Last weekend was host to two dates. Jack came up first. He’s a former college football player who was just as beefy in person as he was in his pictures. We met at a restaurant for some drinks, and he was very friendly and upbeat. Conversation took off right away. He’s only a year out of college, but he has a smarty pants job doing something in economics and helping poor countries. When I started drinking my vodka sprite I was fully into our conversation. By the time I finished it, I had checked out and was focusing on the TV mounted above his head. He was talking about football and I was watching the highlights on Sports Center. After quite a few of these match dates, I felt pretty secure that “getting together for a drink” had more of a time limit invisibly attached to it than, say, going out to dinner. I expected to be with him for an hour and a half, maybe two hours. Three hours later—yes, the amount of time it would take me to get to southern Jersey, I was still there checking my phone, silently begging to go home. He was a super cute, nice, healthy, smart guy, but it just wasn’t clicking for me. I ordered only one drink and had finished it within the hour. When I didn’t order another, I thought that was the international symbol for “set me free, I’m bored.” Finally, the night came to a close, and on my way home I kept asking myself if I was being too picky. Jack really had so many great qualities (minus that he lived in D.C., ugh), and I still couldn’t make it work.
Okay. So I may have been bored with Jack, but my next date was truly treacherous. It was horrible before it even started. Scott had a decent profile, although there was nothing that stood out. Oh, well, he does have two kids so that stood out a little. We spoke on the phone to set plans, and when I asked him to meet at a restaurant that was semi-halfway between us, but leaning a little more towards me, he was not so gentlemanly about it. He told me I should go to him. Uhhh, yeah right, you’re the boy, you can travel. A few days later, I was on my way to meet Scott when he called me. He was a bit agitated that he couldn’t find the restaurant. He didn’t yell at me, but he definitely raised his voice and blamed me for not giving him exact directions. “Oh, well you didn’t ask for directions. I told you the main road it was off of and figured you’d mapquest the specifics,” was my response. Ugh, I wanted to turn my car around, but I had made it to the restaurant by then. While I sat in my car, I dictated the directions to him, and a couple minutes later, I saw him pull in. He parked pretty far from where I was, and I noticed he was on the phone. Wow, I guess he had hung up with me and right away picked up with someone else. He got out of his car so I started to get out of mine. He was still talking on the phone as we walked toward the front. My annoyance for his rude phone etiquette paused briefly because I was trying to make sense of his outfit. I thought for a moment that maybe I was out on a date with 50 Cent. Curse words are pretty much non-existent from my vocabulary, and this guy had the F word splattered across the sleeve of his shirt. Yikes, he may not be a good match for me. He continued to talk on the phone while I stood next to him for another minute. We finally went inside and sat at the bar. It was 4:00 on a Sunday afternoon and I ordered the first of my three vodka sprites that I would soak up that day. He was dreadful. When I found out that his mother was 47 years old and he had a 31 year old brother along with three other siblings, I was…holding my tongue. The father/fathers of Scott and his siblings were M.I.A. , and it took everything in me not to scream, “Why would she keep having children?!” Thank goodness for football, Sports Center, and vodka; those three combined kept me from abandoning him right there. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. I think he thought it was going well, and he would’ve stayed longer but I lied and said I had to leave.
During this past week, Scott has tried to contact me and I have ignored him. He’s not even worth the time to tell him he’s not worth my time.
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