Let me start by saying that I’m way too nuerotic to date, and defenitely too neurotic to write about it.
But this little experiment has been approved by my shrink. He says if having to date for blogging material will get me to go out, then by all means, it’s medicine.
So I recently switched online dating sites and ended up chatting up this one dude. He had a sweet face, seemed to have good taste and ranked kindness and bravery high on his list of personal traits.
I told him I liked his profile and soon enough we were emailing back and forth.
The arrangment for our first date was not ideal. Generally I like it when a man who asks me out chooses a place, suggests a time, holds doors, etcetera. I am a feminist. I think women are equal to men, if not occassionally superior. Still, if a man asks me out, I think he should pay at least the first time, and have some idea of where he wants to take me.
If I had more money I might be forced to consider why I believe this, but I don’t.
Anyway, since we were trying to arrange an after work meet and greet I chose a place nearby my job, a place where all I would have to do is give a bartender a wink and they would find a way to end the whole deal.
Soon there we were, drinking beers and eating grilled cheeses.
He seemed cool. We talked about music and a million indie bands I had never heard of, actors and actresses I had never heard of, etc.
But this was different than dates I had gone out on before. I just wanted to learn a little more about him. I did nothing to try to impress him, a problem I have even when I’m utterly unimpressed myself.
Apparently, the aloof thing really works. Before we said goodbye and after he convinced me to drink more beer than I had planned on, he wanted to know if there was a second date in store.
Honestly, I could have gone either way. I enjoyed my time with him, but couldn’t really see it going any further than friends – which I’m convinced I have enough of already unless they are the type who take you out to fine meals and then take you home and give you orgasms.
But there was, in fact, a date number two.

Date 2

One thing that’s important to understand is that at the end of the first date, I gave him a kiss on the cheek, refused to get into his car or be driven home, or even walked to my door. You never know who wants to chop you into little pieces, you know.
But for date number 2, I was already feeling comfortable with this guy. I felt that we liked each other whether or not romance was imminent, and I knew the whole ordeal would not be torture and would probably include getting kinda saucy.
On the first date my therapists words – I had just come from a session – echoed in my mind. “Watch your alcohol level.”By the second date a few weeks later I had already forgotten. This time, he had it all planned out. A wine bar close to, coincidentally, my therapists office. But something came up at work and I got delayed, so I beckoned him to my neighborhood again, this time to a new joint with a million beers and a menu full of swine.
He was very flexible, agreeable, understanding about the work thing. But I was in a whole new place than I had been the first time we met.
When he arrived I was talking to some friends I had run into at the bar, and a few beers later I realized I had etched my initials into the brand new, polished, wooden table we were sitting at. Then he convinced me to steal a shot glass by hiding it in my purse.
He talked, but I forgot to listen. We took a walk when we arrived at his car I jumped right in.
“Oh, did you want a ride?” he asked, possibly puzzled by the change in my cautious behavior.
The conversation went back to music and I told him about this Jay Z song I liked. I emailed it to him when I got home before I realized the refrain was “hey, hey, hey goodbye.”
He emailed me back this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whwFlTrqWZ0
Is this supposed to be me?
There I go again.