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| Sadly, this was not his profile picture. |
I was somewhere near the 25 or 26 date mark and figured as always, what the hell, I'll check out his profile. How many bad dates could I go on from this site. I had surely ticked through a first date with what I had hoped, at least for humanity's sake, was 97% of all of the most eccentric characters on this site. The law of averages was that I had to have a good date soon, right? Surely I wouldn't get through all 30 dates?
I arrived at his page and was immediately drawn to his pictures. A number of the six featured photos were of him on a farm. I assumed he was a farmer, and I thought to myself, "well here's a person with a profession that I think is commendable."
I think that in order to be a farmer you have to respect the land, have to be good with your hands, care for living things and you get to commune with nature. I think, theoretically, all of the life experiences working on a farm make for a person with qualities that I admire: hard working, understanding, respectful and probably pretty darn chill.
He looked really happy to be working on his farm in his pictures and that was refreshing. I think it's also amazing when you love your job. I feel it's an important key to a happy life, and it's fantastic when people have the good fortune of doing what they love.
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| Quoted earlier this week as saying she thought her career would be fun and it was. Yes. This is who you think this is. |
I checked out the other pictures of him at a party and what appeared to be a concert. He looked like he had friends that enjoyed his musical pursuits, and no one was sacrificing animals on stage in any of the pictures. All good things.
I checked out his "About Me" part of his profile. He talked about being a farmer, loving his work, enjoying music and concerts and finished with sharing he had a vast knowledge of wine. Super cool.
I checked out where he lived and it wasn't hundreds of miles away. Cool. He owned a car, didn't have a cat (I'm allergic and not going to come between anyone and their pet), was seeking a relationship, drank socially and didn't have any kids. All of these things were a OK with me.
"Might as well," I thought to myself. At worst this was another crumby date, at best, it could be a tale of two people meeting and having a wonderful dating existence.
My mind flashed 20 years into the future. I was retired and living on a farm, sitting on a wrap around porch in front of a large farmhouse, feeling the sun warm my skin while I sat sipping a glass of my family's vineyard's wine. In my vision I looked left at my winery, and right to rolling green hills of my family's farm and thought to myself "who knew meeting someone on this crazy site would have landed me here."
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| Dream big? Right? |
I drifted back to reality with a certain sense of peace.
"Let's hope this works,"I thought to myself.
In his email he thanked me for responding. He talked about his job, his pride in his work, and long days and nights that had led to him online dating. He asked me a few questions about my day, my job, and what sort of music I liked, and inquired if I would be willing to meet for a glass of wine at a local restaurant the following evening. He included a phone number and told me if I text him, we could get to know each other before we met.
I sent a message telling him how interesting I thought it was to have his job, and how cool it was that he seemed so happy doing it. I also took the opportunity to ask him what show he had gone to that was pictured in the image he had posted. Maybe this was a lame start, but, I don't have a ton in common with farmers. I have killed nearly every house plant I have owned and my garden this year; let's just say that those poor little seedlings didn't stand a chance.
I logged off the dating site, went about my evening and fell asleep that night dreaming of lunches on a wooden table in vast vineyard field. Maybe I was reenacting the scene from Under the Tuscan Sun. Whatever. You get the picture.
The following day I checked to see if the farmer had checked back. He had!
In his email he thanked me for responding. He talked about his job, his pride in his work, and long days and nights that had led to him online dating. He asked me a few questions about my day, my job, and what sort of music I liked, and inquired if I would be willing to meet for a glass of wine at a local restaurant the following evening. He included a phone number and told me if I text him, we could get to know each other before we met.
Yes sir. This sounded like a plan.
At this point I went back to his profile and looked at his pictures. He looked really young but, well, since when is looking young a crime? Had I looked at his age? Nope. Better not. Let's just live in the moment and not go into the date with judgements or expectations. If he knew about wine I am sure he didn't start drinking it last week, and if he was suggesting this specific place, he struck me as more mature than 21.
I jotted down his number on a sheet of paper, shut the computer and thought, "hey, this might go well. Stay positive."
That part of me, that usually is the voice of reason, deep inside me cringed a bit at my brain's positive, dogmatic mantra.
A short while later he text me asking what time the following evening would work. We agreed to meet around 9pm since I didn't want to schedule too early with my work, and he couldn't schedule too late because, well, I guess he got up when the rooster crowed?
We text back and forth and discovered that we shared a love of DJ music. I had spent the greater part of my early twenties bouncing from night club to night club listening to all the hottest DJs of the late 90's early 2000's. My friends and I were regulars at the China Club, the Limelight, Twilo, Vinyl and Sound Factory.
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| I was doing this long before Miley Cirus was even alive. |
I can recall making a trip to the Ministry of Sound in London specifically to see what sort of DJs the British were getting down to. I listened to DJs like John Digweed, Sasha, Junior Vasquez, and Paul Oakenfold who forged paths for today's dance music and awesome beats. We chatted about music for a while via text, text about our love of wine and our respective trips to the Napa Valley. It was getting late and he was needing to retire and I didn't want to soak up all the potential conversation for the following day.
The next day went by fairly quickly and next thing I knew, it was about an hour till I was due to meet my Knight at David Todd's City Tavern. Despite the fact that they had been open for some time, I had still not gotten myself to this fine establishment. I thought I knew of a few of my fellow colleagues from years past in the service industry now working there, but still, my travels had not taken me there. I threw on a pair of jeans, a comfortable fitted cotton shirt and a pair of open toe sandals.
If my date was lying about his height of 6'3, at least I wouldn't tower over him.
I arrived at the restaurant to find that it was nearly empty. As I looked down the bar, there was one, lone, dark-haired man leaning over a phone, with a glass of beer in front of him. This has got to be my Knight.
As I walked over, he turned around to greet me. In his pictures he was clean cut and neatly groomed. Today, he looked like he could be one of the brothers from Duck Dynasty. His beard was large and in charge. It was also getting a bit ZZ Top'esque. He also had a big bushy head of hair and large framed glasses. For a second I actually thought he might be wearing a disguise. I was nearly waiting for him to pick up the glasses and have the beard and mustache attached become un affixed from his face in a "gotcha" sort of way. I was trying not to look surprised.
Now let me say I have no problem with facial hair. I know a LOT of women out there who feel very strongly about their man not looking like a lumber jack for any number of reasons. I however, think men should be hairy and continually find it strange when they wax, shave and manicure their chests and well, other bits. I am all for manscaping, but leave SOME of what Nature gave you.
He shook my hand "hello" and I sat down next to him. All I could think to say was, "I dig the glasses."
He looked like he was blushing at my comment, and now emitted this odd hi pitch, fake sounding giggle that didn't seem like it should come out of a man this size. He was definitely 6 foot plus, and seemed to have a slight build for a farmer. All of this was congruent with his photos, but the hair and the laugh, I felt like he was in character or something. Or maybe this was who he was. . .Guess I was going to find out.
Trying to make everything more comfortable for everyone, I pointed at the glass of beer and said, "I guess you didn't care for the wine list?" I smiled big and tried to show him I was poking fun and not being critical.
"Oh yeah, " he said. "I'm kind of a snob I guess."
"Well that's OK. I'm a bit of a foodie and wine person myself. We like what we like, huh?" I smiled.
Again, he emitted that odd nervous laugh.
He stared at the glass. He then stared at me. Then the glass again.
I was going to have to carry the conversation. OK here we go. . .
"So this is a cool place," I remarked looking around.
"Yeah," he said. "I've been here a couple of times."
"This is my first time here. It's pretty nice. Have you had the food?" I inquired.
"Nope," he commented.
"Was it a long drive for you here?" I was digging for small talk so he would be less nervous looking and in turn it would make me less uncomfortable.
"Nope. It's not far. My friends and I come out this way when the growing season is done and I can have a bit of a break."
He divulged that he worked pretty much 5am till 8pm every day except for one weekend day that kind of rotated. On top of that, he never got to really go anywhere because there were only just a few brief weeks a year that he wasn't committed to the work on the farm.
I wasn't sure how this was going to work. How was anyone supposed to date this guy? He was only available from 8pm (maybe), till 10pm (because he had to be up early for the farm), 6 days a week with only really 2-3 weeks of quality time to himself a year? Maybe being a farmer wasn't so cool after all.
My vision of my large farmhouse, backyard winery and lush green backdrop for my life were crumbling.
I didn't want to date someone on that tight a schedule. I felt like the relationship would have more of a booty call feel than a real dating feel. Dang.
When the conversation slowed, I brought up the music that we had been discussing the evening before. He then dropped the "how old are you anyway" question.
I replied as I had so many times before my date turned into a pumpkin with the magical words "I'm 35."
He then replied to me, "Woah. You were around for the Golden Age of raves and clubbing."
I now felt ancient.
It was bad enough the music I listened to in my early 20s now comes on the Old Skool album compilations. Or even that, years ago, I scoffed at my parents for listening to 106.7 because of their "lame old music" and now, I found myself tuning in to this very channel to hear "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "She Bop". Oh, how the tides have changed.
Turns out my farmer, when he did have more than three hours to himself, was raving and raging till dawn at underground clubs, warehouses and anywhere a DJ could set up a sound system. Raving was his passion.
So was mine. Fifteen years ago.
I didn't see how this was going to work.
He now regarded me as a relic of a time period he revered. I felt like a museum piece that was being marveled at. The fact that this now mundane conversation about whatever had now turned into his excited questions about my clubbing past made me feel like there was now a gaping chasm between our ages.
Trying to decipher how old he was without coming out and asking, I asked how old his siblings were, and how many years between them and him.
I'm no mathematician but the number I kept landing on was 24.
Nope this wasn't going to work. I had vowed to get out of the kiddie pool and here I was, yet again, wading ankle deep.
The natural course of the conversation was winding down and I felt that this was a good time to make an escape.
I mentioned that I knew he had to be up early, and I was just beat from the day. Being old and all.
He paid for the wine and told me he was interested in hearing more from me about the music from "the old days".
I thanked him for the wine, bid him goodnight, smiled and asked him to text when he was home safe.
I received a text from him when he was home and then the following day the text messages continued.
I finally leveled with him and expressed that I wasn't sure how I thought this was going to work with his limited time, and our few common interests. He said he was OK with this because he didn't feel an attraction to me on a pheromonal level.
Huh?
What did that mean?
Everyone was polite in their departure texts but I was bewildered.
Maybe he was looking for a human stimulant that could be his daily Molly? Who knew. To this day, I wonder what happened that I didn't make the cut as the traveling human rave.
Ha! As if!
The next day went by fairly quickly and next thing I knew, it was about an hour till I was due to meet my Knight at David Todd's City Tavern. Despite the fact that they had been open for some time, I had still not gotten myself to this fine establishment. I thought I knew of a few of my fellow colleagues from years past in the service industry now working there, but still, my travels had not taken me there. I threw on a pair of jeans, a comfortable fitted cotton shirt and a pair of open toe sandals.
If my date was lying about his height of 6'3, at least I wouldn't tower over him.
I arrived at the restaurant to find that it was nearly empty. As I looked down the bar, there was one, lone, dark-haired man leaning over a phone, with a glass of beer in front of him. This has got to be my Knight.
As I walked over, he turned around to greet me. In his pictures he was clean cut and neatly groomed. Today, he looked like he could be one of the brothers from Duck Dynasty. His beard was large and in charge. It was also getting a bit ZZ Top'esque. He also had a big bushy head of hair and large framed glasses. For a second I actually thought he might be wearing a disguise. I was nearly waiting for him to pick up the glasses and have the beard and mustache attached become un affixed from his face in a "gotcha" sort of way. I was trying not to look surprised.
Now let me say I have no problem with facial hair. I know a LOT of women out there who feel very strongly about their man not looking like a lumber jack for any number of reasons. I however, think men should be hairy and continually find it strange when they wax, shave and manicure their chests and well, other bits. I am all for manscaping, but leave SOME of what Nature gave you.
 |
| Ok some, being the operative word. |
He shook my hand "hello" and I sat down next to him. All I could think to say was, "I dig the glasses."
He looked like he was blushing at my comment, and now emitted this odd hi pitch, fake sounding giggle that didn't seem like it should come out of a man this size. He was definitely 6 foot plus, and seemed to have a slight build for a farmer. All of this was congruent with his photos, but the hair and the laugh, I felt like he was in character or something. Or maybe this was who he was. . .Guess I was going to find out.
Trying to make everything more comfortable for everyone, I pointed at the glass of beer and said, "I guess you didn't care for the wine list?" I smiled big and tried to show him I was poking fun and not being critical.
"Oh yeah, " he said. "I'm kind of a snob I guess."
"Well that's OK. I'm a bit of a foodie and wine person myself. We like what we like, huh?" I smiled.
Again, he emitted that odd nervous laugh.
He stared at the glass. He then stared at me. Then the glass again.
I was going to have to carry the conversation. OK here we go. . .
"So this is a cool place," I remarked looking around.
"Yeah," he said. "I've been here a couple of times."
"This is my first time here. It's pretty nice. Have you had the food?" I inquired.
"Nope," he commented.
"Was it a long drive for you here?" I was digging for small talk so he would be less nervous looking and in turn it would make me less uncomfortable.
"Nope. It's not far. My friends and I come out this way when the growing season is done and I can have a bit of a break."
He divulged that he worked pretty much 5am till 8pm every day except for one weekend day that kind of rotated. On top of that, he never got to really go anywhere because there were only just a few brief weeks a year that he wasn't committed to the work on the farm.
I wasn't sure how this was going to work. How was anyone supposed to date this guy? He was only available from 8pm (maybe), till 10pm (because he had to be up early for the farm), 6 days a week with only really 2-3 weeks of quality time to himself a year? Maybe being a farmer wasn't so cool after all.
My vision of my large farmhouse, backyard winery and lush green backdrop for my life were crumbling.
I didn't want to date someone on that tight a schedule. I felt like the relationship would have more of a booty call feel than a real dating feel. Dang.
When the conversation slowed, I brought up the music that we had been discussing the evening before. He then dropped the "how old are you anyway" question.
I replied as I had so many times before my date turned into a pumpkin with the magical words "I'm 35."
He then replied to me, "Woah. You were around for the Golden Age of raves and clubbing."
I now felt ancient.
 |
| Yeah. She was single at my age too. It's cool. |
It was bad enough the music I listened to in my early 20s now comes on the Old Skool album compilations. Or even that, years ago, I scoffed at my parents for listening to 106.7 because of their "lame old music" and now, I found myself tuning in to this very channel to hear "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "She Bop". Oh, how the tides have changed.
Turns out my farmer, when he did have more than three hours to himself, was raving and raging till dawn at underground clubs, warehouses and anywhere a DJ could set up a sound system. Raving was his passion.
So was mine. Fifteen years ago.
I didn't see how this was going to work.
He now regarded me as a relic of a time period he revered. I felt like a museum piece that was being marveled at. The fact that this now mundane conversation about whatever had now turned into his excited questions about my clubbing past made me feel like there was now a gaping chasm between our ages.
Trying to decipher how old he was without coming out and asking, I asked how old his siblings were, and how many years between them and him.
I'm no mathematician but the number I kept landing on was 24.
Nope this wasn't going to work. I had vowed to get out of the kiddie pool and here I was, yet again, wading ankle deep.
The natural course of the conversation was winding down and I felt that this was a good time to make an escape.
I mentioned that I knew he had to be up early, and I was just beat from the day. Being old and all.
He paid for the wine and told me he was interested in hearing more from me about the music from "the old days".
I thanked him for the wine, bid him goodnight, smiled and asked him to text when he was home safe.
I received a text from him when he was home and then the following day the text messages continued.
I finally leveled with him and expressed that I wasn't sure how I thought this was going to work with his limited time, and our few common interests. He said he was OK with this because he didn't feel an attraction to me on a pheromonal level.
Huh?
What did that mean?
Everyone was polite in their departure texts but I was bewildered.
Maybe he was looking for a human stimulant that could be his daily Molly? Who knew. To this day, I wonder what happened that I didn't make the cut as the traveling human rave.
Ha! As if!
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