Tall, Dark, and Hands-On

Uh oh. My inability to be affectionate has crept up on me again. My explanation for why I’m not touchy feely with a guy is because one of them hasn’t stuck around long enough for me to be comfortable with doing that. And I haven’t liked someone enough to really show that emotion. At this point, it’s been about three weeks since Eric and I met, a little bit longer since we actually started talking. We’ve kissed and that’s about it. That’s all that should be it according to my way of thinking. Eric, however, feels the opposite. I walked into his room the other day, expecting us to be leaving for dinner. There he was, with his telemarketer headset on, concentrating on his video game as if he were performing surgery. He didn’t even turn to look at me; all I got was a grunt. Ew, is this really who I’m spending my time with right now? I laid on his bed to wait for him. And wait. Andddd wait. Containing my desire to unplug the video game (it had only been three weeks, I figured I’d bust out that move after it’s been at least a month), I calmly asked him if he still wanted to go to dinner.

“I’m not that hungry anymore,” he told me, again without looking at me. Not hungry? I guess he was becoming a manorexic so he could achieve hotness. “Okaaay,” I responded, clearly peeved and confused. While I was trying to think of my next question to try and clarify, he said, “I feel like you’re really cold.” And he didn’t mean like a penguin, he meant like…well, I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I asked him. “What do you mean?” He went on to explain that I don’t touch him. Well yeah, you’re not lean and hot so why would I touch you? Ha, juuuust kidding, I’m not that shallow. “What do you mean I don’t touch you?” I asked, still unsure of where this was heading. Really, this was heading for the bottom of the ocean because the ship that Eric and I were on was sinking. Fast. He told me I’m not affectionate. I don’t touch his hand. I don’t caress his arm. I don’t kiss him for no reason. I don’t sleep with him. Yeah, did you just hear the record scratch?! That’s right, friends, I don’t sleep with him in the first three weeks, and therefore I’m cold and unaffectionate. “Too bad,” I told him. “It’s too soon for me, and if that’s an issue then I’ll leave.” He apologized by saying that he could get any girl he wanted and they would all sleep with him. “Good! Go get one of them, I’m not stopping you!” He reworded his position and said that he just wanted to feel like I was actually interested in him. Mmmhmmm, that's all he cares about. He said he’d be willing to wait, (oh, what a prince!) and I said I would make more of an effort to be “affectionate.” With no other guys coming up on my match radar, I guess I’ll try and make something work with him. That sounds like a good idea, right??

Snack Attack

Eric and I are trucking along pretty nicely. We talk everyday, but it’s not long drawn out conversations because we’re also actually spending time together. I’ve been going over there, a couple times right after school, which is good because I get to see him but then I can also claim that it’s a “school night” so I have to leave. I need to keep my distance; it’s the way I operate and what I’m comfortable with. One of our big outings was this weekend when we went to the Silver Diner for a late night snack. I got chicken noodle soup and he got a salad. Really? A salad? I’m sorry, I thought you were a guy. I can honestly say, out of all the guys I’ve ever eaten with—college friends, high school friends, cousins, uncles, dates—not ONE of them has ever ordered a salad unless it just came with the meal; a meal like steak and potatoes. What real men eat. So as if him ordering a salad wasn’t throwing my mind into a tizzy, he started commenting that my chicken noodle soup wasn’t actually that healthy for me. “It has sooo much sodium, there’s just not much nutritional value for you,” he lectured me. Now, if I wouldn’t run the risk of getting sued, I would post a picture of him right here. And then I’d post a full body picture of myself, and you all can vote on who should be giving out the health advice.

My little cup of soup spawned a monologue of Eric’s hardbody dreams. He declared he was going to get his body back into “lean” shape so he’ll be “hot.” I wanted to laugh. In his face. And point my finger at him. Along with the salad, Eric also claimed another first this evening. He was the first guy I’ve heard use the word “hot” to describe how he wants to look. I spooned every last bit of my zero nutrional value chicken noodle soup in order to keep my mouth busy so I wouldn’t call him a dbag. We survived our Silver Diner excursion, and even though my mind is drawn to the negatives, I do have to say that spending time with Eric is pretty effortless. We are both blunt with each other and very open, and he does have a caring nature to him. A couple times after school, the weather has been really nice so we’ve gone for walks around his neighborhood. It was nice for a change; instead of talking over alcohol at a crowded bar, we were enjoying the fall weather, having good conversation, and getting a tad bit of exercise. You know, so Eric can get his “lean” and “hot” body.

Batter Shape Up

My one month subscription ended at the perfect time because get this: I actually met someone, and I’ve seen him more than once. It’s hard to believe, and I’m a bit in shock over it, too. Since the first letter of names are now starting to repeat, I’ll have to assign these guys fake names. Let’s go with Eric. He’s super tall (yay!) and has dark hair (double yay!). He’s originally from this area; went to snobby Langley HS, but he seems pretty down to earth. Maybe that’s because his parents didn’t give him a total free ride, and he puts in hard work with his government job. We met up at a bar in Fairfax, and the night went well. We had a couple debates which was fun, and he didn’t hold back on saying what he really thought. A few days later, we thought it made sense for him to meet my parents. Really, though, he was picking me up to go to a Nationals’ game so he met them for a nanosecond. Thank goodness it was quick, too, because I wanted to lay the smackdown and tell him to shape up. He was so unenergized when he met them; he barely made eye contact and seemed like he didn’t care. Not the best first impression ever but I didn’t say anything even though it’s still in the back of my mind. All my dad could come away with saying to Eric was, “wow, you’re tall.” Nice one, dad. Way to pick up on the obvious.

The traffic gods smiled on us and we made it to the ballpark without any delays. Even luckier, we found some random street parking nearby and although I feared a)being mugged in the neighborhood and b) that his fairly expensive car would be stolen, I was pretty pumped to be at another baseball game. We nearly scalped some tickets from a couple wandering around, but decided to just buy them the old fashioned way. My seats with J were definitely way better, but who’s comparing? The game was fun and Eric is very easy company. On the way home, he found enjoyment in driving extremely fast. He ignored my screams (maybe shrieks) to slow down, and instead told me to notice how the sides of the back part of the seats really hold me in place. Yeah, when you kill me with your speeding, I’m sure I’m really gonna be impressed with your seats. I think he tired of hearing me yell at him, so he stopped drag racing the car next to us and drove a bit more responsibly the rest of the way home. I’ll be hanging out with him this week and hopefully he doesn’t try to impress me with his Fast and the Furious skills again.

Cat Got Your Manliness

As I sit behind my laptop, scrolling through hundreds of profiles, I’ve determined that I’m a bit of a loony when it comes to which guys I will give a chance. It’s a shame, but there are three things that are near non-negotiables for me—a guy who drives a Prius, a guy who has a cat, or a guy who has the grammar skills of a first grader. The Prius…okay, so you’re saving the world and your carbon footprint will be less than mine, but, you are also most likely a suck driver. Are you driving slowly so that we can all gawk in amazement at how wonderful you are for buying an environmentally friendly car? Well, your slowness is only giving me more time to play some sweet music for you on my horn. Go ahead, be environmentally friendly, but for me part of choosing a car is based on how the thing looks flying down the road, and really, the Prius just doesn’t do it. I’ll take a guy who drives a “gas guzzling road beast” as my BFF Mary once referred to them, over the awfully designed home for annoying drivers. Clearly, my frustration with Prius drivers in general hinders any chance of happiness I could potentially find with one.

Now, the cat thing. YOU ARE A MAN. Get a dog. A big dog. And name it Magruder or something masculine. I’ve been reading these profiles and laughing at the irony of guys who claim to be a “guys guy” but then in the pet section of their profile, I discover that they are daddy to a poodle or some of those other hamster dogs. Only worse than a hamster dog, is a cat. Generally speaking, I do think cats are pointless. They remind me of tree hopper animals, the way they can jump from place to place. It’s weird. They also just seem like a femmy animal the way they carry themselves like they're better than people. And since I don’t want to date a femmy guy, the cat is a big no-no for me. I’m pretty sure nothing would be worse than a Prius driver who owns a cat.

Actually, I guess the situation would be worse if that same guy didn’t know how to write correctly. My family knows that I’m a pretty decent grammar snob (thank you, Ms. Savage, freshman English), and I’ll cut you some slack if you mix up a “there” and “their” one time. But if you start throwing around the apostrophe, WRITE IN ALL CAPS, have more than three spelling mistakes, have a three paragraph run-on sentence, or generally look like something one of my 3rd grade students would write, then I’m not so sure we should speak. My grammar policing isn’t just limited to profiles. Oh no, my friends. I take it all the way to their emails, too. If I have to reread an email to make it feel like a coherent piece of writing, then again, not gonna work. Maybe some of the grammar or spelling oopsies are happening because someone is rushing, and so I ask, why is he rushing? Too many girls to write to? A video game to get back to playing? Whatever the reason, these guys (and maybe the girls, too) need to slow down, reread, and gosh darnit, type your stuff in Word first and use the spell check! With online dating, what we read is the first impression, and too many of these guys make me want to edit their writing and email it to them.

The more I read, the more annoyed I become with certain things so I’m sure, soon enough, my list of three will grow to more.