I'm going to ask you to join me on a little ride. Grab a glass of a beverage that you like. For many of you, it may be a tasty glass of wine. For me, it's whiskey! Tonight is a WHISKEY night! So ... light a candle, grab a glass and buckle up! Tonight will be quite a ride!
As you may ascertain (my stripper name in college), the blog for tonight will be about clueless dating. The irony of this blog is that I am writing about this topic on a Friday night. And no - irony has not been lost on me. I am well aware. It's Friday and I am home.
The truth is: Netflix is a better date to me than the many other dates I have had in my life. It isn't to say that I haven''t had good dates. Oh.... I have! (Wink!)
But, it's often the second date, or the third date that are just ... ugh. It's honestly just exhausting. I have had a hard week. I can't go through another bad guy. I recently told someone this week that I come first. It's work, exercise, me time, and maybe a date. Dates are no longer a priority in my book. So, tonight: it's whiskey, dinner and Netflix. All in that order. And it's been awesome. I am relaxed. I am smiling. I feel good.
I didn't always feel this way...
I didn't have my first date - my first "real" date until I was 23. I had no idea how to react when a boy liked me. It really didn't happen all that much in my life. I occasionally had girls like me, which had been flattering. A girl, though, just never made my heart skip a beat, which I finally learned does actually happen when you like someone. To this day - if my heart skips a beat - I know what it all must mean. "BOO-YAA," said Samuel L. Jackson at the end of some movie.
It is when my heart tells me (complete with a Samuel L. Jackson catchphrase) that I understand that someone likes me. Often, a man must hit me over the head to tell me he likes me. (In a gay world, they don't hit you over the head. They offer to take you home from the bar. Or they just grab you and say something inappropriate. It's all ... shocking.) I am evidently and unfortunately very clueless about dating.
When I was 23, I was an Assistant Manager at a Banana Republic in Fairfax, Virginia. I clearly had hit the big time! I had been working there a week. New town, new job, new company, new store, new pants, new everything! Literally! It was a new Greg. And he was scurrrrrred. (This means I was scared, but like ... really scared.) And I couldn't even tell people that I was scared. I had to seem confident and composed and super, "fireworks-blasting" happy!
I don't know how Mr. Scared managed to attract someone of the same sex, but it did. I was 23 and working at a mall. I was HOT.
It was Friday night and I was working in the women's section.
I Am So ... Glamorous? FABULOUS? Nope, none of them!
Like I have said, it was my first week and I was shadowing the store manager, Kim. I was "straightening" the women's section - the very back end of the store. By the way - "straightening" - isn't retail code for making me heterosexual. That just isn't possible, dear reader. Lord knows, everyone had tried!!! Alas,"straightening" is retail code for picking up your crap. You came into my store and made a mess and now I am cleaning it up.
So, I was cleaning up, and feeling alone in a new place, and scurrrrrred. And I worked a pretty full day at this point, so I looked probably just tired and awful.
This tall drink of water came in with 2 lesser attractive guys. And they browsed. Now, like I said, I was in the women's section, which is ALLLLL the way in the back of the store. You have to walk through the men's section to even get to me.
So, this tall something-something walked into the women's section, never making direct eye contact with me. He just glanced around, all tough guy. He was looking for his woman and found nothin.'
But, oh! He found me, all right!
So much so - that he actually called the store. Twenty minutes later, my boss is ringing up the register and counting all the money. And the phone rings and the caller asks for me. She knows that I know no one in town and have 1 female roommate. So ... imagine my embarrassment when the caller asks for a guy in a red shirt. (Red has always been my color!)
Kim was a bit stunned ... and said, "Please hold."She put down the phone, and looked around at the store. There was her, 1 other female employee and me: gay dude in a red shirt. "Um, Greg. I think you have a phone call."
It was less than perfect. I often envisioned me getting asked out on my first boy date with flowers, or some other "TV show" kind of gesture. Like a doctor who bumps into my car, offers to take care of everything and say I have the nicest pair of brown eyes he has ever seen. I never expected it to be, "Um, can I talk to the guy in the red shirt?"
But, when destiny calls, I answer!
I said hello and he asked if I was wearing a red shirt. Did I have dark hair? Was I working in the women's section? I wondered if my social security number would be the next question. It was not.
Instead, he said I was cute! And would I be interested in going on a date!!! Stunned. I was just stunned.
And I was just crazy enough to say yes. What did I have to lose? I would meet him at my roommate's restaurant, The Sweetwater Tavern. Class (and safety) all the way is my motto!
Short story: we had a great date. It was awesome. We talked non stop. No awkward moments. He was cute as hell, had a great job and was tall! Sign. Me. Up. And he kissed like ... a good kisser. (A lady never tells.) Who am I kidding? He was good. Real good.
He was so good ... right up until the moment when he never called again. What did I do in response to never hearing from him? Oh, I made the rookie mistake of calling him and leaving him messages a few times within the week after our first date. (Looking back, all you can say about oneself is: yep - rookie!)
I'd like to say the TEN years that have followed have been awesome. Well ... awesome is one way to describe it. I'd say it's been pretty grueling instead.
There is no class in school or college or even a simple placemat at a diner that will tell you how to date. There is no map. There is no "right" way. WHICH SUCKS.
There should be a "turn handle, open door" set of instructions. Instead, we are given a set of directions from IKEA and instead of making a beautiful dresser, we somehow ended up with a mouse trap.
It's deadly!
I think of all that has happened in the ten years since my first date. It was October 2002. We were enjoying a president with the brain power of said mouse trap. Cinnamon coffee had just come out at New England area Dunkin' Donuts. And I had my first date with a man. These were crazy, heady times!!!
I didn't get a second date with my Tall Drink O' Water (which is his new name - for the sake of the blog), but there would be others. Some would have boring names like Chuck - yup Chuck! And some would have gay names like Chad. Sorry, Chad! "Your Name Is So Gay." (And so are you for reading this.)
On a side note: Trent, James, and really anyone else who would use their full name, casually, have super gay names. Gay names!!! (Not that there is anything wrong with gay names. But, if you call me Gregory - I will hurt you!) Give me a Joe, Mike, Dan, Matt, Jeff, or something rugged like Tom. But if you introduce yourself as William or Christopher, I may just lose it!
Back to the point: I have had many beaus in my life since that first date. And I am still just as surprised when they screw it up, or I screw it up, or both. Like I said, there is no map. WHICH SUCKS.
You have to roll with the punches. Yep, it does suck, but you have to get right back up again after being knocked down. So what if I have dated up and down the East Coast from Virginia to New York and have learned essentially nothing?
Does this all mean that I have given up?
As if!
Love,
Cher - a la Clueless
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