Last night, a series of friendly (and occasionally spicy) internet chats culminated in a first date. We had dinner and went to a show. It was fun, but on a modern scale from sucked-to-awesome, “fun” isn’t saying much. The band wasn’t mainstream pop, but it wasn’t avant-garde either. I don’t think she liked it really, and it left me wondering whether (and how much) that reflected on how much she liked me or whether that had been decided way before the music started.
A friend cross-pollinated our online profiles about a week ago. Perhaps the mutual friend explains how easy it was to convince her to drive the 20+ miles into town for our date. She was late, which didn’t bother me much at all, but when she did arrive, I found myself sizing up whether she was heavier than I was attracted to, and repeatedly deciding, “no, she’s completely attractive enough“. I’m very thin myself and, the national obesity crisis notwithstanding, it seems like most of the women with online profiles are Curvy+. I’m not perfect either, and I can tell the difference between the Plato’s-all-holy-ideal-aesthetic-form and the actual human being right in front of me I ought not to underestimate too soon.
So what, I thought, extra pounds. Don’t count her out, roll with it. Maybe she read my hesitation right away and gave up early. But she seemed slightly bored the whole time, and when it came time to decide between “Goodnight” and “My place, or yours?” I gave it an honest shot knowing full well it was going absolutely nowhere. (No! Jesus, that’s not what I actually said, the quote-marks are a typographic metaphor!)
The show ended and she drove home around midnight. I wasn’t ready to turn in, so I swung by the studio to smoke half the joint I’d rolled thinking I (we?) might get a chance to indulge between dinner and the band. P__ said he’d be working late if I wanted to grab a drink, but he wasn’t there. I went over to L__ anyway. It was as dead as I’d ever seen it, and the bartender agreed without my prompting. Tuesday’s aren’t huge anyway — I told him I blame the economy, Christmas, and the fact that it’s the second-half of the month. Everyone is dead broke.
I drank whiskey like a proper lonely gentleman, and pondered my (our?) rotten luck.
L__, who welcomed me many posts ago to the local singles scene, didn’t acknowledge my existence though it wouldn’t have been at all hard. As I was coming back from the bathroom, she finished saying a goodbye, turned, and walked out right in front of me. I like to think she never even saw me, but that seems a stretch. I’d have gone over to her table, but I chicken out when I only know one person in a group.
I woke up slightly late, slightly hungover and while working and drinking coffee at J__ I talked to K__ who was friendly to chat with and dropped that she was seeing someone. I caught S__ online around noon. I said I’d had a good time, thanks for coming out and suffering my off-kilter taste in music. She was kind, said thank you for treating. Then she apologized for her bluntness, but said she’d detected no spark, and had learned from experience to walk away. She told me she was kinda bummed about it. Me too.
I totally appreciated that and told her as much. I’m actually glad to have my initial read confirmed. I must be learning.
But as with everything newly learned, it raises more questions than it answers. The true nature of desire and attraction. Whether spark can be manufactured (for lack of a better word). Why shouldn’t two people who are bummed about there being no spark get it on anyway? Could online dating feel a bit less like shopping? Should I reasonably expect to be able to have sex with someone (period?) who has an ass … say S__’s size (which is, yes, larger than I prefer) or smaller? Should someone who probably has no intention of ever sleeping with you order desert & coffee? The commerce of dating deserves it’s own article. How guilty should I be feeling about thinking any of that even fleetingly? Publishing it? Fair enough. Shameful thoughts, these.
One of the characters in Cryptonomicon experienced a productivity boost that lasted up to a week after having sex. I think I identify with that, I’ve been getting a lot done, though I’ve been on the far end of the gradient back to the anticipation in the days before a date. About as far from sex as you can get, but way, way better than no date at all.
Speaking of being productive, I wonder if there’s any truth to the idea that I was more successful getting women to pay attention when I kept my head down and worked hard on something awesome.