Click for Parts One and Two of The Blind Date.
And now on to the conclusion (enough applauding) of the worst blind date ever.
We parted with no direct plans to meet again, just the obligatory "I'll call you." I walked away, shaking my head, quite sure I would never again have such an odd date. And equally certain that Matt would be a nothing more than a colorful part of my past.
But I was wrong.
I knew that Matt was definitely interested in seeing me again. I was, after all, the older (23) woman. A divorcee at that. And he wasn't exactly cluing in to my obvious disinterest. So, it didn't surprise me that he called a few times the next day. This was before the age of caller ID (remember *69?), but I did have an answering machine. I really didn't want to talk to him, so I just let the machine pick up. His excitement was pitiful and I kind of felt sorry for the poor guy. But not sorry enough to respond to his calls. I figured he'd get the message after a few days.
When Monday morning rolled around, I prepared my venom for Paula. I still couldn't believe that she had described this guy as tall, handsome and about my age. Granted, a five year age difference is not that big of a deal at 30. But 18 and 23 can be light years apart. Especially when the 18 year-old is still living with his parents. But I didn't get a chance to yell at Paula before she was congratulating me.
"Wow, Matt says you guys really hit it off! He called to thank me yesterday. He said you're going to get together again soon? Am I good or what?"
I spend the next few minutes explaining the "or what."
She insisted that she still thought he was cute, and didn't realize he was so young, and couldn't really judge heights well. But she laughed at his naivety and promised to help let him down gently.
He continued to call daily for at least a week, but the phone finally stopped ringing.
Then I met a guy named Dave. He was tall. He was handsome. And he was my age. He did still live with his mom, but that was different because, well, he was so damn cute. And did I mention tall? And handsome? I was a goner. We started spending every day together and soon Dave was a regular feature at my apartment.
One day about a week into my relationship with Dave, Paula stopped by my desk. She said a really angry Matt had come into the hospital where she worked. When she asked him what was wrong, he said that he was upset because I was seeing someone else. She asked him how he knew this, and he said he had seen a guy going into my apartment.
Screeeeeeeeeeech!! Back up. Matt? The guy from weeks ago? The blind date whom I had met at a restaurant miles from where I lived saw a guy going into my apartment?
The apartment complex where I lived had come up several times in conversation with Matt, because many of the Baltimore Ravens also lived there. But that meant that he had staked out the complex (huge!) until he saw me (he wouldn't have recognized my truck). I wasn't scared, but I was pissed.
I wasn't serving the Lord at the time, and my language was a bit more colorful. A lot more colorful. It was neon. I called Matt up when I got home and gave him hell. I didn't know Dave very well yet, but I already could tell that Dave was a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of guy, so I refrained from telling him. In retrospect, that was a wise choice. A few weeks or maybe months later, I did finally tell him, but I never did let him know what fire department Matt worked for. Dave still asks me periodically.
I guess it finally sunk in to Matt that he and I were just not going to happen. I never heard from him again. But I spent the rest of my time in Baltimore scanning the parking lot. And I will never forget that date!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Blind Date...From Hell...With A Side Of Stalker
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Blind Date.....From Hell
Before I continue the blind date from hell story, I need to take care of some business.
First, I wanted to thank the always funny Mama Bear, Penelope Anne from Cafe at the End of the Universe for the You Make Me Smile award.
I will be passing this on a bit later in the week.
I also wanted to let my readers know about a wonderful new site the Fabulous Mrs. Fussypants has started called MarriageHacks. Full of insightful articles and helpful advice, it is a must-read for any women who wants to learn the Gentle Art of Ruling her Husband! There is also a private, invitation-only support group of Extraordinary Wives. Sometimes I hit 10:00pm and realize that my adult conversation has been limited to 2 text messages from Dave. Having an online support group of caring ladies who are more interested in building up their marriages instead of husband-bashing is a true blessing. You can click on the link in my left column for more information.
Now, on to the rest of the story. Click to read part one of The Blind Date
Matt turned around and looked up at me with a smile on his face. Or at least, part of him looked up at me. You see, one eye was looking right at me, but the other eye was looking about six feet to my right.
Oh crap, what to do? Do I slouch down, slip off my heels and try to at least achieve eye-level? But then eye-level would present a new problem. Do I look at the good eye, or do I look at the wanderer? I knew I should just look at the good eye, but it was like a bad car accident. You know you shouldn't look, but you just can't help it. Outside, I was all maturity, but inside I was giggling like a middle-schooler.
I composed my inner girl, focused on the eye that was looking at me and began the small-talk. Because we had talked so often and at such length on the phone, it was actually a pretty comfortable beginning. Comfortable in the yes-I-am-with-a-midget-with-a-crazy-eye-wearing-a-volunteer-firefighter-jacket sort of way.
I asked if he wanted to sit at the bar, but he declined.
warning #4: any 20-something man who declines any alcohol on a blind-date, may not be quite as 20-something as you have been led to believe.
Now, maybe I was feeling guilty for having cancelled on him several times, or maybe I was just up to a challenge, but I was determined to stick dinner out and at least enjoy some conversation and food. He, on the other hand, had other ideas.
A few minutes after we sat down, Matt asked me about my parents. He knew I was in the middle of a divorce (yeah, I wrote newly divorced last post, but it wasn't actually finalized or anything. That part didn't actually happen until 3 weeks before Dave and I got married, but that's just a minor detail, not even worth mentioning. Forget I said anything), and I had mentioned that my parents had finally accepted that idea (not that they ever particularly cared for my ex; they just hated the idea of divorce). So his follow-up question threw me off-guard.
"Did you tell them about me, yet?"
HUH?
"Um, you mean that I'm on a date? Nooooo, I don't really talk to my parents about my social life" (See forgotten comment not mentioned above)
He hemmed and hawed a bit, but it was obvious that he didn't just mean I was on a date, rather, he thought I would have told my parents about him, specifically.
warning #5: if he thinks dates should be discussed with one's parents before they actually occur, he may have issues larger than the obvious.
The conversation naturally steered itself towards his parents and then a shocker. Because no-taste, no-height and dual-vision were not enough for one night.
"Well, I told my mom all about you and before I left, she gave me a hug and said, 'If she's not Jewish, don't even think about falling for her.'"
By this time, the warning bells were clanging so loudly I could hardly hear my response.
"Oh, how sweet, you stopped at your moms before coming here. You guys sound really close." In that Mommy-Dearest sort of way.
"Oh, no, I still live with my parents." OK, so he's still living with his parents. So either he's a 23 year old with some delayed adolescence issues or...
"Wow, so how old are you anyway?" And why the heck didn't I think to ask this vital piece of information in one of our many conversations.
"Eighteen."
And right about then, I started planning how to kill Paula, the friend who had convinced me that I had to date her tall, handsome, about-my-age perfect man. MAN. Not boy, not teenager, not kid still living at home.
By that point, I was just ready to hit the door, but I figured I would at least finish my dinner. Heck, maybe his mom was buying and I wouldn't have to even open my purse!
We finished the rest of our meal in lively conversation. He was either too naive or too in love (the third part of this tale lends itself to the latter), to realize how unlikely a union this was, and there were no awkward lulls. I even got used to the eye.
We parted with no direct plans to meet again, just the obligatory "I'll call you." I walked away, shaking my head, quite sure I would never again have such an odd date. And equally certain that Matt would be a nothing more than a colorful part of my past.
But I was wrong.
to be continued...
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Blind Date
Valentine's Day is around the corner. Our minds are turned to finding creative ways to show our loved ones we care. Romantic evenings. Chocolates and lingerie. Nooners. Intimate dinner dates.
My mind turns back to a particular dinner date many years ago.
A particular blind date.
I was 22, newly divorced, and living in Baltimore. I had been dating here and there, but nothing serious. I had been married so young that I'd only dated high school and college boys, previously. Dating real men was exciting. Mature men who owned cars and houses, who knew how to cook, who knew how to choose a bottle of wine and hold a conversation.
I had a good friend Paula, with whom I worked, that was always trying to set me up with someone she knew. Feeling quite confident with my abilities to pick my own men, I usually ignored her. But one day, she burst into work exclaiming that she had found the perfect man for me.
She worked part-time at a hospital and had struck up a friendship with a firefighter/EMT.
Firefighter? My ears perked up. She said he was tall, handsome, about my age, funny, strong and completely confident. I was relatively flexible on the first few, but the strong and confident sealed the deal.
I am a strong and sometimes abrasive chick. The only softness I have now is the direct result of procreating, and it was definitely lacking at that point in my life. I had been intimidating men since the ripe age of 3, and men who melted at my feet were getting very boring. Hearing Paula say strong and confident was music to my ears.
I gave her permission to give him my phone number and promptly forgot about it.
Imagine my surprise to find a message on my machine that very evening when I came home.
warning #1: if he calls you within hours of receiving your phone number, run.
He said his name was Matt and he was definitely interested in getting together sometime. His voice sounded sexy (which we all know is an excellent reason to make plans with a complete stranger), but as I refused to show any sign of desperation, I waited until the next night and called him back.
We chatted for a few minutes and made plans for that weekend. He seemed funny and bright and I was actually looking forward to the date. But, being the selfish and thoughtless brat that I was, I cancelled when other plans came up.
He was completely understanding (and I'm sure I was completely deceiving), and we set another time for the following week. We chatted for a bit longer this time, and again I got off the phone excited by the prospect of meeting him.
And, again, I bailed. I'm not sure exactly why, but perhaps my psyche sensed something was off.
I called to apologize (can you believe two family deaths in the same month?), and we talked for a full hour. His job sounded exciting, he talked about his family with respect and love and he was genuinely funny. We set a third date and I was bound and determined to keep it this time.
warning #2: if he's still willing to meet you after two broken dates, keep these three words in mind. Des. Per. Ate.
We planned to meet at the Inner Harbor for dinner. I wasn't willing to make any more complex plans, and he was perfectly happy to meet at the restaurant. I dressed casually, but with my signature 3 1/2 inch heels. Paula had said he was tall, so I knew that wasn't a problem. I headed into the city with less pre-date jitters than I expected. We had spoken at such length, on the phone, that I already felt a certain connection with Matt that most blind dates lacked.
As I milled through the crowd standing outside the restaurant, my eyes were drawn to a guy standing with his back to me. And I instantly knew it was he. How had I known? Was Paula's description that good? Did I experience an instant electrical jolt that drew me across the room?
Actually, it was his Baltimore County Volunteer Firefighter jacket that gave it away.
warning #3: do I actually need to write this one out?
I guess, at this point, I could have done the duck-and-run, but I decided to go ahead and see where the evening led.
As I walked towards him, I noticed that he was not as tall as I had expected. I began to regret the 3 1/2 heels. I tapped him on the shoulder and hesitantly said, "Matt?"
Matt turned around and looked up at me with a smile on his face. Or at least, part of him looked up at me. You see, one eye was looking right at me, but the other eye was looking about six feet to my right.
to be continued....
