While Charles the newly-adolescent-again divorced cop kept text-molesting me about when we were going to go about “that second date”, my profile caught the attention of Ben_Rocks, a rock-climbing wine-snob and a physician….
…. and nerd (I didn’t find anything wrong),
…. and with an emoji-stricken profile (I thought THAT was slightly, uh, emo…),
… and used words I had to freakin’ Google (to me that’s just waaayyy too either pretentious or arrogant OR I’m just really lazy)
… aaaaaand quite honestly, I found it odd WHY he kept talking to me for 3 straight nights (and why did I keep talking to him, huh ???).
Sure, we matched 93%. Meh. He’s 5’5. AGAIN, it’s 3/3 (EQ, sex, physical attraction). His profile pictures are of him drinking wine, climbing a huge rock formation, him with his children, him on top of a rock formation, a selfie, and more rock-climbing. Of course, he asked if I have tried. Of course, I was honest and said that I haven’t and that it was not on my list. Good lawd, if there was anything about Ben_Rocks, it was most probably the question of, “what if he was a rockstar in person and was actually soooo totally kind and funny (and eventually has mad skillz like Johnny Sins)”?
He quotes movies and I can’t get them. Ha. The only ones I’m sure I can nail are American Pie’s Michelle’s and anything with “Strong in the Force…” . We message each other online until I give him my number. He asked me, “So when are we going out for a drink?”
The goal was to meet people. Ben didn’t seem boring as fuck and he did seem like a nice guy – 93% was nice enough and he’s a doctor for crying out loud. We set for a dinner date on a Friday. In the morning of Friday, Ben sends his normal morning emojis. The day goes on and I get ready to meet Ben.
“Oh by the way, I am totally wearing casual. I have not showered. Jeans and I’m wearing my down jacket.” He sent through text.
The leggings are off. Boots off. Boy, was I so relieved. Why was I even getting dolled up for this mountain-climbing wine-snob? Hee. My recent favorite skinny, acid wash high-waist jeans replaced the leggings and the Tory Burch flats replaced the boots. Green pullover sweater top. I have to constantly remind myself when dating short men (not that it’s been my routine lately) not to be sporting the stilettos.
Just to make sure I wouldn’t starve in case we were to just drink the entire night, I had a bowl of cereal before heading out of the house. Quick and easy.
Ben looked exactly as the picture. We met inside a novelty shop midway where we both lived. He had glasses on, jeans and a messenger bag. I remembered he said, “I’m packing some booze!!!” before we both said were headed out. He insisted we dined at my recommendation but unfortunately got seated next to where the salsa band later played. It got too loud that it was too hard (and that’s what she said) for us to decipher what each of us was telling each other. 50% Of the conversation comprised of “What?!” or “Say that again?”. The other 50% of it? Well. Ben didn’t waste time and gave me the universal signal for “cuckoo in the head” to indicate an adjective for his ex-wife. He did so repetitiously too. If you are not familiar with this gesture. Place your index finger next to any which of your ears – usually the corresponding side works best -and just make a whirl with your wrist while pointing that index finger and voilá! The universal sign for, you get it.
I had a feeling he wasn’t over it. It didn’t take long before I put Ben under the category of divorced men who escape into online dating in order to “find someone” not as a their new found romance but as a substitute for pricey, yet ineffective and boring. This is how I see men who discuss their previous relationships to stangers too soon or too quick : if they can’t keep their private life on their own, how much of your private life, once you’re together can they keep? If he doesn’t make it down the road with me, I sure will be the subject of his anecdotes in the not so distant future too. The pressure was on all of a sudden on me…And I didn’t quite like it.
Before anything, I pigged out like the next Miss Universe would if she was in front of the United Nations delegates.
With finesse.
The wine bottle he brought was a 10-year old Bourdeaux which, if I’m not mistaken, he could almost ask me for a Yelp review. He was waiting for me to make a comment about whether or not I liked it or it was just a, “Meh.”. To be honest I couldn’t care any less and I am pretty sure I have had better wine that would be much cheaper than what he had brought.
“Would you like to split?” I offered when the bill came. He shook his head and he paid.
“Best feed your therapist, if not I shall send you the bill.” I spoke in my head.
We left the restaurant and walked around for a little while when he started to look for a foot massage.
“At this hour ?” I asked him.
“I kinda have been wanting my feet massaged.” He replied.”Haven’t you had a foot massage before ?”
“Not at 10 in the evening.”
He insisted to look for the place he told me he had been to. Like a 10-year-old kid who drags his mom to see real-life Pokémon at the zoo. It just isn’t happening. He keeps walking to that direction anyway and here I was, like a metal to a magnet, followed him. Ugh!!!
He cannot seem to find the fucking foot massage parlor!!!
We Yelp it to find out the massage place closed at 7 PM every night.
This is when I start imagining myself pulling my hair, rolling my eyeballs upward, taking slow breaths, and telling myself, “It will be over soon.”
OK Shoot Me (Already) 