Watch out, men of the world! pt. 4: Meh

So I have been on a few more dates since my last update. And, I have to say…meh. Just meh.

Went on a 2nd date with Adams. It was…ok. I had already decided by the beginning of the date that I didn’t want to see him again, at least not romantically. Why? His outfit. I know. I shouldn’t be shallow. But who wears a faded black tshirt and khakis (the same outfit as the 1st date, actually) to a 2nd date? I wore a nice green dress with pretty scarf and heels; we looked mismatched, I must say. The whole thing stank of apathy, and I was quite happy to bid him adieu.

Then there was Madison. Now, all my life I have suffered the moaning of self-identified nice guys: girls are shallow! All they want are the hot guys! What about us nice guys? We never get a chance! In the interests of bucking the trend, I guess, I went on a date with Madison, who was not my type. Short, plain, slightly rotund, mousy, but with a really interesting, well-written profile. So I figured, hey. You never know, right? So I went on a date with him. And it was…everything I expected. He was obviously intelligent, well-spoken, a nice guy, clearly; but there was zero chemistry. None zip nada. He was also fixated on online gambling (he was currently unemployed). Also, I got the sense that he had father issues. And all this on the first date! He did dress up, I think–a button down shirt and clean pants–but he coupled that with sneakers. Sneakers! I shook his hand and told him I’d see him around.

Next came Monroe, with whom I went on not one but two dates. There’s a bit of a story behind this one. The first time he requested a date on chemistry.com, I turned him down because I was meeting up with a friend who was headed to Africa for a year. So we finally made arrangements for a date at a local cafe. So come last Saturday, I showed up (about 5 minutes late) to a cafe, looked around, didn’t see him. Hm. Then I realize that I am at the WRONG CAFE. Realize also that I don’t have his phone number. Call roommate frantically, ask her where the cafe is. She gives me directions for a place that’s about 20 minutes away, walking. I run in my heels towards it, thinking, oh my god, I turned this guy down once and now he’s going to think I stood him up. I am a bastard! I get there, blisters forming on my toes, and realize that it’s another WRONG CAFE. I call the roommate and demand that she actually google the name of the cafe this time. Turns out the cafe is actually close to back where I came from–another good 20 minutes away, or 25 if you figure in time for the hobbling that will ensue from the blistered feet in heels. (I am also caked in the grime of my own sweat and melted makeup by this point.) She logs onto my email account and emails him that I’ll be late. I make it over there at last, and the first thing out of my mouth is: “Hi! There’s only one word for what just happened, and that word is FIASCO.”

That date actually went very well; he didn’t want to leave, although an hour later all I wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. We made arrangements to see a movie, which we did this past Saturday. Final verdict: a nice guy. Fun. But a little too young for me; he didn’t catch the slightly provocative flirts I passed along, so I didn’t feel any interest along those lines. Maybe he was just dense. There was an awkward moment in the car at the end of the date when I think he wanted a kiss, and I threw my arms around him and said: “you deserve a hug!” And that was the end of that.