The Fastest Knight Ever

I would like to start this by stating that I blame this Knight on my sitting around watching Celebrity Rehab.  

One night when I had very little to do, (this never happens) so I decided I would sack out and watch some crap TV.  As I sailed through the channels, I came to Bravo, which I feel always has some offering of interesting lifestyle stories. (That was the most politically correct way I could phrase that.) 

As I began to investigate the show I realized I recognized one of the women on the program. I couldn't quite place her face, but I recalled her as one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen when I was younger.  I was now hooked.  I wanted to find out what show this was and why she was on it.  

As I listened intently, I gathered that she was 1. On Celebrity Rehab, 2. had some sort of addiction and 3. it had something to do with her crumby choices in men that she was so horribly amiss. 

As I watched her story unfold she told a sorrowful tale of having it all; beauty, brains and fame, but never enjoying it all because of her addictions and her challenges with men.  

"Jesus Christ," I thought! This woman had it all. She supposed to be the champion of single girls everywhere.  Amber Smith, as she came to be,  had been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, named one of the top 50 sexiest women in the world by Maxim Magazine, and made her mark on the world of film and TV with her fame before she was 25. Here she was broken and desperate to be someone else on a TV show for those who were so troubled with life.  How could this have happened? 

She told tales of terrible relationships that were doomed from the start, men who mistreated her and her ever depleting self esteem from all these experiences.  All of this accounted for the fact that now that she was 36 was still desperate for love and trying to pull her life together.  

All I could think to myself was "MY GOD. She's a beautiful woman, clearly bright, articulate,  with the world at her feet, and she can't find a fulfilling relationship? WTF?" 

The hope I had for my dating adventures was waning by the second.  If this chick can't find love, well, there's no hope for me. I'm a mere mortal. 

A wave of despair shot like lightening through my body as I laid there on there on the couch.   It was like that moment when you realize that some day, you are going to die. I was nearly paralyzed with fear. This was not how I had intended to experience my Sunday night off.

Right around this moment my phone went off with a text message.  I eyeballed the phone to see who was reaching out to me at this moment of despair.  Had one of my amazing girlfriends felt a pang of heartache across the miles? Did they know that this was my moment of need and comforting? Nope.   No such luck. As I looked at the phone I realized that it wasn't one of them.  The name on the phone rang up "Terribly Tony."

Tony was a guy that had emailed me multiple times on the dating site.  He had decent pictures, what seemed to be a stable 9 - 5 job in sales and an average description on his "About" section.  I don't know what it was that caused me to stop texting back to Tony at some point. I think I just really wasn't feeling this dude.  In addition there had been a number of other Knights around this time that were monopolizing my nights out.  For whatever reason, after our few text messages and emails back and forth, I kind of dropped off the face of the Earth to this guy. And I was OK with this.

I give him credit for periodically text messaging me, and sticking with trying to see me, but truthfully, there must have been some reason why I wasn't responding to his messages.  Just couldn't put my finger on it. . .

So here he was, texting me at my moment of weakness.  I had saved him as "Terrible Tony" so I would alert myself to the fact that, hanging out with him, could, in fact, prove to be terrible.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Terrible Tony flashed on my text message.

I sat there for a minute.  I couldn't tell him that I was sitting here on my uncomfortable couch, contemplating my single hood with a sense of horror and despair. That after watching a thirty minute reality TV show about my "Miss. I Wish I Was Her" had now plunged me head long into an emotional quandary of epic proportions. 

"Nothing," was all I could muster.  Lest I spare him from the truth.  

"I was in the Morristown area and thought maybe you might want to meet up for a drink," he inquired.  

My mind raced. Maybe this was just the distraction that I needed to get myself out of my own head and away from this God damned TV show. 

"Sure," I responded, but not really sure why. 

"Oh great," he replied, "Where would you like to grab a drink?"

"How about the Blackthorn?" 

He said that he could be there in 20 minutes. I told him I would be there in 30. 

As soon as everything was set and in place, I wondered why I had even agreed to this.  I quickly dashed over to my computer to log onto the dating site to take a quick refresher course on this guy. I eyeballed the pictures and the profile.  There was something just off about this dude I couldn't put my finger on.  I just really wasn't into him: at all. Now what.  

I thought about not going. My distraction now turned into this crumby sense of "let's get this over with." Crap. This was gonna be over before it even began. At least it was another date towards the 30 for the blog? 

Great. Now my writing is determining who I go on dates with. Awesome. 

I arrived at the Blackthorn at my estimated time. The bar was a total oasis. There were probably three people sitting there so I immediately recognized my Knight.  He too immediately recognized me and stood up.  

Now I was really sorry that I had agreed to this. I was stuck having to go through with this. Dang.

As he came over to introduce himself, I shook his hand.  He and I then sat down at the bar where he was already drinking a Bud.  The bartender came by to ask if I wanted a drink so  I told him that I would take a glass of water. 

The Knight looked like his pictures; blond haired with intense blue eyes. I thought perhaps it was just an intense blue in color, but now that I was up close and personal with this guy, they seemed to me more crazy than beautiful.  

He was shorter than his stated height, but then again, that seems to be everyone on that stupid site. He was in a red plaid shirt, jeans and running sneakers.  

"What the hell was it with the dudes on this site and red plaid shirts?" I thought to myself.

My Knight and I sat down and immediately it started.  The Spanish Inquisition had now kicked off.  Over the next five minutes this man asked me about twenty questions in rapid succession.  I couldn't tell if he was nervous, or had a job as an interrogator he just couldn't check at the end of the day.  

By question five I found myself lying because I really didn't want this guy knowing ANYTHING about me.  In order to break the barrage of questions I figured I would ask him about his job. He then went into a whole diatribe about his work in sales for something like Amway, and began to inquire about my knowledge of  vitamin supplements. 

Huh? Was this a date or a sales pitch? 

As he went on and on about he importance of supplements and how it had been life changing for him, I was now having a dialogue inside my head.  

"Why am I sitting here, " I thought to myself.  "The little voice inside you said that this guy wasn't someone worth meeting, and there you go, ignoring it YET AGAIN. Serves you right."

I was now pissed at myself.  I had let my own fears of loneliness, worry and an apolacyptic, loveless existence get the best of me. Why? Because I had watched some stupid TV show.  

I snapped back to reality to find my Knight still droning on about his workouts, supplement regime and who knows what else. 

I think that he turned to ask me a question. Another question. . .

As if I had become possessed by someone with sense, words fell out of my mouth without really much thought. 

"Hey, I'm exhausted from a long day and I thought that perhaps this was a good idea, but I don't really think that this is going to work." I began to stand up and get my handbag and coat together. 

This was totally unlike me.  I didn't provide any explanation.  I didn't feel bad.  I wasn't going to subject myself to another prolonged crumby date just because I felt it was the polite thing to do.  Perhaps my supermodel idol had stuck with dates like this and that is exactly what had plummeted her into the place she was now. 

I wasn't going to let that be me.  I was going to put the kabash on this right out the gate. Part of me actually liked the way this felt and I loved how easily the words rolled off my tongue. 

He looked a bit dazed and confused by the immediacy of my statement. I think that he was expecting me to answer another of his umpteenth questions.  He definitely wasn't expecting this.  He was sort of slack jawed sitting there starring at me.  

"Um, Ok," he stammered.

"I'm going to be going now. Thanks for coming out.  Good luck with everything."

I stood up and walked out the front door half wondering if I should be running to my car for fear of him chasing me down in angst and aggravation.  Nope.  No sign of him anywhere.

I then scoffed at myself and laughed for the egocentricity that it took to even think that. 

There was a certain sense of peace and calm I felt I had ascertained walking out of that date.  I had begun to have a sense of self, a sense of, "this isn't what I wanted, so why compromise."  It was like in that very moment I had rediscovered me and everything was going to be OK.

The "Cliche' Knight"

For years I have enjoyed being involved with a number of community groups. While President of my roller derby league, I frequently met with various non-profit groups and civic organizations to partner with, or participate in their various events and activities.  Due to these experiences, I have forged a number of long term friendships with some of the great people who participate in these organizations.  One of the great friends that have come out of this participation is my friend Grant.

Grant and I have now been close friends for nearly 7 years. Due to the fact that he now knows me pretty well, I have been sharing the annals of my dating blog during our monthly lunches. As we were discussing my latest debacle on the dating front, his face lit up.

"Chris," he exclaimed, "I can't believe I didn't think of this before."

I sat there in cautious anticipation.  "Grant, what didn't you think of before?" I inquired.

"I can't believe that I never thought of setting you up with this kid I know," he responded.

I heard kid, and wondered where this was going. . .

"Yeah," he proclaimed.

"I can't believe that I didn't come up with this before.  I have this friend who's son I worked with, and I think that he may be a good fit for you. He's in his late 20s, but he has a good family, a job and his own car. I think that you might like him."

Now, I have known Grant for the better part of a decade. Grant is good people.  I felt that if Grant was going to vouch for this guy then he was something pretty special.

Grant mentioned that perhaps we could all go to a happy hour together.  I thought this was a great idea. I could do the group first-date-thing, and hopefully get all the awkwardness out of the way with Grant as the cushion.

Grant and I wrapped lunch and he promised he would produce a point of contact for this amazing potential-Knight for me.  I bid him farewell and awaited my conduit for contact with this mystery Knight. Not that there was any pressure already, my friend Grant rang me shortly after lunch. He informed me that if this mystery Knight and I were to get married that he wasn't going to accept fish being served at the wedding. I promised that if we did reach the nuptial phase that there would be a steak in Grant's future.

Is it sad that in looking at all the wedding reception photos this excited me the most?

Two days went by, and then I was contacted by this would-be Knight.  The Knight text me that he had gotten my number from my friend (I had consented to my phone number being dolled out), and was reaching out in the hope that we could set up a meeting.

As fate would have it both Grant and my Knight had to work on the night that I had wanted to attend happy hour. To try to make the situation with my Knight work,  I offered to meet this new Knight one evening after my night job: he agreed this would work.

I text Grant and let him know that this new Knight and I would be getting together for drinks in the middle of the week instead of our proposed happy hour. Grant wished me well, and wanted me to to make sure of two things: 1. That I call him afterward to make sure I was OK and fill him in as to the details of the date and 2. Make sure that my Knight was to pay for whatever we did.

I have good people looking out for me :)

My Knight suggested that we go to a place near where he used to work. I had never been to this Cloverleaf bar, but had heard that they had amazing craft beer, so I agreed this would be a great destination. I scheduled the date to be at 10pm to allow for me to have a busy night at work, (I hoped) and still not be running terribly late all shiny and stinky from bar tending.

The night of my date, as fate would have it, my night job was terribly slow.  I was cut at roughly 7:30pm and text my Knight to see if we could move our date from 10pm to 9pm  He agreed and I began to drive over to our meeting place. 

I had thrown on a pair of white pants, sandals and a pretty flowy iridescent blue shirt while I was at work. The girls at work had all given the outfit approval and the boys gave me the wink and nod, and I felt that I was ready to rock.

I arrived in Caldwell tremendously earlier than I had expected. I took this opportunity to stop get gas, buy gum and then park my car and scroll through my Pinterest for a while.  During this time my Knight text me to inform me that he would be running about a half hour late. Thank God for Pinterest.  I sat in the car till he text me that he arrived. I told him that I would meet him in front of the restaurant.  I was concerned that with the bustling restaurant full of people that it would be a challenge to find him. 

Up to this point he had only sent me a Facebook picture via text.  In this picture he was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans and had his thick black hair was styled neatly.  He looked like your average 20 something guy who shopped for clothes based upon a mannequin in the store. From the shot that he sent, he looked like a large, strapping man.  From the picture it looked like he had a broad, muscular body (that I could make out under his shirt) and appeared to be well over 6 foot from the way the picture was shot. I can recall my girl friend and I looking at the picture and both of us commenting that he looked like a huge guy. 

When I showed up in front of the restaurant there was a man with dark black hair standing outside.  He looked like the man in the text picture. He had dark black hair slicked back, jeans, sneakers and an Affliction shirt on. As he walked towards me I realized that he wasn't that much taller than me but his muscles were enormous in his chest and arms. Wow. This man had a serious commitment to working out! He hugged me hello and we proceeded inside.

He opted to get us a table in the back of the restaurant rather than us sitting in the loud crowded bar. I appreciated this, because the last thing I want to do during my non-working time is be bumped by drunk people at a bar. 

We sat down and when the waitress inquired what we were having to drink I was excited at the prospect of sampling one of their fine craft brews.  I looked across the table and inquired what this Knight would be drinking. He proceeded to look at the waitress and tell her he was OK with water.  

Now in the past, when I only had a water, not even a soft drink, this meant that this was going to be a brief date and I didn't really want to be there.  This was not a good start. 

I asked if he was sure he didn't want anything to drink at all. He said he was in training, so he shouldn't, but I should feel free to have one. 

The waitress was stuck in the middle of this back and forth, so to make her life less difficult and not seem like we were just going to sit at a table and drink water all night, I ordered a Stoli Blueberry and club soda.  This looked like water?

As the waitress walked off, the awkward silence had set upon us.  To try to get the conversation going, I asked how he got to know our mutual friend Grant.  He proceeded to tell me the same story that Grant had told me about how they met. Silence again.

I asked him about how he got involved with his job and if he liked his work as a fire fighter.  He told me that he really enjoyed his work, and felt that he had chosen the right career path.  I continued to ask him about his work, how he trained to get the position and what it was like working in a job that could be a life or death scenario daily.  He answered all my questions and then that strange silence creeped in again. 

I was beginning to feel like someone who's parents had set them up with a co-workers son who I had nothing in common with.  I even felt like perhaps he was just forging along with this date to appease our friend.  There was 0 chemistry. 

Out of the blue he blurted out, "so how old are you anyway?"

Oh Jesus.  

What is it with 20-something year old men always asking a woman's age.  When I was younger,  I was raised with the belief that men shouldn't ever ask your age, and now, these days, it rolled off their tongue in the same way they ask you if you are DTF.  What happened to class and cooth? Clearly I had been down this road before.  

"35," I responded.  "Truthfully, there's not much I can do about it."

"Oh, that's OK," he blurted out.  "It's cool."

And so was the conversation once again.  

"So how is your summer going?" I inquired trying to determine if we should just both bail out now or continue with this seemingly forced event.

He told me it was going well. He and his buddies had spent the summer in Seaside going to Bamboo, DJai's and Headliners. 

Anyone who is from NJ is now, hopefully, giggling at this blog entry. Anyone who is not, can click on the links and get an understanding of why they are giggling. 

I told him I was more of a Parker House or Boathouse sort of girl. 

Again. Crickets.

This time he asked me if I was Italian. I said yes, and said I guessed he was too. He was impressed that I knew he was.  I told him it was something about the large, gold, chain with a large, gold, crucifix on it gave me a hint.  

At this point I had managed to suck down my Stoli and club in my VFW hall size glass and began the mental chess game of, do I tell him I am going to get going, or do I stay to see how this goes. 

The waitress immediately attended to us.  We were the last people in the restaurant.  As someone who has worked in the service industry all throughout my life I can tell you, we were the dreaded last table. 

I figured we were packing it in for the night.  I think I even began to do the 'I'm pulling my stuff together and putting my napkin on the table to go' routine.  

He then decides that he is going to have a Red Bull and vodka.  Curious choice, but, OK. He tells me that he guesses it's OK to have a drink. He offers for me to have another.  

Well, he's already ordered his, and I am intrigued that he is looking to continue on with this date.  

"Sure, I'll have another," I tell the waitress.  

I can nearly feel her angst for us emanating off of her being.  Just as she goes to walk away she goes to grab the katsup off the table, probably to  refill it for her side work.  As she reaches for it, he immediately grabs the katsup and tells her, "No, wait.  We're using this."

He giggles and then says "nah, it's cool" to her. I'm mortified. 

For those of you who have never been in the service industry, the last thing that you want at the end of your shift is someone chilling at your table, drinking water till all hours of the night and then thinking they are hilarious when you attempt to do the few things you can do to to wrap up your night. 

I make my 'I don't really know him' face at her and she walks away with a smile that's almost as genuine as my desire to be there. 

"So Grant tells me that you travel a lot.  You ever get out to Vegas?" he asks.

We share our stories of Vegas night clubs, VIP service and DJs we loved.  I tell him that Vegas is the halfway meeting point for my Australian friends and I, and what a blast we have when we go.  He tells me about the pool parties and palatial diggs he scores when he stays out there.  The conversation is actually flowing now. 

This year our alter egos were Miss Australia (middle), her stylist (far left), her best friend (polka dots), I was her  PR person and far right was her manager.  It was like an Australian Entourage. 

I ask where else he has traveled to and he tells me AC.  I share that I was recently there for the opening of Margaritaville at Resorts and he tells me about Murmur and a few other night clubs I have not been to there. 

We talk about our big Italian families and how crazy the holidays are.  He shares that he lives at home with his parents where his mother does his cooking, cleaning and laundry.  His down time is spent at the gym and off nights at various clubs in NJ like 46 Lounge and Jenks. 

I realize more and more we are from two different worlds. I think he does too. 

He's sweet, and kind, and is a good listener.  He's got a great job and a great family, two qualities I think are important.  He's a good looking man, but there's just something that isn't clicking for either one of us.  

We've now finished our drinks and the waitress drops the check.  He offers to pay, and on Grant's advice I agree to this.  I thank him for being such a gentleman, because, truly, he was.  He and I walk out to the parking lot to say our goodbyes.  I thank him for a lovely evening. He offers to go have a few more drinks over at the Ringside, but I decline because it is nearly midnight and well, I've had a long day and I'm tired.  I tell him to have a drink for me and enjoy the rest of his night off.  

He tells me he'll be in touch. I know he won't and neither will I. Kind of thing where if we ran into each other at Corrados we would say "hi" and maybe see how the other was, but I don't see us out painting the town together. 

As he walked towards his tinted out, shiny rimmed Mustang parked in the parking lot, I had to giggle. If I hadn't already been writing this blog with it's Greek tragedy conga line of stories already, no one would have believed me.