Remember when this was almost fully a dating blog? Let's revisit that for a moment, OK?

Don't ask me why I remember this (it's just one of the many, many bits of useless television knowledge I have rattling around in my brain), but I recall an old episode of Who's the Boss where Tony and Angela try to set up Tony's friend with Angela's cousin--a cousin who is thirty years old and has been on only three dates. "That's a date a decade," Mona pointed out for emphasis. As a kid, I understood that this woman must be a socially inept and undateable loser, but somewhere around my early twenties, I started to think, "A date a decade? Hm. Yeah, that's about right."

I'm exaggerating, of course; I think I've already clarified that I had my fair share of dates before my thirtieth birthday, but I was a late bloomer nonetheless. High school and college weren't particularly active for me, date-wise, and I sort of think that all the dating I've been doing this year is almost making up for lost time, in a way.

I haven't talked about any dates lately, but it's not because I've met Mr. Perfect-for-Me and just decided to keep him a secret for a while longer; it's because I haven't had any dates in the past couple months. I may have had a much-talked-about post-wedding reception encounter that I blame on the inhibitions-lowering combo of wine and formal wear, but nothing that could reasonably be considered a date.

Frankly, this has been a nice break for me. While I was in meMarmony's matching database, I was regularly meeting and agreeing to have drinks with strangers as though it were actually some fun new hobby and not a series of mostly awkward social encounters that left me wishing I'd just stayed home and watched episodes of Mary Tyler Moore on DVD. Deep down, however, I must be some kind of masochist (or, to look at it a better way, some kind of optimist), because lately I've been feeling like it's time to get back out there and try yet again.

It was with that thought in mind, then, that I agreed to meet the guy mentioned as #5 in this post*, despite the series of ever less interesting and ever more poorly written emails that led up to our little get-together. I'd like to think I was guided by optimism and open-mindedness as I headed out the door for the evening, but I'm a little ashamed to admit that the fumbling writer in me was probably thinking a bad date might actually make for better blog fodder. Self-fulfilling prophesies be damned; at least I'd have a post for the morning!

Unfortunately, it was all pretty uneventful, so I don't have any particularly shocking or amusing stories to relay. It is Friday, however, and you know what that means. The details I am going to share will be presented in five-point-list form.


Five random things about my date last night

1. We met at the same place as my first date with "sheep testicles** guy." Because this is apparently the place where I can say wildly inappropriate things and still be deemed charming and receive a request for a second date, I somehow found a way to crack a joke about the Holocaust. A joke. About the Holocaust. And he laughed. Because, you know, those tortured Jews really are a laugh riot. I am so totally going to hell. Maybe I'll meet some Nazis there. I'm sure we'll have much to discuss.
   
   
2. I don't mean to imply that alcohol is in any way necessary for a good time, but it surely does help a bit at times, don't you agree? This guy, however, did not have a drink until he was in his mid-twenties. No, a medical condition, religious conviction, or alcoholic in the family were not factors in this decision. He just never felt particularly compelled to enjoy a drink. Apparently by now he's up to a glass or two of wine a month, which means he'd make an excellent designated driver, I suppose, but still, it's a point of view I'm having a hard time understanding. No drinks? Nearly never? But why not??
   
   
3. It occurred to me about midway through the date that this guy has the same last name as Darren (not to mention a first name that's only a few characters different as well), and I pondered for a minute what a crazy coincidence and a miniscule world it would be if Darren actually had a cousin in St. Paul and I was having a Chai with him. I highly, highly doubt that is the case, but it amused me nonetheless.
   
   
4. I may zero in involuntarily on a misplaced comma or apostrophe, but I don't often focus on some bothersome feature of a companion's appearance and find myself unable to make peace with it in any way. At least five times during this date, however, I wanted to ask the guy sitting across from me if he was aware that the narrow strip of facial hair between his lower lip and chin was actually off center just a tad. Who am I? Why would I notice that? (But more importantly, why doesn't he?)
   
   
5. Deciding we hadn't yet covered all "the usual topics," the guy chose to ask me about my musical tastes. After returning a blank stare at nearly every band I mentioned, he explained that he really doesn't listen to anything current. "Current," incidentally, seems to mean anything released in the last twenty years. I'm not saying that's a bad thing; I'm sure he's got some great and classic favorites that withstand the test of time. But why on earth would you bring up music if the conversation that follows is bound to make you sound like you've spent the better part of your life locked in a bomb shelter? I'm just saying.
   

Despite all of this nitpickery and mocking, however, it wasn't a bad time overall. I don't think we've got a love connection, Chuck, but the jury could probably deliberate just a bit longer. Or maybe not. We shall see.



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* My my. Could I possibly be any more clicky-clicky link-link with this post? I don't really expect anyone to click back on all of these, but I figure source material can at times be beneficial.

** Oh goodie. I found yet another way to work the word "testicles" into a blog entry. Keep on coming, all you "castration story" freaks. I see you in my Sitemeter lists; don't think I don't know you're there.