First Date Follies
FIRST DATE FOLLIES
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
SEPTEMBER 25, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
SEPTEMBER 25, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON
The funny thing about being single again is that all my eagerness to go on first dates has been rapidly replaced by the realization that these events are only valuable insomuch as they provide me with a ridiculous story to tell.
Since I'm a big fan of ridiculous stories (note my career choice), I have no problem with such dates. I happily subscribe to the philosophy espoused by my friend, the comedian and professional recovering frat-boy Aaron Karo -- AFS: Anything For a Story.
My date last Friday night falls firmly in that category.
Admittedly, The Guy started off with emails so farcical, he instantly rendered himself AFS Material. "Julia," he wrote, "Certain of my friends thought you'd be a good person for me to talk dirty to ... at the very least, you'll be entertained. What do you say we meet for a drink to start?"
To start? To start what -- talking dirty? Um, hold up there, stud.
The ill-advised subject heading of his next missive? "Let's grab pizza and sex next Wednesday night." (Note to future dates: Do not insinuate that girl is a ho before meeting her to confirm such facts.)
He explained that normally he wouldn't be so forward, but "Conquering a dating columnist has to be one of the ultimate achievments [sic], and may require unconventional tactics...."
Um... yeah. Conquering? Oh dear god. Even if you were actually thinking something that ludicrous, why would you EVER write it?? With a spelling mistake, no less!
It's not a coincidence that The Guy works for a hedge fund.
I'm sure I would have blown him off completely, but he was incredibly persistent. I rainchecked and/or canceled on him five times, and the only reason I didn't reschedule again was that I literally couldn't. He was moving to Europe the next day.
I wasn't particularly in the mood to go on a date that evening. I did not want to get dressed up. I did not want to put on makeup. I did not want to down alcoholic beverages out of boredom.
But I couldn't cancel just hours before the date. Could I?
Running through the list of excuses (sick, work emergency, dog has asthma), I felt a twinge of guilt. After all, the guy had gotten us tickets to the secret Killers concert, and although I'd never heard any of their songs (there goes my indie music cred), it was his last night in this country.
Still, I stood in the shower Friday at 6 p.m. wondering whether, if I called to say I had just broken my ankle, he would try to visit me in the hospital.
I figured he would, so I gave up and just went on the date. As a preemptive strike, I downed several drinks at the beginning, but not enough to forget him telling me that he could see beyond my "hard shell," and that he, at 25, was going to prove that "these old guys you're always dating" were lame.
I just smiled and nodded, enjoying his show of amusingly misguided bravado.
That is, until he started kissing me.
I use "kissing" in a loose sense, because what he was really doing could be more accurately described as "jack-hammering his mouth onto mine." Now, it's one thing if your date is a bad kisser. Fine. I mean, it's disappointing, but what can you do?
However, it's quite another when that bad kisser finally lets up jamming his tongue into your mouth and says, "I knew you'd be a good kisser... like me."
WHAT?!? He seemed to take my hysterical laughter as an affirmation, which only made me laugh harder.
"You've met your match," he then proclaimed. Uhh... yeah. I've met something, that's for sure.
After the concert, I tried to go home, but having mentioned earlier that I just canceled my gym membership, he offered to give me his fitness pass, good till the end of the year (and worthless to him given his impending move). Because I'm a sucker for free stuff, I reluctantly agreed to go back his apartment to pick it up.
Upon entering, he sat down at his laptop and told me he had a "special song" to play for me. As the recognizable strains of Nelly Furtado's 'Promiscuous Girl' filled the room, I couldn't decide whether to slap him or knee him in the nether regions.
"You know," I said, "That's probably not the right song to play 'in honor' of the girl you're trying to get in the mood. And just FYI, in case you were confused, you're not even going to come CLOSE to sleeping with me. In fact, I'm leaving right now."
At that, he nervously backtracked.
"Oh, I don't even want to have sex with you tonight," he lied. "I've already shipped all of my condoms to Europe.... But when we do go to bed, it's going to be amazing." I almost choked on my drink.
Thank God for FedEx.
Admittedly, The Guy started off with emails so farcical, he instantly rendered himself AFS Material. "Julia," he wrote, "Certain of my friends thought you'd be a good person for me to talk dirty to ... at the very least, you'll be entertained. What do you say we meet for a drink to start?"
To start? To start what -- talking dirty? Um, hold up there, stud.
The ill-advised subject heading of his next missive? "Let's grab pizza and sex next Wednesday night." (Note to future dates: Do not insinuate that girl is a ho before meeting her to confirm such facts.)
He explained that normally he wouldn't be so forward, but "Conquering a dating columnist has to be one of the ultimate achievments [sic], and may require unconventional tactics...."
Um... yeah. Conquering? Oh dear god. Even if you were actually thinking something that ludicrous, why would you EVER write it?? With a spelling mistake, no less!
It's not a coincidence that The Guy works for a hedge fund.
I'm sure I would have blown him off completely, but he was incredibly persistent. I rainchecked and/or canceled on him five times, and the only reason I didn't reschedule again was that I literally couldn't. He was moving to Europe the next day.
I wasn't particularly in the mood to go on a date that evening. I did not want to get dressed up. I did not want to put on makeup. I did not want to down alcoholic beverages out of boredom.
But I couldn't cancel just hours before the date. Could I?
Running through the list of excuses (sick, work emergency, dog has asthma), I felt a twinge of guilt. After all, the guy had gotten us tickets to the secret Killers concert, and although I'd never heard any of their songs (there goes my indie music cred), it was his last night in this country.
Still, I stood in the shower Friday at 6 p.m. wondering whether, if I called to say I had just broken my ankle, he would try to visit me in the hospital.
I figured he would, so I gave up and just went on the date. As a preemptive strike, I downed several drinks at the beginning, but not enough to forget him telling me that he could see beyond my "hard shell," and that he, at 25, was going to prove that "these old guys you're always dating" were lame.
I just smiled and nodded, enjoying his show of amusingly misguided bravado.
That is, until he started kissing me.
I use "kissing" in a loose sense, because what he was really doing could be more accurately described as "jack-hammering his mouth onto mine." Now, it's one thing if your date is a bad kisser. Fine. I mean, it's disappointing, but what can you do?
However, it's quite another when that bad kisser finally lets up jamming his tongue into your mouth and says, "I knew you'd be a good kisser... like me."
WHAT?!? He seemed to take my hysterical laughter as an affirmation, which only made me laugh harder.
"You've met your match," he then proclaimed. Uhh... yeah. I've met something, that's for sure.
After the concert, I tried to go home, but having mentioned earlier that I just canceled my gym membership, he offered to give me his fitness pass, good till the end of the year (and worthless to him given his impending move). Because I'm a sucker for free stuff, I reluctantly agreed to go back his apartment to pick it up.
Upon entering, he sat down at his laptop and told me he had a "special song" to play for me. As the recognizable strains of Nelly Furtado's 'Promiscuous Girl' filled the room, I couldn't decide whether to slap him or knee him in the nether regions.
"You know," I said, "That's probably not the right song to play 'in honor' of the girl you're trying to get in the mood. And just FYI, in case you were confused, you're not even going to come CLOSE to sleeping with me. In fact, I'm leaving right now."
At that, he nervously backtracked.
"Oh, I don't even want to have sex with you tonight," he lied. "I've already shipped all of my condoms to Europe.... But when we do go to bed, it's going to be amazing." I almost choked on my drink.
Thank God for FedEx.