Bad Date #346 @ Monday, Apr. 26, 2004

I'm going to write a book someday. About bad first dates. 'Cause I'm becoming The Authority.

Let me back up. The Andy guy that I talked to the other night for the first time? Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. First of all, as I mentioned, he wanted me to immediately meet his children which is pretty much ignoring their feelings. Then he e-mailed me several photos of them. Several. One might have been okay but not three. And then he sent me another e-mail with a coupon for a full body massage at Andy's Magic Hands Salon?!

He called several times this weekend but I never answered.

Okay, so I met David, the Social Worker, at this cool pub around the corner at three on Saturday. I changed clothes several times because it was a beautifully sunny day. I wanted to wear my favorite pair of cut off capris and a cute kelly green t-shirt but they were cut offs and even though this was a casual meet on the patio for a drink date they were too casual. It was too hot for jeans....

So I wore a skirt. I neve wear skirts outside of work. Sure it was just a cute denim skirt but a skirt no less.

Anyway, after a few seconds of searching, I find David at the bar. I suggest that we grab a drink and head for the patio. He starts to walk toward the patio - sans drink. I say something again, give up and follow him outside.

I order a snakebite, he orders a Guinness and I think, Guinness drinkers are cool.

That was the last happy thought I had for over two and a half hours.

He shakes. Constantly. Trembles. At first I thought perhaps he was nervous but it didn't go away. He stutters. He ends sentences in the middle of a thought. Occassionally, after a several second pause, he would continue the thought but most of the time...no.

I don't mean to knock those who have quirky ticks but...several of them in one man? In one man that I don't find attractive at all? Who gives me no reason to overlook these ticks? No.

He's writing a book. He's on page 257 of 451 pages or something. How do you know how many pages the book is going to be? People who talk about "their book" drive me nuts.

At some point he says, "Let's play a game. Name three things you know about me. Not from my profile." I balked but mentioned that I know he drinks, motioning to his now empty glass. I basically said that I have a bad on demand memory and didn't want to play. He finally gave up and I brought up a voice mail Amber had had me listen to earlier in the day. It was from her friend Megan who was going on about her bad eHarmony date. He called her fat to her face. In the voice mail she called him a white Steve Urkel. She's kind of a bitch and probably said it to his face. She's also a liar so she may have been the first to call names. I was trying to make a correlation between his stupid "how much do you remember about me" game and Megan's bad date. He didn't get it.

Anyway. I asked for my tab as well as a third beer. She brought the beer but not the tab and I didn't get a chance to remind her before she walked away. We're a good two hours into the "date" by this point and I didn't even really want the third beer. I wanted my damned tab so I could go home. I'd rather have been camped out on my couch than sitting across from this man. By this point, I've already left to go to the bathroom three or four times and smoked two cigarettes at the bar while complaining to Amber on the phone.

I'm chewing on my fingernails as he's talking, wondering if I could sneak out the door. But he's facing the door and it's only a few feet away. I'm beginning to wonder if I can talk one of the bartenders into letting me sneak out the back....

Finally, I grab a random waitress and ask for my tab. Again, my tab.

She brings our tab. Granted, he's only had one beeer but....

I pull out a twenty and he - lamely - reaches for his wallet. "I'll get it," I say and instead of insisting, even once, that he pay for his drink he says, "Oh, aren't you a sweetheart?"

I groan inwardly, slip off to the bathroom and smoke another cigarette. When I get back to the table he points out that she's brought back my change. I smile and push it away. "But your change is in there," he says. I look at him, "It's a tip."

Sure, the bill was only fifteen and some change but we sat there for three hours. And he had one beer. She deserved a better tip that even that. And, to top it all off....

He asked to see me again.

Argh.

"Well, have a nice weekend, good luck in Pennsylvania and with your midterms," I said which translates into, "Good luck with your life don't ever call me again."

And then he says it. "Can I see you again?"

I paused, "Sure, give me a call sometime." I then jumped in my car, lit a cigarette and practically cheered out loud that I was free.

Part of me wants to send him a short e-mail explaining that I didn't really feel the connection I needed to feel in order to continue to see him but felt cornered by his question. These men need to understand that is such a bad question to ask on the first date. If you want to call a few days later and express that you had a good time and then perhaps ask, fine. Not on the first date. I already felt like a raccoon trapped in a trap throughout the whole 'date.' The question made me feel as if I'd been moved to a cage.

My eHarmony membership expires on Thursday. That's it. I'm done. Internet dating sucks.