I cheerfully acknowledge that I haven’t had a date in weeks. I say this cheerfully because there is no other way to say it.
I have been busy communicating and saying hello, people respond and then let it go as I predicted they would, but I am determined. I am not discouraged, and anyway what’s the point? The sidewalks will soon be closing up here in LA. It’s a known fact that no one can manage to do anything here for virtually the entire month of December.
But I go on, I persevere.
I am busy pursuing volunteer opportunities, even inspired to get into macho fields of law enforcement or the fire department because of the basic philosophy -- go where the men are. Oddly, I’ve spent so many years in the halls of academia, and have to say that that hasn’t exactly been a treasure trove of dating possibilities – au contraire. The only ones that seemed to want to date me were my students, and I wasn’t prepared for that particular infraction, flattering though it was at times. And no, I don’t think they were doing it because they wanted a better grade. I’m an easy grader anyway.
So the day goes and lo and behold, a communication from Match. Fireboy, I’ll call him, wants to get together. Seems articulate enough wrote self-effacing emails, and featured himself in fire fighting gear, though he is not a firefighter per se. I said to myself okay, I’m sort of liking this type: a little brawn some brains but nothing too challenging, and so I bite.
Another admission here and don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.
After a couple of emails, I get impatient because it’s either meet or begin writing an autobiography, and frankly, it never pays off as far as I can tell. I begin with interesting details about myself and then when I meet these guys, not only haven’t they read it, but even if by some fluke they have taken the time, it is painfully obvious that they have not digested the more fascinating minutia, and are certainly not ready for testing.
Fireboy sends me his number, I send him mine, then I let him call so that I can hear his voice. Oh! woe is me, not that velvet chocolaty voice of One Syllable – sadly that is rare, I’m beginning to find. However, pleasant enough and I suppose, worth me returning the call when I feel like it.
Which I do, a decent interval later.
This one was trying to impress me with facts such as he had been in the Fire Station in my area, and had been to a holiday party there with, yes, __________________ (fill in 60’s celebrity name) … not that I asked. One very solid rule about LA is that people here are cool about celebrities, and we certainly don’t try to impress each other with knowing this one or that one.
We agree to meet and I get off the phone and, folks, I’m just not feeling it. He isn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, and I had a suspicion he wasn’t hiding that light under a bushel either.
However, I am dogged and unwavering.
As much as I don’t really want to go, I do go. It’s yet a third coffee bean… LA is full of ‘em. There’s even another couple behind us in line also meeting for the first time. I buy my own tea – he doesn’t even offer, but I always feel better doing this, so they don’t expect something in return. In return, I hear you cry, is this a barter situation? You just never know, do you??
Okay so not attracted to him from the get-go. However, I am firm in my intention that he will at least enjoy the short time we spend together -- very short. We sit outside as it is still nice and sunny and I begin to question him as I feel that if I don’t, I’ll have to finish up my tea in the car going home.
I find that the easiest opener is to ask them about their experiences on Match or other dating sites. I find they like a sympathetic listener and love to complain about all the lies they were told before meeting some unfortunate woman or other.
I do so, and get to listen to the fact that he has unashamedly been on Yahoo personals for six years. He has, he confided to me, dated an actress, though, he added, she won’t remember him. (Believe me, I won’t remember him tomorrow, either.) He told me how one person had stood him up, so I encouraged him with my story of the ill-fated luncheon. He seemed outraged about the fact that he ended up paying for a meal for another woman, and dubious about her promise to pay the next time. Obviously, there wasn’t going to be a next time. Hence, I am penalized, I realize, with having to foot the bill for my own tea. Perhaps, the woman was depressed that they met at Four and Twenty Pies – not, in my estimation the coolest of dating destinations.
He asks me nothing about myself.
While he is talking, I notice the dirty fingernails and worse the fact that he is looking at his watch first. I feel free, then, to start wondering when I can end our obvious mutual agony. Luckily, it seems that his meter was in danger of running out, and we said goodbye. With great relief I called my fellow (evidently) non-blogger, Jane and said with a huge giggle in a high school voice, “OMG, he was SO boring.”
Sad how we revert, isn’t it?
Love it, as always!
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