaurant. To be safe, I chose Italian as I wasn’t sure if he could handle some more obscure cuisine pallet considering his gauntlet was used to fries and shakes. At this point I wasn’t impressed, but mustered through and believed that getting hung up on minor details wasn’t fair to either of us.
The evening of our date was wet and foggy which meant my hair was a frizz ball and my confidence surrounding my physical appearance was in the gutter. Ignoring the fact that I looked like a distant cousin of Rosanna Rosanna Danna I picked out a black outfit to make me fell better. Black anything always makes me feel better (and thinner). Minutes after a disastrous tango with the hair I heard my phone ring. It was him. He was lost. LOST? He’s a city native. How is he lost? The area in the city I lived in was a) on a north south/east west grid and b) located between major streets. Oh no, I had accepted a date with a meat and potatoes/navigationally challenged doofus. Again, I blew off my judgment and mustered on.
Fast forward to the restaurant. First impressions of this gent left me wishing I had decided to stay home and organize my sock drawer, but sometimes first impressions aren’t fair so again, I mustered on. At this point I wasn’t feeling a connection, but I thought that after an app and a glass of the bubbly things could take a turn for the better. Conversation was slow to start. I asked questions about him. I gave my best “I’m totally listening to you and hanging on every word of your story” face, but inside I was dying to go home and watch another re-run of Golden Girls. His conversation was in a lull, he had no exciting stories and didn’t go into much detail about his upbringing. Essentially, he could put fire to sleep. Quickly.
Moments later we ordered our meals (thank Gawd). At this point I am struggling for conversation and nervously talking about anything I can conjure up as to avoid the depths of awkward silence. After a few more minutes of listening to the world’s most boring man, I asked him what he liked to as a hobby. I figured that he was nervous and if I got him talking about something that he was passionate about it would ease things up. His response just about knocked me out of my chair. The one-liner he threw went a little something like, “I really enjoy sleeping.” Wow, I could think of a gazillion other things that interest me and stimulate my senses and brain activity but sleep isn’t one of them. This guy was losing points fast and furiously.
So there we were sitting in a quaint Italian eatery while I am sucking down wine and he’s as quiet as a mouse. The conversation was mainly led by moi throughout the apps and dinner portion of the meal. At this point I’ve survived watching him eat (slurp) spaghetti and I am thinking we are getting close to bailing this joint. How wrong I was. He wanted to order dessert. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Nick@Nite was calling my name and so was my sofa and PJs. But I was raised to be polite and force a smile on my face so I gladly accepted a bite of crème brulee. I’m still in shock this guy has no interests, no hobbies no real passions in life and would rather spend his Saturday afternoons dozing on the sofa rather than living it up in one of the most fascinating cities our fine nation has to offer. Moving on.
Dessert is nearing the end and I’m ready to chalk this up and head home. But wait. This Sloth orders a round of after dinner drinks/coffee. I’m now mentally banging my head against a wall completely resenting the fact that I chose and Italian restaurant given the number of courses offered on the menu. At this point I’d rather shove ice picks into the middle of my corneas than prolong this date. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he said that he played video games in his apartment and online games with other nerd-warriors I was done.
Finally, the eighteen courses were completed and it was time to take me home. But not before he got angry because he couldn’t turn onto the one-way street and threw a temper tantrum. Too bad this was the most conversation he lead the entire night. Not only did The Sloth have nerd tendencies but he possessed high amounts of major Road Rage. Awesome.
After arriving to my place, I quickly got my keys in hand, thanked him for the date and jumped out of the car quicker than a cheetah running for its kill.
He called the next day asking me out again. I politely told him that I was all of the sudden moving to Russia to study all about the Kremlin and KGB.
1) Never let a colleague’s wife you barely know set you up.
2) Find out similarities before accepting a date.
3) Stay away from online gamers who hole up in their apartments all day long to play some gross combat war game with other dweebs half way across the planet.
4) Italian on a first date could be extremely prolonged if you’re not careful.