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.
Lesson Learned:
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.
