If I can dish the insults, I should be able to take it, right? Well, let me tell you, I took it last night.
After a bit of a hiatus, I decided to get back online and check my “matches.” Low-and-behold there was a cutie that caught my eye: His name is Clinton. He wears “Elvis Costello glasses” (YUM!), he’s a landscape architect, 39-years-old, loves cooking (he’s vegan, but hey, I can hang with that), likes wine, hiking, yoga, pets & kids…
We had a nice little online courtship before we called each other to make plans for a wine-tasting last night.
I have to say I was excited for the date. He seemed right up my alley: Cute, calm, natural, genuine, quirky. Perfect, right?
WRONG.
Maybe you’re an online dater too, and you’ve had that experience where you walk into a room to meet your date, when the look of utter disappointment overcomes you. Well, that’s the look he gave me.
Yes, that’s the look HE gave ME.
Hey, I’m not conceited or anything but when I do my hair, put on a nice outfit and apply a double-dose of mascara, I don’t usually induce someone’s gag-reflex. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say.
He proceeded to be entirely snarky and sarcastic the minute he sat down; first, making fun of the wine menu: “Overtones of grass and leather?! I don’t want to taste leather… I’m a vegan.”
Hey, if you like wine, then you should expect that a WINE BAR will have such adjectives as “leathery” or “meaty” to describe the flavor of the wine. IT DOESN’T MEAN THERE IS ACTUAL MEAT IN THE WINE. And by the way, I chose this joint. Don’t insult it please.
But I held my tongue; didn’t say anything. Smiled instead. And I tried to be perky, engaging. Maybe the mood will change?
It wasn’t until about five minutes later, when he started YAWNING, that I started to get annoyed.
I’m not talking one yawn, I’m talking consecutive yawing, coupled with him taking off his Elvis-Costello-glasses and rubbing his eyes...WHILE YAWNING.
I tried to hang in there and keep the conversation going but… more yawning.
Ok, I get the point.
I asked him if he was tired and he said yes, that he didn’t get his “nap” today, after playing many hours of video games with his nephew.
So, I took the lead. I pulled out my credit card, called the bar-maiden over and asked for the check.
He looked shocked.
Really? You’re shocked? You’re shocked that I am cutting the date short because you’ve acted like a complete jackass?
As we were waiting for the check, he tried to make small talk and it looked like he felt a bit bad about the situation. He even went so far as to say, “Well, thank you, it’s not every day I get treated to wine by a lady.”
Darned right you don’t. Not acting this way.
And that’s how it ended. I paid for the drinks, shook his hand and said good night. Left him at the bar and walked to my car.
Listen…. I’m no dummy: I know all dates aren’t meant to be magical and I know when I don’t feel chemistry. But the very least a person (guy OR girl) can do is to hold-out for an hour, be gracious and kind, have a nice glass of wine, and get to know someone before judging them…or YAWNING. Body language is everything, and if you put out insulting body language, the other person will certainly pick up on it.
Better to leave it with: “Thank you for a nice evening; I’m not sure there is a connection here, but I enjoyed spending time with you. Good luck.” Easy, right?
So…. Good luck to you, Clinton.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Holy Karaoke! (a.k.a. Jerry, part 2)
Excuse me, but a man who will get up and sing Karaoke on the second date has got some major cojones.
So Jerry and I left the wine bar about 10 o’clock and headed to a great little hole-in-the-wall near my apartment that I like to frequent when I am bored and the night is young. The female bartender, who is full-bodied-Betty-Paige-esque-and-likes-to-pour-my-drinks-really-strong, always kicks out the old-timer who’s sitting on my bar stool in front to the TOTALLY AWESOME trivia machine.
Yes, I like feed dollar bills into a machine that tests my knowledge about music, pop culture, food, geography and even a word puzzle or two, because I like to throw my money away while getting drunk on martinis.
You know who else likes to do this? Jerry.
And so went the night: Dollar bills in a trivia machine… beers and martinis… and yes, Karaoke.
I’m not a huge karaoke fan. I mean, I don’t mind it and it’s actually fun to watch, but I think I’ve only done it a couple times in my life. However, upon our arrival, it took Jerry all of five seconds to put his name on the list.
Um yeah… I was totally going to stick around for this.
He told me he was going to sing “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf, and considering that most of the youngsters in the crowd were singing show-tunes and pop songs, I doubted his choice.
But apparently, there’s something about a song that everyone knows the words to and can sing at the top of their lungs that really gets a crowd going. By the end of the song people were standing and cheering. Way to work the room, Jerry, way to work the room…
As for working me, well, that will take a little more time. After another martini and some gratuitous half-drunken public displays of affection, like a good girl, I turned him away at my apartment door.
It sucks being a good girl.
So Jerry and I left the wine bar about 10 o’clock and headed to a great little hole-in-the-wall near my apartment that I like to frequent when I am bored and the night is young. The female bartender, who is full-bodied-Betty-Paige-esque-and-likes-to-pour-my-drinks-really-strong, always kicks out the old-timer who’s sitting on my bar stool in front to the TOTALLY AWESOME trivia machine.
Yes, I like feed dollar bills into a machine that tests my knowledge about music, pop culture, food, geography and even a word puzzle or two, because I like to throw my money away while getting drunk on martinis.
You know who else likes to do this? Jerry.
And so went the night: Dollar bills in a trivia machine… beers and martinis… and yes, Karaoke.
I’m not a huge karaoke fan. I mean, I don’t mind it and it’s actually fun to watch, but I think I’ve only done it a couple times in my life. However, upon our arrival, it took Jerry all of five seconds to put his name on the list.
Um yeah… I was totally going to stick around for this.
He told me he was going to sing “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf, and considering that most of the youngsters in the crowd were singing show-tunes and pop songs, I doubted his choice.
But apparently, there’s something about a song that everyone knows the words to and can sing at the top of their lungs that really gets a crowd going. By the end of the song people were standing and cheering. Way to work the room, Jerry, way to work the room…
As for working me, well, that will take a little more time. After another martini and some gratuitous half-drunken public displays of affection, like a good girl, I turned him away at my apartment door.
It sucks being a good girl.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Don't Judge Me...
So last night I went out on a second date with none other than the guy who inspired me to write this blog. Yes folks, I went out again with Jerry.
Don’t ask me why. Maybe it was the “kissy face” that I liked or the fact that he’s one of the few people in the world, much less Los Angeles, who is also Jeff Buckley fan (and NOT crazy), or maybe it was the fact that there was an all-too-close near miss of him reading my blog the day I posted it on Facebook and failed to realize he had already “friend-requested” me. Near miss, indeed.
Whatever the reason, he asked me out again. And I needed a stiff drink and, yes, some kissy face.
I gotta tell ya, the old saying about first impressions is right. Perhaps I was soured by my second-chance-at-a-first-date with “The Aussie” (a story which will reveal itself via blog over the three-day weekend), but this time around, the second date was hit.
Jerry picked me up at my apartment and, like a gentleman, made reservations at a great local wine bar/bistro. As a foodie, I was in heaven. But remember Jerry’s little obsession (or lack thereof) with food? Yes, it’s still there. Here was his order:
“Cheese pizza, please. Plain. Crust thin, cooked crisp. Tomato sauce and a little cheese. I want it bubbly and browned, but not burnt.”
But yet, he said it with such a genuine smile that the waitress immediately acquiesced, and even got the entire kitchen staff on board! In fact, we saw the cook chopping and crushing fresh tomatoes especially for his pizza because the idea of an over-spiced sauce was just too much for him to handle.
Hey, I am a food snob… so I can relate. Let’s talk pesto. Pesto consists of the following ingredients:
Basil
Pine nuts
Parmesan Cheese
Garlic
Olive Oil
Salt & Pepper
Separately, I absolutely ADORE these ingredients. But puree them in a food processor and serve them as a sauce? Yuck. I don’t know why… but, YUCK. Tastes like rubber tires. (I’ve never actually chewed on a rubber tire but I imagine this is what it would taste like.)
So anyway, Jerry, in his adorable and persuasive manner, managed to get his pizza EXACTLY the way he wanted it.
Impressive, indeed.
I had a caprese salad… pesto on the side.
After two glasses of wine, a lot of conversation and a pretty darned good meal, we decided to take off to a local dive bar near my apartment.
That’s when the fun began.
Don’t ask me why. Maybe it was the “kissy face” that I liked or the fact that he’s one of the few people in the world, much less Los Angeles, who is also Jeff Buckley fan (and NOT crazy), or maybe it was the fact that there was an all-too-close near miss of him reading my blog the day I posted it on Facebook and failed to realize he had already “friend-requested” me. Near miss, indeed.
Whatever the reason, he asked me out again. And I needed a stiff drink and, yes, some kissy face.
I gotta tell ya, the old saying about first impressions is right. Perhaps I was soured by my second-chance-at-a-first-date with “The Aussie” (a story which will reveal itself via blog over the three-day weekend), but this time around, the second date was hit.
Jerry picked me up at my apartment and, like a gentleman, made reservations at a great local wine bar/bistro. As a foodie, I was in heaven. But remember Jerry’s little obsession (or lack thereof) with food? Yes, it’s still there. Here was his order:
“Cheese pizza, please. Plain. Crust thin, cooked crisp. Tomato sauce and a little cheese. I want it bubbly and browned, but not burnt.”
But yet, he said it with such a genuine smile that the waitress immediately acquiesced, and even got the entire kitchen staff on board! In fact, we saw the cook chopping and crushing fresh tomatoes especially for his pizza because the idea of an over-spiced sauce was just too much for him to handle.
Hey, I am a food snob… so I can relate. Let’s talk pesto. Pesto consists of the following ingredients:
Basil
Pine nuts
Parmesan Cheese
Garlic
Olive Oil
Salt & Pepper
Separately, I absolutely ADORE these ingredients. But puree them in a food processor and serve them as a sauce? Yuck. I don’t know why… but, YUCK. Tastes like rubber tires. (I’ve never actually chewed on a rubber tire but I imagine this is what it would taste like.)
So anyway, Jerry, in his adorable and persuasive manner, managed to get his pizza EXACTLY the way he wanted it.
Impressive, indeed.
I had a caprese salad… pesto on the side.
After two glasses of wine, a lot of conversation and a pretty darned good meal, we decided to take off to a local dive bar near my apartment.
That’s when the fun began.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
If You're Wondering...
If you’re wondering what keeps a surly single woman from blogging, I’m betting to say it’s because her family is in town.
And while I love my family dearly, they still have the ability to suck away every moment of my free time while they are here. (I humbly oblige, of course.)
But right now its 2pm on a Sunday afternoon. All is quiet and I have nothing to do.
Finally.
:)))))))))))))))))
And while I love my family dearly, they still have the ability to suck away every moment of my free time while they are here. (I humbly oblige, of course.)
But right now its 2pm on a Sunday afternoon. All is quiet and I have nothing to do.
Finally.
:)))))))))))))))))
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
How am I Supposed to...
How am I supposed to get over a man who writes me things like this? (Sent to me just last night, btw)...
“Kat, I cannot bear this silence. I do not thrive in it and I fight to understand it. It has eaten me alive. I want to be your friend but I do not know if I can separate the lover in me. I want to sit across a dinner table but I would probably find that the plates get in the way of stroking your hand; I want to go to a movie, but your smell would probably make me dizzy. I want to be your friend nevertheless.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.”
(Pablo Neruda)
That, my friends, is The Argentine.
“Kat, I cannot bear this silence. I do not thrive in it and I fight to understand it. It has eaten me alive. I want to be your friend but I do not know if I can separate the lover in me. I want to sit across a dinner table but I would probably find that the plates get in the way of stroking your hand; I want to go to a movie, but your smell would probably make me dizzy. I want to be your friend nevertheless.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.”
(Pablo Neruda)
That, my friends, is The Argentine.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sushi with The Teacher (a.k.a "Just Kidding")
Have you ever seen that sketch on SNL Weekend Update where actress Kristin Wiig comes out as “Judy Grimes, the ‘Just Kidding Woman’”? (If you haven't, watch it here)
That was my date.
The Teacher was actually a really nice guy. REALLY. I mean, seriously, a nice guy. And I could tell he loves being a dad (I have a super Spidey sense in this area).
I don’t know if he was nervous or just the Chatty Cathy type, but man-oh-man, this guy could be an auctioneer with how fast he talked. And what I found strange was that he kept making really bad jokes and then saying, “just kidding” after them.
A word of advice: If you have to say just kidding at the end of a joke, your delivery was too poor for it to actually be considered a joke.
I have to admit that it was overall a pretty good date. But as sushi came to an end I just had to face the fact that there was NO chemistry between us. I’m sure he wasn't expecting me to go home directly after dinner, but when I offered to pay for half the check, I think he got the hint.
He didn’t let me pay. An outright gentlemanly move. So thank you, Teacher. You really are a nice guy, and nice guys don't always finish last.
They just don't get to sleep with me.
("Just kidding")
;)
That was my date.
The Teacher was actually a really nice guy. REALLY. I mean, seriously, a nice guy. And I could tell he loves being a dad (I have a super Spidey sense in this area).
I don’t know if he was nervous or just the Chatty Cathy type, but man-oh-man, this guy could be an auctioneer with how fast he talked. And what I found strange was that he kept making really bad jokes and then saying, “just kidding” after them.
A word of advice: If you have to say just kidding at the end of a joke, your delivery was too poor for it to actually be considered a joke.
I have to admit that it was overall a pretty good date. But as sushi came to an end I just had to face the fact that there was NO chemistry between us. I’m sure he wasn't expecting me to go home directly after dinner, but when I offered to pay for half the check, I think he got the hint.
He didn’t let me pay. An outright gentlemanly move. So thank you, Teacher. You really are a nice guy, and nice guys don't always finish last.
They just don't get to sleep with me.
("Just kidding")
;)
Oh God, What Have I Done....
Last night I went on my third “first date" since being 35 and newly single. And while I am still very new to the online dating world, I realized at the end of the night that I really should start writing this stuff down because not even Hunter S. Thompson could dream up some of the weird shit that happens on first dates.
I shall at some point divulge how I became single at 35 with a 4-year-old daughter and why exactly I waited an entire year after the separation from my husband to embark on an online dating mission (namely one very sexy Argentine). But for now I'll focus on my most recent first date: Jerry. Jerry is 41 and I met him last night at a great little seedy bar & grill in Toluca Lake.
I’m calling him Jerry because he works in the production offices of a very prominent Hollywood producer by the same name, and trust me, he won’t let you forget it. It’s not that he’s pretentious per se, because we talked ad nauseum about how morally corrupt the entertainment industry can be. But he did deem himself the authority on everything there is to know about movies…and screenplays…and actors…and music…and pop culture….
But food? When the issue of grabbing a bite to eat came up, he proceeded to tell me that he only eats the following foods: Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches, French Fries, Pancakes, Scrambled Eggs, Carrots, Mixed Nuts and Chips.
Chicken? “Nope.”
Pasta? “Nuh-uh.”
Fish? “Forget it.”
Meat? “Well, I DO eat hamburgers…but plain.” Plain means a burger and a bun. No cheese, no lettuce, no pickles, no nuthin.
Excuse me, but did I mention I’m a chef?
Jerry’s profile appeared to be fantastic: He touted himself as romantic, passionate, poetic, sensitive, likes kids & dogs, etc., etc. And after my last two disastrous “first” dates, he seemed refreshing.
But romantic and passionate soon turned into a wee-bit crazy.
Well into his 3rd glass of wine, Jerry decided to kiss me. And hey, it wasn’t bad. Certainly a better kiss than date-guy #1 and date-guy #2 was a total flop so, what the hell, right? A girl could use a little kissy-face sometimes.
But suddenly I felt like the “mouse” in Of Mice and Men. In the seconds that followed our first lip-lock, somehow I became his main squeeze…literally. He sidled up next to me in the booth and wrapped his arm around me so tight I felt as if I was in a straight jacket. And he wasn’t just holding my hand, or caressing it, or even massaging it, but CRUSHING IT. I had to play a little offensive guard to say the least.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately (but it gave me a reason to leave), I received a phone call that my daughter wasn’t feeling well, so I politely excused myself for the evening. Jerry was generous enough to pick up the tab for our drinks… but, did I mention he whipped out a calculator to figure the tip? Oy vey…
Tonight: Dinner with "The Teacher."
I shall at some point divulge how I became single at 35 with a 4-year-old daughter and why exactly I waited an entire year after the separation from my husband to embark on an online dating mission (namely one very sexy Argentine). But for now I'll focus on my most recent first date: Jerry. Jerry is 41 and I met him last night at a great little seedy bar & grill in Toluca Lake.
I’m calling him Jerry because he works in the production offices of a very prominent Hollywood producer by the same name, and trust me, he won’t let you forget it. It’s not that he’s pretentious per se, because we talked ad nauseum about how morally corrupt the entertainment industry can be. But he did deem himself the authority on everything there is to know about movies…and screenplays…and actors…and music…and pop culture….
But food? When the issue of grabbing a bite to eat came up, he proceeded to tell me that he only eats the following foods: Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches, French Fries, Pancakes, Scrambled Eggs, Carrots, Mixed Nuts and Chips.
Chicken? “Nope.”
Pasta? “Nuh-uh.”
Fish? “Forget it.”
Meat? “Well, I DO eat hamburgers…but plain.” Plain means a burger and a bun. No cheese, no lettuce, no pickles, no nuthin.
Excuse me, but did I mention I’m a chef?
Jerry’s profile appeared to be fantastic: He touted himself as romantic, passionate, poetic, sensitive, likes kids & dogs, etc., etc. And after my last two disastrous “first” dates, he seemed refreshing.
But romantic and passionate soon turned into a wee-bit crazy.
Well into his 3rd glass of wine, Jerry decided to kiss me. And hey, it wasn’t bad. Certainly a better kiss than date-guy #1 and date-guy #2 was a total flop so, what the hell, right? A girl could use a little kissy-face sometimes.
But suddenly I felt like the “mouse” in Of Mice and Men. In the seconds that followed our first lip-lock, somehow I became his main squeeze…literally. He sidled up next to me in the booth and wrapped his arm around me so tight I felt as if I was in a straight jacket. And he wasn’t just holding my hand, or caressing it, or even massaging it, but CRUSHING IT. I had to play a little offensive guard to say the least.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately (but it gave me a reason to leave), I received a phone call that my daughter wasn’t feeling well, so I politely excused myself for the evening. Jerry was generous enough to pick up the tab for our drinks… but, did I mention he whipped out a calculator to figure the tip? Oy vey…
Tonight: Dinner with "The Teacher."
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