One Date Boys

Here is, as promised, the continuation of this post the other day. If you haven't yet read about the original One Date Boy, perhaps you'll want to do that first. (Or not. It's not really a prerequisite to the sequel; I just thought I'd mention it is all.)

------------------------------------------------------

I've been dating sort of a lot lately (for me, anyway), as part of the Great Date Experiment of 2006 that I've mentioned once or thrice. While this does make for some amusing blog-fodder, it also presents a challenge for my usually fairly clear and well-compartmentalized memory. The older I get, the less astute I feel, and I've realized recently that I've actually forgotten the names (and, in some cases, even the circumstances under which I met) several of the One Date Boys of my past.

There really aren't so terribly many of them, I think. I'm definitely not the girl who gets noticed in any crowd, and I had possibly three "real" dates in all of high school and college combined, so truly I'm not any kind of record setter in this area at all. Still, even if I've averaged only 3 or 4 dates with strangers annually for every post-college year I've been single, the number has to be in the low 20s at least.

When I look at it that way, I guess it's not so surprising that my memory is fading a bit. Before too many more of them slip out of my mind, therefore, here's my list as I can remember it right now. Oh, One Date Boys, I hardly knew ye. Yet let's review, OK?

• Steve - I met Steve at a bar downtown not that long after I moved to the Twin Cities. I was new here; I had very little dating experience; and I somehow felt willing to give a chance to dang near any guy who asked for my number. Steve was a perfectly nice man, I'm sure, and we must have gotten along well enough under the influence of alcohol and ABBA music in the Warehouse District bar where we met. In the sober light of early evening at an Italian restaurant in the Mall of America, however, it was an entirely different story.
  
  The main problem was likely that we were simply at totally different places in our lives. I was 25; he was 34. I was losing all my friends to newly married lives; he was suddenly regaining single friends due to their divorces. We also had very little in common, I think. I actually cared about education and the environment and the state of the world today; he was a Republican. (OK, that was unfair, I know. I was kidding, really.) My date with Steve was one of the longest dinners I've had in a restaurant, and it wasn't because we were having such a great time and such an engrossing conversation, but because I think neither of us knew how to end it gracefully. When we finally left, we said a quick goodbye at the entrance to the parking ramp, and--shockingly--I didn't hear from him again.
  
  
• Troy - Troy was a guy my sister met through work, back when she was still married and living as a perfect Stepford Wife in a model home in Oakdale. After trying for months to come up with a casual and feasible way to introduce us, she finally decided to have a party at her house and include both of us among the guests. I felt more chemistry with a different acquaintance who showed up, but I gave Troy my number anyway, and he used it to call me--three months later. We went on one lunch date, which he expensed to his company, followed by a Pat McCurdy show during which he paid more attention to his cousin than to me. I actually saw his profile online recently. Attentiveness and business ethics were not listed as his strong points.
  
  
• What's His Name - I didn't officially go on a date with this one, but the fact that he crashed my surprise birthday party (where he met and conversed with at least 15 of my friends and family members) before even properly asking me out makes him worth mentioning, I think. What's His Name and I met near the bar at Brother's one night (back when I still went to bars like Brother's fairly regularly). A few minutes into the conversation, I was pretty sure I had no interest in the guy, and I proceeded to enact the nonverbal communication part of the Girlfriend Code, where you make expressive eye contact with your friend to indicate "It's time to move along elsewhere now." Unfortunately, on the receiving end of this eye contact was my friend Julie, who was too busy flirting with a forest ranger in a barn jacket to notice or take my plea seriously. (Since she later married the forest ranger, I guess I have to forgive her for that.)
  
  While I was in the bathroom, Julie for some reason mentioned to What's His Name that a surprise birthday party was in the works for me the following night. He must have asked about the details and she, never thinking he planned to do anything with the information, told him where and when the party was to occur. When I showed up at the restaurant the next night for what I thought was just a small get-together with my roommate and some friends, I was completely surprised to see over a dozen friends, co-workers, and family members in attendance. I was beyond surprised to see What's His Name from the night before. He came, and he brought a friend. He then spent no less than two hours discussing sports and insurance with my father, and I spent the rest of the night explaining to everyone who the strange guy was who no one knew.
  
  What's His Name called me three times in the subsequent week, each time rattling onto my voicemail a long explanation reminding me who he was and how and where we met. Some women might find that sort of persistence endearing and cute. I found it desperate and uncomfortable. I'm only slightly ashamed to admit I never called him back. I'm far more ashamed I ever gave him my number. With What's His Name, I learned an important lesson, however, and that lesson is this: Sometimes, when you give a guy your number, he actually calls. And if you don't want that to happen, perhaps you should take his number instead.
  
  
• Amoco Boy - I didn't actually go out with this one, either, but again, he makes for a good story. Amoco Boy is what I called the guy who worked at the service station near my apartment. I liked taking my car there because it was close and convenient; I could drive over and then walk home if I needed to leave my car for any extended period of time. For oil changes and minor repairs, however, I'd just sit in the waiting area while the mechanics did their work. Amoco Boy, when he was manning the service desk instead of doing the greasy work, would ask me questions about myself or comment on whatever book I was reading. He seemed nice, and he gave me several bits of free automotive advice, so I didn't mind the company at all.
  
  One night I ran into Amoco Boy at a now-defunct suburban bar, and he strangely asked me why I'd never called him. Deciding that was a clear green light indicating interest of some sort, I figured, "OK, I'll play along," and I pointed out that it was him who had access to my number, what with my being in his computer system at work and all. His response is something I remember every time I feel pessimistic about men's intentions or the elusiveness of true and monogamous love. Amoco Boy looked at me, leaned down, cocked his head to the side, and said, "You know, I thought about calling you, and I wanted to call you. I really, really did. But I figured I probably shouldn't, because I'm getting married in three months." He then turned and pointed to his fiance', cutting it up on the dance floor about 30 feet away. And I died a little bit inside. Or, at least, my faith in romance did.
  
  
• Brian - Brian was beside me at a Martin Zellar show at The Fine Line one night. We were dancing and drinking, and somehow, by the end of the set, we managed to transition pretty smoothly from conversation to kissing. Brian was a couple years younger than I, and he later explained that he was just home from college for a week's spring break. He e-mailed me from Michigan Tech several times in the following weeks, and we made plans to get together the next time he was in town. He signed each e-mail with a different last name (Brian Iglesious, Brian Diggler, Brian Cruise...) I don't even remember what his real last name was, but I suppose it's not terribly important at this point. He canceled plans with me twice--once telling me that he'd decided not to return for the weekend after all, and the next time choosing some friend or family event instead of the date with me. When we finally did get together, it was for drinks and uncomfortably gropey dancing at the Mall of America's nightclub. He may have been only two years younger than me in calendar age, but he was definitely still in college, and I was definitely not. As we walked towards our cars, he tried to convince me to come home with him, but "home" was actually his parents' house, where he was staying for the weekend. I'm not one to get lured back for some action after a first date anyway, but when that action's set to occur in the guy's childhood twin bed, it's even less appealing to me somehow. Call me crazy; it's just how it is.
  
  
• Mike - Mike was another Fine Line find--this time during one of the weekly shows the then-popular retro cover band Boogie Wonderland played each week. I'm not sure what sort of connection I felt he and I might have, but I expect that (like too many of the men in this list) it had something to do with alcohol and loud live music. Mike was the gruff and burly "man's man" sort of guy... not generally my "type," but I do try to keep an open mind. He picked me up in an Oldsmobile with a frat decal on the window, something I still find funny though I can't really explain why. Our date was a dinner at a place in Uptown that serves enormous bowls of pasta--portions so generous that no one, no one attempts to finish the whole thing. No one, that is, except Mike. (And maybe a Minnesota Viking.) Not only did Mike finish his pasta, but when the waitress reached to remove his clearly empty plate, asking just out of politeness, "Are you done with this?" he snapped at her with a mouth full of bread, "No! I'm dipping." The poor waitress cowered away, returning for his plate only after our bread basket was empty and all traces of sauce had been wiped from his dish.
  
  I've mentioned before that I've never really mastered the polite and graceful way to decline a second date offer at the end of the first date. At my doorstep that night, when Mike asked what the next step would be ("So... should I call you, or do you want to call me?"), I didn't know what to say. I think I responded with a lame and feeble, "Um, how 'bout we just play that by ear?" He apparently took the hint, because he simply said, "Oh." I didn't hear from him again, and I'm really OK with that.
  
  
• Lawyer Guy - The mystery to me on this one is that I don't remember either his name or the time or place where we met. I remember a phone conversation, during which I'm pretty sure we talked about REM and other musical interests, but I don't remember anything before that conversation, nor do I remember why we didn't just go on a normal and proper sort of date as a follow-up. For whatever reason, I must have wanted to fabricate some sort of casual and non-threatening group get-together of sorts, so I invited him for drinks after work one night with me and a couple of friends. That wouldn't be so odd, I suppose, if it was an organized (and co-ed) work happy hour that was already planned in advance, or if I'd suggested that perhaps he bring a friend or two as well. Instead, it was just me and two girlfriends, apparently screening him in some absurd way. I can't really blame him for taking a cell phone call and abruptly leaving after an hour or so in the bar. Maybe the whole situation made more sense at the time, but in retrospect, this was definitely among my more dysfunctional attempts at dating.
  
  
• Russ - Russ worked in my building at a previous job in the Twin Cities. My friend Angela and I used to see him around fairly regularly, and since we didn't know his name, we referred to him as--alternately--either Jody or Johnny Whitaker, because of his resemblance to the young boy on Family Affair. I really wasn't looking to actually meet Russ; he wasn't someone I had my eye on with any sort of interest at all. One day, I was talking to another co-worker in the hallway, though, and the guy I knew only as "Jody" stopped to talk. Apparently my co-worker and him were friends, and when he realized that she knew me, he inquired about my status and followed up by e-mail to ask me out. I'll admit Russ was interesting and very, very nice. It was a little weird to receive an e-mail listing "Top Ten Great Things about Russ" as a way of introducing himself, but I really don't think he was any sort of egocentric jerk, so I chose to think he was being clever or charming instead of absurdly arrogant. We had one date for drinks after work, and he followed up persistently during what was an unusually busy and travel-filled couple of months at my job. In the end, I have to admit that my only reason for rejecting him was that I simply wasn't attracted to him. It's shallow, but it's a fact. You can't just will chemistry to happen. He's probably married by now, to a much nicer and more open-minded woman than I. I wish him all the best.
  
  
• Greg #1 - I really wanted to like Greg. Really I did. He was a former mechanic who'd recently quit his job to pursue a nursing degree. All I could think was what a useful combination of skills that could be, and how convenient it would be to have him around. He could fix my car AND tell me whether my cough requires a doctor! Just imagine all the money I'd save! Unfortunately, it just wasn't meant to be. I think he was just as lukewarm about me as I was about him, as neither of us followed up terribly aggressively. Plus, he liked sauerkraut on his pizza, and really, how could I live with that?
  
  
• Greg #2 - Perhaps you've heard that urban myth that weddings are a great place to meet dates. I personally think this theory is entirely flawed. Men go to weddings with dates; they don't go expecting to meet dates. Still, at a friend's wedding a few years ago, I met Greg, who was there as the platonic "safety date" of a mutual friend of the couple. He seemed nice; he asked me out; he cooked me dinner at his house. It was all fine; it was just a little... awkward. I don't think Greg had dated much before. I'm not sure he'd ever even had a woman (other than his mother) in his house before. It apparently hadn't occurred to him that dainty porcelain figurines of birds and other animals might not be the most manly and modern choice with which to adorn his dining room curio shelves. I also don't think he realized the odd boundary he was crossing by sharing with a near-stranger his very personal (and almost creepy) album of thank you notes and fan letters from his current and former students. I'm sure he was just trying to demonstrate that he's a good teacher and well-liked in the hope that it might make me like him as well. I did like him, I suppose, just not in "that way." (Since we're talking about high school kids, I might as well talk like one myself, I figure.) Again, he's probably married by now, to a very sweet and kind woman who's not me. That or he was the model for Steve Carell's character in that movie we all know.
  
  
• Aaron - I met Aaron about a month after I broke up with my last boyfriend (you know--the one who was supposed to be The One). He was a friend of my sister's who I met at a happy hour she organized. We had a great conversation and seemed to have a lot in common, and it was the kind of encounter that, just weeks earlier, would have made me think, "Huh. If I were single, he might be a promising guy to go on a date with." Except I suddenly realized that now I was single, and I could go on a date with him. And we did go on a date--a couple weeks later, after a few clever e-mails back and forth. And it went fine, more or less. Good conversation, many things in common, no terribly awkward moments... In all, though, it felt more like a "friend thing" than a date. Maybe that's because we had no chemistry or maybe it had something to do with it being my first first date in nearly three years. The fact that I cried both before and after the date (for reasons that had nothing to do with the person who'd asked me on the date) was probably a pretty clear indication that I just wasn't ready. Regardless, things remain thankfully unawkward on the rare occasions I still see Aaron. I actually invited him to a party at my house last fall, and he and three of his friends all arrived wearing "I [heart] Hooters" stickers on their shirts. So maybe the one date limit was a good call after all. Incidentally, I still have one of the stickers affixed to my fridge. (Don't ask me why... I'm lazy? It's an interesting conversation piece? Probably a bit of both, I suppose.)
  
  

There are more, of course, like this guy, and this guy, and I'm sure several others that I've either completely forgotten by this point or still remember but just offered no bizarre or amusing details to relay. Regardless, I do believe I've earned my merit badge by now; wouldn't you agree?