I recently agreed to two blind dates. Historically, blind dates bode about as well for me as my disconcerting encounters with porn.
Let’s see…I can thank my sister for my first blind date ever: a hottie hockey player with a melted wax skull on the top of his TV. Let me paint a better picture for you: This skull was off white and looked quite close to the exact size of a human’s skull. And it had been burned. Creep Factor Score: 4 out of 10.
Naturally I inquired because, geez, House of Horrors much? To my dismay, he clarified his interest in the occult, specifically Satanism. Fabulous! Creep Factor Score now 6 out of 10.
Why did I not freak? I suspect it’s a personality flaw, because I later dated a speed-metal drummer that had a plastic skull in the back window of his Camero. It only bothered me when it appeared to glow in the dark and roll from one corner of the window to the other during his frenetic turns. Even I’m wondering if I’m the dingbat in the movie that runs blindly alone down the dark hallway without trying the light switch first.
ANYWAY, Hottie Hockey Player came over to my family’s house (second date) to watch a movie. What does Dude bring? He brings the movie “The Entity” for all of us to watch. “All of us” included my mother, my 16-year-old sister and 13-year-old brother.
If you haven’t seen this creepy-ass movie, go right ahead. Lock your doors and windows, turn off your phone, and don’t watch it alone—it’s scary as hell. Scary “you’ll-remember-it-20-years-later” scary, not “Boo! Ha, ha” scary.
That was it for me. Creep Factor for even THINKING of this movie (which he had watched before) went up to 9. This same individual, whereupon I explained to him (on the phone and NOT while I was home alone babysitting) that I didn’t want to go out with him again, he freakin’ CRIED!
As if that weren’t already too much for me, he said that I shouldn’t be surprised if I feel like I was choking in the middle of the night. Say what??? Was this supposed to persuade me to go out with him again? He was supposedly going to let loose Satan on me. Get real. I told him I’m Catholic, and my God is stronger than Satan (there’s a 2000+ year-old book that explains this very clearly).
Suffice it to say I did not get choked by Satan or any of his minions, human or otherwise. I considered this a narrow escape from not even God knows what chaos was sure to follow this guy into the future.
After my first “blind date” misadventure, I decided this cliché activity was the Kiss of Death to the probability of a normal evening. I went on one other blind date when I was about 22, and it was just a case of very unfortunate mismatchmaking. One person’s “Cutie Patootie” is another person’s “I think I saw him on
More recently I had a blind date with—wait for it—a doctor who was—gasp—a former college football player. Swoon! Bonus: He probably has a plastic skull laying around somewhere, too!
We arranged to meet at an Irish pub. My sister helped me with my hair, and I fretted with my clothes like I was in high school. I’d heard great things about this guy from a trusted source, so I was downright dippy with nerves.
My dates at the time had been dismal, so the words “my friend,” “doctor,” and “played football” rang in my ears like the lyrics to the song of angels. It was mine to screw up, or so it seemed.
I was ONE BLOCK from the pub when I received a phone call from The Good Doctor. He wasn’t finished with rounds, so he wanted to meet an hour later. I looked at the clock in my car and wondered why it didn’t occur to him to call me anytime sooner than exactly when I was supposed to meet him. Self, be understanding.
So I agreed to meet him at 3, and he was appreciative. I had an hour to kill, so I had my nails done.
An hour later, I found myself back in my car selecting a strategic place to park that would limit my hair’s exposure time to the dry, winter wind. I sat in my car for about eight minutes because no woman needs to sit by herself in a bar. Let’s rephrase: No woman CAN sit by herself in a bar. And this is an Irish bar…in a small, very friendly, blue-collar town.
Blind date = no idea what this dude looks like. I didn’t think to ask for a general description. Feeling moronic, I decided to sit at one of the only two seats in the far corner of the bar toward the wall just inside the doorway. In other words, I corned myself. I reasoned that this location should keep me out of the way and allow me to watch the door.
After 20 minutes and countless glances at my cell phone, I called my friend. He reassured me that his friend was probably running late at the hospital, but he admitted it was rude that Doc hadn’t called.
So I waited. Then like a pack of hyper puppies, six men loudly entered from another part of the pub and stood right next to me. To remind you, there was only one open seat near me. Now I was uncomfortable. Fat lotta good choosing the obscure corner did.
Over the next half hour, I’m pressured to do a shot of tequila (I declined). I’m grilled about how long I’d been waiting for my date (I’ve been stood up). I’m teased because he’s a doctor (apparently insecure men = insults). I’m told that I might have more fun if I “loosen up a little…” by a guy in Carharts and a John Deer cap who started drinking at 10 a.m.…for a baby shower!
I swear to God, they were there for a baby shower. One guy’s sister was having a baby with one of his friends. And two other guys in this group were his cousins. Hee-haw!
Disgust settled in when they realized how long I’d been waiting for my date, and they suggested I ditch the inconsiderate bastard. It was even suggested that my friend wasn’t much of a friend for setting me up with “this loser.”
I realized I probably looked like a paranoid schizophrenic mumbling to myself when a new guy came in the bar. I decided then and there that I’d never wait longer than 10 minutes for any man anywhere again. This was humiliating.
The group of guys was kind enough not to let me sit alone, but since chaining them to my chair was out of the question, I knew I'd be sitting alone again soon. When they finally were leaving, the man standing next to me the whole time handed me his business card, which resurrected my sense of humor: Only I would get hit on waiting for another date that was so late, he may as well not bother to show up.
I was alone now, and the rest of the bar was filling up. I could feel the people looking at me like they wondered how incredibly bad my day was that I would be drinking alone.
Time to phone a friend. I moved to a small table NOT at the bar and called my friend Julie to tell her my whole pitiable story.
It was now over two hours from the time I was supposed to meet this guy. Why was I still sitting here? Because he is my best friend’s friend. How late was too late? He was too late two hours ago.
Finally in the middle of my call with Julie, another call came in. It was McTardy. He was leaving the hospital in a few minutes. He apologized for how long I’d been waiting and told me I’d recognize him because he’d be wearing incredibly stylish scrubs.
I thought about the other “blind” dates I had through online dating. The sites included photographs of the man I was meeting, but they didn’t provide insight into his manners.
I’ve met several very accomplished businessmen that checked their mobile device countless times in the middle of a date, so much so in fact, I was inclined to inquire if everything was “OK.”
One of my personal favorites was a divorced man with a five-year-old son. He didn’t see anything inappropriate with his ex-wife, who was watching their son during our date, calling three times during the appetizer portion of dinner. He took every call, once even excusing himself from the table for three minutes.
Our waiter looked at me with sympathy—particularly so when we canceled our order to end the date early. This after my date had made a big production asking how exactly the food was prepared. Why did he end our date early? His ex-wife wanted to go to Target. Seriously.
Then I saw him walking up to the pub: McTardy, blue scrubs and all. Relief! Much relief! I hastily told Julie I had to let her go because my date was finally here—and he was handsome!
He apologized again and thanked me for my patience. We had a drink and an appetizer, and he asked me numerous, thoughtful questions about myself. He also kept watching the
McTardy's lack of McManners didn't make him McDreamy, but he also wasn’t McHorrible. However, his TV fixation does highlight a larger, more concerning dating pandemic, as illustrated in my
I met a man out for a drink and conversation. He was on time, but 40 minutes into the date, he rang his hands in front of his face and said he felt “all woo-oo” and asked if I minded if we ended early: He was “really tired.”
I felt like the balloon that flies around the room making that funny deflating sound. Phtht. That was me. I spent longer getting ready than this date lasted! I didn’t even finish my glass of wine (though I did consider the appropriateness of downing it like a shot). As he walked me to my car, he asked if I’d be interested in going out again and if he could call me tomorrow.
On the drive home, I had to laugh: I’d never gone speed dating before, and I didn’t much care for it. I wasted my time picking out a nice outfit and doing my hair and makeup. I know I didn’t say anything stupid, and I acted with class and intelligence.
My mother convinced me to give him a break because maybe he did have a rough day. I’ve had countless days where I felt bitch-slapped by life, but I still put my best foot forward when I met someone new, gave them my full attention, and I didn't get “woo-oo” just because I was tired—we're all tired in our 30s!
In all seriousness, arriving late, unwarranted groping, taking phone calls from ex-wives, being hypnotized by a TV in the background (or a babe walking by), not calling when you say you'll call, and threatening to turn me over to the Prince of Darkness: these are NOT OK. These are men without class, so flunk ‘em with a big, fat “F” of sorts and be done with it. Did he just have a bad day, or are these behaviors harbingers of a bad mate?
I don’t expect him to be perfect, but I do expect him to try and convince me he is. If I asked my married friends, they would all say that the man they agreed to marry put his best foot forward—at least while they were dating (even Twinkies go bad after a few decades).
And some Prince Charmings just become the King of Hearts: Julie's husband goes out of his way—literally and voluntarily—to take her mother's garbage to the curb. Why? Because he knows how much Julie loves her mom.
With just as much intention, women present themselves to men on a date. We dressed up, fancy our hair, and pretty our makeup. We try and ask questions that he will find interesting and thoughtful. We lipstick-adorn our best smile in hopes of his lingering look at our lips. If I promise not to forget my lipstick, he can at least promise not to forget his manners.
Dating is nothing but blind when you think about it: Had I known my two-year relationship would unexpectedly come to an end after he brought up moving in together, I wouldn't have accepted a second date, but I couldn't foresee the future. I blindly trusted Mr. “I’m Separated” to actually get divorced. And like I'd ever imagine I would be sitting by myself for two hours in a bar waiting for my best friend's doctor friend?
So I will continue to put on my rose-colored glasses before each new date and wish I wasn't such a foolish mortal who cannot see through walls.
