The "Baffling Buffet" Knight

At the very beginning of this endeavor I wanted to make sure I was being diverse with who I was going on dates with.  Diversifying seems to be a strange word when talking about dating, but I wanted to leave no stone unturned in my dating endeavors.  I had recently gotten keen on reading about this whole investment diversifying thing, and felt that broadening my horizons with the Knights I dated should be no different. 

I was going to date men of all races, heights, sizes, hair colors and backgrounds. I was going to try to not just have "a type". Why pigeon hole myself? Why not try for a Heinz 57 selection. . .

With this theory in mind I decided that I was going to take a chance with a man that had emailed me on the dating site.  He had been very complimentary and cordial in his introduction, and I figured that this was a pleasant start. I found his niceties to be flattering and found myself smiling whilst reading his email.

I clicked on the link to his dating site profile.  He had a picture of him on a yacht out at sea, one of him at what looked like a Monte Carlo racetrack, and his third and final picture, was of a sunset over a tropical island.  All unique and beautiful locales.  He travels. Plus.

The thing that I thought was odd about all these pictures, was that the pictures looked like they could have been shot from space. I strained to see what this man looked like. He appeared to be in his mid 30s or 40s (who can really tell these days), well dressed, with longer wavy dark hair and what looked like a strapping physique. He had olive skin that had been tanned by the sun.  Fantastic! He wasn’t afraid of the beach!

His physical description was 5’ 11 “with a few extra pounds”. Hmph.  I didn’t see a few extra pounds.  But who cares anyway . . .

A “few extra pounds”, is a more than OK with me.  I prefer only that the men I date not be smaller than me.  Here is why. . .

My criteria for men and fitness is as follows: You need to look like you can carry me.

This may seem like an odd request. . .but here is my reasoning.

1.    I am one of the most accident-prone people you have ever met: In your life.  Or, for that matter, may ever hear of meeting.  I have fallen off curbs, (something that I have inherited from my mother apparently), injured myself while WATCHING a roller derby bout and have had the kind of freak accidents have the ER doctor looking at you like, ‘this is the worst story someone has ever made up’.

And sadly, it’s all true.

I generally look to my partner to help me hobble away or sometimes even chauffeur a piggy back ride or a fireman’s carry from one of my debacles to safety. 

2.   After a long night of drinking, some people get frisky; others are looking for a fight.  I just really want a nap. Wherever it is that we are, I am knocking out if the spirit, and spirits move me. Whether it be on public transport, after a long day touring, during the car ride home from the concert, or on the couch watching movies after a few glasses of wine: I am more than likely going to be toast. I have inherited my father’s ability to sleep ANYWHERE.  I’m not kidding. . .anywhere. 

My poor father would take us shopping for school clothes or prom dresses and fall asleep in the chair, next to the main walkway in department stores, minutes after we disappeared into a dressing room.  He slept as if he had been knocked out by Mike Tyson even in places like Grand Central Station. All he needed was some elevator music, the room temperature around 68 and no real moments of responsibility, and wa-la, he'd be out like a light. Following suit in this familial trait, I need only a few glasses of red wine or spirits and a comfortable chair, bench or even airport waiting area floor.  I’m out.

  

3.  When passed out for any reason, I am a 400 lb woman.  Whatever it is about me, men of yesteryear have all commented on how I somehow double in weight when  I am passed out asleep.  My otherwise small 5’3 frame now reconfigures itself into jumble resulting in the same affect as trying to carry the 50 Foot Woman.  Even the surefire fireman carry is a production. . .for two people. . . when I am in la-la land.

I think we can just let her sleep here. 

With these factors in mind, I am more than happy to take applicants from the “a few extra pounds” (as the dating website identifies this group) club. I like my men strapping, in whatever direcetion they strap? 

I emailed him back telling him that I was appreciative of the compliments.  I asked him if his race track pictures were from Monte Carlo, how he learned to sail, and where the lovely beach shot was from.  I figured that this was a good enough ice breaker. I gave it a C+

He emailed back nearly immediately. . 

His race track pictures, were in fact, from Monte Carlo.

I had been to Monaco but I had not seen the race track while I toured thru Monaco on a month long jaunt with an ex-boyfriend that took me through the Italian and French Rivieras.  I instead had opted to take my “free day” in Monte Carlo.  As any good traveler who travels for any duration with a partner, there is the day during, your long haul that both need a bit of head space from the other partner.  He and I had our “free day” of independence with him departing to the National Museum of Monaco and the beach. I chose to spend my day at the local chi-chi restaurant to blow my share the nights stay on chocolate mousse and champagne. That’s just how I roll.

I digress. 

He told me that he had been sailing with some friends, but didn’t go into detail.

‘Well at least he wasn’t afraid of the ocean,’ I thought.  Plus. Ideally he hadn't drown his cohorts either.

He shared that the picture of him on the beach was indeed from St. Maarten: The Dutch side, not the French side.  That seems to be very important to those who have been to St. Maarten.  I still need to go and see what all the crazy difference is.

He asked in closing his email, if I would be willing to meet up to have lunch.  I thought this suggestion was genius.  I could devote an hour of my life to this: I could do an hour standing on my head. I would conveniently have a “meeting” scheduled just after our lunch so that I only allotted an hour.  If it went great, it would leave us eager to spend more time, and if it went poorly, well, I had my out.

He asked if I wanted to meet for Indian food at a local buffet. I happen to adore Indian food! Even if I thought there was potential for my date becoming a scene from American Psycho, I said yes. Our date was slated for broad daylight, at 1:30 pm at a lovely Indian buffet.  What could go wrong?

"See you at lunch!"

We text a few brief times on the days leading up to the date.  There were your usual, “how was your day, what did you do this weekend, how was work” sort of questions. The day of our lunch I arrived promptly at 1:30 at the buffet spot.  The restaurant was pretty empty. I wandred through the front of the restaurant and saw no one.  I stuck my head in the back room and all I saw was a large man, face down shoveling down some Indian food, on what  I guessed was a short lunch break.  As I turned around to go talk to the maître de I heard, “CHRISTINA!” from behind me. 

My name isn’t Christina, but for whatever reason I turned around.  Maybe because I was the only woman in the restaurant at this point?

As I turned back around the man who had been shoveling down his lunch was standing up from the table.  He was wiggling himself away from the table to unwedge himself from the booth.  He was waving his napkin at me.   As I strained to try to make out how this could possibly be the guy who I was meeting he approached me.  He had some sort of sauce all stuck in his beard, and his shirt had dribblings of what I can only imagine might have been Chicken Vindaloo. He was waving the napkin at me with one hand while wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand.  Which he then extended out for me to shake.  I kind of cringed as I extended my hand to shake his. 

WHO WAS THIS PERSON??

With his mouth still full he started in "I didn't think you were coming!"

"Umm," I stammered.  "I thought we were set for 1.30.  Did I miss a message?" 

"Ohhhh," he replied.  "I thought it was for 1pm. I didn't think you were going to show."

Now I wasn't sure I should have. He still had a full mouth, and was half chewing, half conversing with me.  He gestured to the table where he had three plates full of Indian food.  These three dinner plates were stocked to the brim, teeming with Indian goodness. 

As I sat down I thanked him for grabbing me a plate of food.  He quickly waved his hands in a "no" gesture and swiped the plate away from in front of my seat.  He swallowed down the mass he was eating long enough to say "Oh no.  That's my lunch."

Um. Ok.  No worries.  I know that the food was bangin', and clearly he didn't think I was coming, so I guess these other plates were his too. No worries. I can get my own lunch.  

He wedged himself back in between the table and the banquet.  I was now looking at him trying to get a mental image of who the man in his online pictures was.  This man I was sitting across from was very very, large, with long stringy unkempt hair that was sort of greasy.  He was wearing running sneakers, track pants, a sweater and had a scarf wrapped around his neck.  He looked like he was going out to shovel a driveway, rather than to meet at a nice restaurant for lunch.  

He had definitely missed his mouth on a few occasions during the last half hour because he was wearing a number of brightly colored stains on his shirt and pants.  I hoped, at least that they were from THIS episode of eating. In addition, there seemed to be a little bit of food dangling from not only his beard, which was bushy and long, but his hair also seemed to have flecks of food in it.  Apparently this had been a full body event for him before I got there. . .

I now noticed that he was inhaling the food at an epic rate because he wasn't even using utensils. He had cupped his hand and was eating with what looked like giant paws.  He would shovel the food into his palm by using all five fingers, scoop it upside down and then slam it into his face.  

I have seen this eating technique used before when I was over-seas.  While eating with the Bedouin (an ancient nomadic tribe) in Egypt we ate like this.  It was expected. It was unique and enjoyable.  When you don't have utensils, this is a great way to eat.  Just wasn't expecting it on our date at this pretty nice place. 

He stopped stuffing his face long enough to gesture to the buffet behind us.  "Everything is amazing," he mumbled through his naan.  He then hailed the waiter over, ordered more naan and kept eating like a champ.  

This was not a date, this was a competitive food eating competition I had stumbled upon.  It must have been.  This man was not even remotely interested in my being there.  He was there for the buffet, period, the end.

MOOORRRREEEE NAAAANNN!!!

I was starving at this point so I made my way to the buffet.  I had been kind-of turned off by some of the dishes because after seeing them as hair ornaments, I just couldn't feel excited about putting them in my mouth. I put some salad, a bit of Chicken Masala and rice on my plate, I took a deep breath and headed back towards the table.  

The one thing I had going for me was this date was supposed to be an hour long, I had showed up apparently a half an hour late: I could only hope he had some place to be at 2.

I sat back down across from him.  He told me in between bites I looked more attractive in person than in my pictures. "Thank you?" was all I could muster. 

I asked him if he had ever been to this restaurant before.  He said not really.  With his mouth still full, he told me that he usually spent most of his time out in Brooklyn in the Coney Island area.  He really like Russian girls and asked if I was Russian.  

I replied that I was not.  

"Oh, the blond hair was what made me think you might be Russian," he explained sounding disappointed. 

'The blond could be from a box, or a skilled stylist' I thought to myself. I was officially mentally checking out.

He went on to start this running monologue about how he liked Russian girls, but the ones he met out on Coney Island always seemed to want him to pay for everything. He assumed that they made enough dancing that they could pay for themselves, but they were always hitting him up for cash or to buy them things. 

I had a feeling the women he had been speaking of weren't here with the Russian Ballet.

Tutus are expensive I guess?

There was very little conversation to speak of. He pretty much talked at me. He went on and on about his traveling, his work (that didn't seem all too legitimate, now that I think about it), and the myriad of things he had to buy for these previous Russian dancing women.  I tried to eat my lunch pretending to listen and trying not to be grossed out by his gulping and sucking noises as he ate.  

I guess the time went by fairly quickly because next thing I knew it was 2pm! OH THANK GOD!

"Hey there," I said, "It's 2 and I don't want to hold you up since I know that you had planned on us only being out for an hour."

"Oh yeah!" he exclaimed.  

He quickly shot up out of his seat and began to shuffle for his wallet.  I reached into my wallet and held out my share of the buffet money. He scooped it out of my hand with a, "thanks" and added it to the crumpled bills he had taken out of his pocket and wallet.  He then gestured for the waiter to come over and wrap his fourth plate of food to go. 

As he was scooping up his phone and jacket, he turned to me and asked, "so for our next date, can we meet in Coney Island?"

I forced a smile and told him I would look at my schedule and get back to him. I told him to have a lovely afternoon.  He leaned in to try to kiss me on the cheek goodbye, and (out of instinct I think) I grabbed the linen napkin and pretended to sneeze into it.  He got me with the awkward one armed hug, that put me closer to his dingleberry food beard, which then caused me to kind of heave a bit.  Successfully stifling my heaving by covering my mouth with the napkin, I waved goodbye. 

That, whatever that was, I swore, could and would never happen again.

The "Magneto" Knight

If I told you things I did before, told you how I used to be,
Would you go along with someone like me,
If you knew my story word for word, had my history,
Would you go along with someone like me" -Young Folks
Peter Bjorn  and John

There is a reason why Morgan Spurlock never did a "30 Days of Dating" segment when he had his show. He's a smart man. . .

I can't recall at this time how this all started with this Knight; as in, who contacted who. I feel like he reached out to me, but I can recall liking his pictures and found his "About Me" interesting, so maybe I reached out to him. Sadly, my mind has turned into a mush of intros and get-to-know-you emails. If you can forgive me, please read on.

However I got to the point of reading this man's profile, I can remember the email I sent in response to reading it. 

In this particular profile this man had written quite a bit about himself, which is a rarity on this dating site. He was well traveled, well read, shared quite a bit about himself and seemed really open and honest about his life in general. What struck me as odd was at the end of this great "About Me" was this odd disclaimer.  

He had written this whole paragraph about how no matter how many times he wrote a personal email to someone on this site, he didn't get seem to get any response. He went on to share that he didn't know why people were on a dating site if they weren't going to respond to someone who was looking to date them. I believe that he even mentioned in his profile that he had written a paper for school about on-online dating. Tou che'. That was pretty interesting to me.

In my infinite wisdom, I took his open ended question as an opportunity to craft my response leading with why I wasn't interested in getting to know him.  

I wrote him back that he seemed like a well rounded guy, and that I was impressed with the time that he had taken to write such a thorough and thoughtful profile. I expressed that even though I found his profile pictures attractive and what he had to say as very intriuging and engaging, the fact that his profile said looking for "nothing serious" wasn't something I was interested in. I also offered up that this may also why some of the women that he has reached out to have not responded. I wished him well and told him that he looked great on paper, and would surely attract a person that he could be happy with. I closed the note by wishing him well, and then sent on the email. Feeling perhaps I did my good deed for the day, I took this as a sign to get a move on with my day and logged off of the dating site. 

I NEVER EXPECTED that he would email me back. 

At some point when I logged back on later that week I saw a familiar profile picture in my in box.  I tried to jog my memory as to why I was recognizing this profile. Hmmmm.  We all know how I suck with identifying people from earlier blog entries, so I clicked on the message. 

Still haven't lived this mistaken identity down. 

"Please Come Back" the opening line pleaded.  

"Interesting," I thought.

Here was the guy who I had written to earlier in the week telling him why I wasn't interested! What the . . . 

He expressed that he was grateful that I had said something about his "relationship status" on his profile. He apparently didn't realize that his profile still had "nothing serious" as his relationship want.  He mentioned that he had written the profile a while ago when he may have been in a different mindset, and then just never updated the profile to reflect his desire to get into a relationship with someone. He asked me if now, perhaps, I would be interested in getting to know him since we were, in fact, on the same page.  

I couldn't decide if this was a ploy to talk to me, or a legitimate oversight on his part. Either way, DID I want to talk to him??

Well, other than a few things that he mentioned in his profile that made me cock my eyebrow, (that you AND I will learn of later) he seemed great on paper.

Why the hell not. 

I sent him back that if his new status change was truly the case, I would entertain getting to know him. 

From this point forward we emailed on the site a few more times over the next few days. I was fascinated with his interests. He had lived all over, and we could talk about our respective travels to all the places we both had visited.  He and I talked about books we read, bad dates we had been on, and how we ended up on this site.  We took to asking each other a string of unique questions like, who we would want to fight (dead or alive), what your favorite season is, favorite food your Mom cooked growing up; wholesome sort of questions. I was impressed that there was a man that was willing to be my pen pal to get to know me without being creepy. Sad but true that this was unique.  

As time went on sometimes we would just send lists to each other.


I'm a decent cook
I love non-fiction books 
I'm afraid of skydiving

I don't drink coffee

(My example above is for visual reference, because this will be pertinent to the next piece of the communication I am going to share.)

During one of these strings of emails back and forth I had put together my list of cute tid-bits about me. I wasn't paying attention to the fact that I had edited one of the lines and not proof read the final caption. The small window to send emails on the site it had cut off the last line I had edited and moved up in the list, totally changing the appearance of the excerpt. What it was supposed to read:

. . .
Favorite color is blue
I'm a dog person
Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar
I don't do any home improvements well 

Turned into:


Favorite color is blue
I'm terrible at doing any of my own home improvements 
I'm a dog person
Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar     (This line representing the crease on the email box.)         
I don't do a

I don't see the last line. 

I'm proud of my cute little "Chris tid-bits" and I just hit send. 

I now notice that I have an IMMEDIATE response in my inbox. This one starts with: 

"WOAH. I didn't realize you would share that at this point in the conversation. OK then. Well here we go.  Really?  Not even on holidays or for special occasions?"

And then his email continued on to list some of the regular get-to-know you list items he would ordinarily send.

Yes at this point I was so horrified I turned into Tom Green. 

I nearly threw up on my shoes as I read what I had sent to him. What seemed like my sharing of sexual preferences, was just an epic editing blunder.  I was mortified. 

That was not how that was supposed to read. FML.

A wave of panic came over me.  I immediately sent back:

"OMG. I am horrified.  I totally didn't mean to send the last line looking like that. It was supposed to read, 'I don't do any home improvements well', but due to my poor editing you got that cheeky response.  Not my intention at all to have sent that last line. Dear God."

I then asked if we could move to regular email so that way I could spell check and actually see all of what I was writing and sending. He laughed it off, so I didn't really know if he was even serious or not in HIS response. I was too busy being mortified of my proofreading debacle.

The conversations on email went on for quite a while. Our schedules were a mess and it seemed like we might not ever get together. He had a bit of anxiety about us meeting and to say I wasn't gun shy of another date at this point would be a severe understatement.  

He and I had had some good conversations but there was a strange feeling I had that I just couldn't put my finger on. 

Part of me didn't want to drive nearly an hour away to God-knows-where where he lived to meet up with someone I barely knew.  He seemed genuine and from what I had gotten to know, I thought he was pretty cool, but I still wasn't sure I wanted to burn a night off. Keep in mind that most of the other dates to this point had left me yearning for those hours of my life back.  

After some back and forth about where to finally meet I had agreed to go to (now brace yourself) this classy place for a first date; the Dingo's Den.  Yes.  It sounds like it was.  I had Googled this place and it came up under Top North Jersey Dive Bars.  

Interesting. 

I was reticent in my true feelings about the place, which were, "Really. This is date one buddy?" and instead offered up what I thought might be a better location. 

He was not interested in another location. 

He had mentioned an anxiety about being in places that might get crowded.  I figured that the last thing I wanted to do was add stress to a first meeting so I acquiesced to his request. The positive spin was 'even if the date sucked I was trying out a new place?" Silver lining, right?

We scheduled for our date at the Dingo's Den and I think he teased me a few times about not showing up.  I told him that I never missed a chance to check out a good dive bar and fortunately he thought that assured I was coming. 

I arrived at our scheduled date and take a look at the building I was going to walk into. Yep, this place fits the bill. 

Keep in mind, after I shared where I was headed to with my friends, they had me promise that I would send licence plate numbers, his name and location I was at to make them feel better. 

Super sexy location for a first date.

I wandered into the dimly light room and looked to my left to see the long, nearly empty bar with two patrons at opposite ends. I imagined I had a 50/50 shot that one of these guys was my Knight. 

I noticed that the man sitting at the far end of the bar was talking to the barkeep. He looked pretty similar to the man in the pictures online so I made my way down the bar to meet this person. Sure enough this was my Knight. 

As he saw me approaching, he stood up and pulled out the chair next to him for me to sit. I thanked him and took my seat on the stool next to his. 

I noticed that he was sipping on a can of PBR. He asked if I wanted a drink and I agreed to a can of PBR as well. When in Rome, right?

As I sat there looking at him, he was just as he appeared in his pictures.  He had a thick, blond head of hair that was pushed behind his ears.  He had a scruffy beard and mustache and his eyes were a deep blue.  He had gauges in his ears, nearly a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms, and he appeared to be his purported height of 6' 4. He kind of looked like Thor. No joke. 

I can't say I was upset.  What can I say, I am a sucker for Norse men. 

And in my spare time I go on dates with superheros.

We got to talking about my drive there, our respective day's at work and just other small talk you have when you are meeting someone for the first time.  He looked super nervous.  He kept shaking his leg and tapping his fingers.  To get him to relax a bit, I asked him about how he knew this place and if this was where he brought all his first dates. 

He relaxed a bit and seemed most comfortable telling stories of his previous dates, that yes, he generally did bring here.  He told a story of a date he had had at this very place that went totally awry after the date got drunk, out of hand, and tried to ram her hands down his pants. I promised that I was going to be on my best behavior and he had no worry for me behaving like a lunatic. 

As we talked I noticed how passionate he was when he spoke. He was very animated and had some very strong opinions about things.  I found myself being uncharchteristically quiet.  He sort of ranted at points about his subject matter and would get very heated about certain topics.  There were a few instances of this behaviour,  but the one case in point I truly remember nearly put the kabash on the date.  At one point he shared that he was looking for a relationship with someone that was totally open and honest, with no secrets at all what-so-ever.  I retorted with how I felt that everyone had secrets from their partner and some were best to just keep. This sent him off. . .

He couldn't comprehend that when you were in love with someone and in a committed relationship as to why you would keep ANY secrets from them. He said people only kept secrets when they were ashamed or trying to hide somethign that was unflattering for them. I vehimently disagreed.  I expressed that there were experinces and stories that I enjoyed keeping to myself just because the experiences were mine that had nothing do with shame or an unflattering perception. This was like throwing lighter fluid on a fire.  He intensely debated that I must secretly be ashamed or embarassed of these stories. I shared that I did not. His voice elevated. My blood pressure escalated. This man was a great at arguing a point but all this disagreement was turning me off. 

I think that he got that I was not really wanting to argue about our perceptions about secrets so he dissmissed the conversation by calling me shady and to stop the back and forth I agreed that I guess I was shady. Whatever. 

To try to smooth things over he suggested that we pick out some music from the juke box.  This was a good way to put some space between us and the insignificant odd argument that we were having so I agreed. We poked fun at each others picks and found that we actually did like A LOT of the same music.  Music. The great equilizer.  

Now that the conversation had cooled we resumed our seats at the bar.  He was definlity more quiet  now. I worried that he was traumitized that I actually bit back when arguing a point.  Feeling bad for being assertive I took this opprotunity to ask him some questions about some of the info on his profile.  

I had noticed on his profile that he mentioned having had a magnet installed in his hand.  I had read up on this magnet installation on line to see what is was all about, but I wanted to here his take as to why he had done this.  I asked why he had chosen to do this and what it did for him.  He explained that with the magnet in that he could feel energy fields and that it also made for great party tricks.  

He then proceeded to ask the bar tender for a bottle cap so I could see the magnet live in action.  Sure enough, the sucker stuck right to his finger. 'Well, if this works out,' I thought, 'this should be quite the hit at the Manzella family dinner table

I asked if this magnet installation took a long time to heal and if it hurt.  He mentioned that he had a very high threshold for pain and had requested that they NOT anestitize him.  I thought that was total crazy pants, but well, I get my legs waxed. I guess that could be construed as masochism?

I told him that I thought the magnet was pretty neat, even if it was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced.  I asked if he regretted doing it, and he said he was pretty happy with how it turned out. 

He then took this opportunity to segue to another what I would like to call an"out of left field" hobby of his.  He mentioned he could take a lot of pain and therefore he sometimes did suspensions. 

I asked if he ment brakes and suspensions, but I had a feeling that what he did didn't have anything to do with cars.  

He then affirmed that, yes, he did in fact not do brakes and suspensions, but rather enjoyed spending his time with hooks through the skin in his back hanging from the ceiling.  My skin ached just thinking about it.

You know the moment when you realize how different your lifestlye is from someone elses?  Yep. That was this very moment.  

I can see Russia from here!

Let me just take a minute to say that if you have a hobby you are proud of, enjoy it, and aren't hurting anyone but, er, yourself, I am all for you sucking the marrow out of life and enjoying your hobby.  HOWEVER. . . Did I see myself standing in an audience of on lookers telling the person next to me "yeah, that's my man hanging up there." Well. . .that's a no. 

I guess I couldn't really hide my shock because the next thing he told me was that one of his dates had literally gotten up and run out of the bar after he shared this with them.  He also looked hurt by this.  I didn't want to make the guy feel bad, and I think that is why I didn't just pull the plug on this date after this most recent share.

I wasn't sure where to go with this. For lack of material, I asked how exactly one suspends themself and how he got into it.  I think he mentioned that he and his ex were into it and that sugued to what would be the last conversation of the night.  I think I must of asked what happened that he and she didn't work out.  He had mentioned a few times through the conversation that evening that he was sexually adventerous and the sex was what had kept him in his last relationship for longer than he wanted to be in it. 

Seeing as sex seemed to be a recurring theme I stopped the convesation so we could address this point he had been so itchy to talk about.  I asked why he was so very concerned about  sex and felt the need to keep bringing up stories that seemed tied to his various partners and situations.  He expressed that he had had a lot of bad sex and that he was concerned for his future sexual endeavors.  I asked what he was into that made it so difficult for him to be satisfied with the partners he had in the past.  

Keep in mind at this point I was 98% sure that I wasn't going to go out with him ever again, and this was just R&D into the male mind. 

The case in point that he gave for why he and the ex were so hot for so long was that she was adventerous and he liked that.  I was curious what sort of adventures he was into.  I had to know what a guy who liked putting hooks into his back got off on sexually.  

I asked what it was specifically that he was into and then was sorry that I did.  To keep this G rated because my mother reads this, I will just say this. . . I am all about adventure with a bit of 50 Shades peppered in. I am all for trying new things.  He however, prefered things that I think I have only seen in SVU episodes and hardcore foreign porn. This propensity was the deal breaker. This was not gonna work.  

I expressed at this point that it was getting late.  I had about an hour drive home and I was hoping to get a good nights rest because I had a full day the following day.  I thanked him for his time and told him I enjoyed the talk. He was a gentelman and walked me out to make sure I got to my car OK.  

He wasn't a bad guy, I just didn't see us making it as a couple. . .for any number of reasons.  I thanked him, and as I drove away, all I could think was I'm going to be single forever.

The "Self-Destructing" Knight

There had been a long period of hardship with the blog. I realized more and more that this was going to make for a great book, but probably ward me off from dating for possibly, the rest of my life. I had set out with aspirations of potentially meeting a partner, however, each time I told a friend that I thought that this was possible, I was told "Do you really think so?'

I have hope. . . but I hear hope kills people, so I guess I was to tread lightly with that hope.

I was coming off a long string of dates that weren't really gonna go anywhere. You find out at around the third date, if they are going to turn into a pumpkin, they do. I believe that we all put our best foot forward when on a first date and by date three, if they are going to let their freak flag fly, it's unfurled then.

I was beginning to re think my strategy. I was casting a net that perhaps was too inclusive. In my EOE dating, perhaps my own pre-conceived notions and preferences were getting in the way. I never thought I really had a type. I had always prided myself on being the John Mayer of diverse dating, but maybe, as I aged I really did have some ideas of what I wanted. Maybe I wanted to be a bit more selective than I had been. Early on it was fun to have nothing in common with someone. Now it was just arduous.

What is the story here. Is he using the Top Prospect finder as well??

I logged on to the dating website for what seemed like a daily log in to a work email. Parsing through the inbox spam of "sup baby," "ur a hottie," and "wanna chatz" from the team of towel men, I found what looked like the golden ticket.  I looked at his profile picture.  He looked strikingly similar to someone I had dated in college. On close examination of this doppelganger, I realized that he was not the same man and I felt OK continuing to investigate. From the looks of the picture I immediately knew that it had been taken in Bangkok. One tick in the "we have things in common category," and a tick in the "I find you attractive category." We were off to a good start.

 As I clicked on the profile I saw pictures of him in tropical locales, pictures of him at a Giants game and one of him at a swanky night club. OK. He goes out, likes football, has friends and good taste in places to go. All pluses. His message to me was simple. He came across my profile, thought we had a lot in common with our traveling and love of the finer things in life, and perhaps this could be a good place to start to see if there was an attraction.

I checked out his profile to see the rest of the stats. He was 28, interested in a relationship and lived about 45 minutes away. He worked at a family owned business and had a positive outlook on life and had a short About Me" highlighting work and his love of a good time. Under "First Date" he had put that he was willing to do whatever his date thought would be fun.

Surprisingly, not someone I have been on a date with. 

I wrote back thanking him for the note, inquiring if the picture was, in fact from Thailand, and what he thought of last season's Giants. He responded nearly immediately. He had his opinions of the season, he disclosed that he was in fact in Thailand in the picture and was impressed that I knew where the picture had been taken. He mentioned that he had traveled quite a bit on that side of the world because he had lived in Australia for sometime.

Huh. Who knew. I had spent some months in Australia back in 2010-2011 and loved it. Now we had another thing in common. Our love of Oz.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi 

He had sent his phone number and suggested I text him so we could get off this site. I agreed and sent on my info that began our texting.

I think we text for nearly two hours the night he gave me his number. We talked about our time in Oz, travels, what we enjoyed about being back in NJ and our favorite foods to cook. Throughout the day, on days leading up to the date, he would send me texts asking how I was, what I was up to and just general get to know you questions. No weird pictures. No creepy dick pics. Just two people getting to know each other via text. We were due to get together on a Sunday afternoon. When he asked what I wanted to do, I, wanting to capitalize on this "I'll do whatever you want" proposition had shot over

Let's go check out the zoo. 

Now let me preface this by saying, the zoo has a special place in my heart. When I was a little girl, I lived just down the street from the Turtle Back Zoo for many years.  Every weekend my father could, he took me to the zoo to marvel at all of the animals. I am sure you weren't supposed to pet the yak, or grab it by the nostrils for that matter, but this was father-daughter time.  From the age of 3, I held huge boa constrictors, pet tarantulas and had my cracker filled pockets nibbled at by nanny goats, all while my father proudly looked on.

I had wanted to get back to this zoo for ages but each time that things would start to come together, something would happen and I wasn't able to get there. THIS WAS MY CHANCE!!

I also felt that it was a wholesome way to get to know someone. He seemed well traveled this mini safari might be just up his alley. I hoped.

He responded back that he had not been in a very long time, it was an original idea and "sure," he would go.

Like a child being told that they were going to Disney World, I dashed through my apartment, phone in hand and threw myself onto my bed, as if I were 10.  I was going to the zoo!!!!

Perhaps this joy glazed over were going to be two of my hard and fast rules.

I asked if he wanted to meet me there. He text me that he wasn't able to because he didn't have his car.

I, stupidly, assumed it was in the shop.

He asked if I didn't mind picking him up. I said that it wasn't a bother because, I think that in this day and age I can pick up my date. Besides, WE WERE GOING TO THE ZOO!

The date was the next day. I arrived at what I thought was going to be an apartment: It was a house. From the looks of the house, it was not decorated by men of their late 20s but rather someone who was into the Arts and Crafts Movement. Hmmm.

I pulled up and put on the air conditioning.  It barely works in my 13 year old vehicle but it was hot as balls out and not everyone is OK with the heat like I am. It began sadly eking out the vents and I prayed that the car actually cooled down before we reached the zoo. As I stood up out of the car I thought to myself, "God Damned, it's hot out here," as the sun scorched down upon me. I was dressed in a light, cotton sundress and flip flops. As my Knight exited the house, he looked just like his picture.

OK I guess I was at the right place?

As he approached I noticed that he was very well dressed. His plaid shirt was pressed, his blond hair perfectly gelled in place, and he was wearing very well cut jeans. Jeans huh? It was 104 degrees in the shade today, and he was wearing jeans. Well, I wasn't his mother, and this was my first time meeting him. What was I gonna say, "Buddy, did you step outside at all today before you got dressed?" Nope. I was going to keep my mouth shut and just stand here and smile.

He walked over to the car and gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug.  He remarked about how hot it was. He even said, "I wonder if I am going to be OK in jeans." I offered to wait while he changed. Nope. He was going to keep them on. OK. Well let's see how this goes.

As we drove the half hour to the zoo we talked about how unique this was as far as first dates go. I told him I really liked making the most of my days off and I thought that this might just be fun. I mentioned that there was a great place right next door called the Boathouse that would be a super place to grab a drink and a bite to eat after our outing at the zoo. I was willing to compromise on my usually paltry budget for a date to make this a great well rounded afternoon!

I noticed that in the car, even with the AC on this poor man was sweating like he was being interrogated. Oh man. This might be a long day.

We parked the car and as we approached the zoo he commented that we might be the only adults inside without kids. I told him children weren't required to enter and we both had a laugh. Once we walked inside I realized that this man now had sweat marks like the rings of Saturn around his armpits.

In the distance I saw one of those sprinkler hoses that children play under in the summer.You know, kind of like the watering system at the grocery store that sprays the plants. There were children dancing under it, and fathers nearby, faining interest in the dancing and trying to get their soak on under the guise of mindful parenting.  I playfully suggested that we should take a run under the sprinklers and cool down. I proceeded to run through and awaited him on the opposite side. He told me he didn't want to mess up his hair. I stood bewildered.  You would rather sweat to death than mess up your hair. OK. So this man cared more about his hair than I did mine. Who am I to pass judgement.

He cautiously stood so the water barely sprayed him and definitely didn't hit his hair. I think that he may have mentioned that his shoes were new too. . .So I'm just more of a rough and tumble girl. So be it.

I offered to get him a water to drink, or throw on himself, a multitude of times while we were walking around and he declined. We had a good time chatting each other up while wandering around. I was filled with dread that this poor man was going to pass out from heat stroke while we were trying to enjoy our day. Any opportunity we had to get into an air conditioned exhibit, the dark bat cave or even petting the sharks to cool down, we took it. I continually re assured him that we could go at any point. He insisted we stayed to see all the cool looking exhibits and that he would be OK. I thanked him profusely for being such a good sport and promised good food and cold drinks in our future.

After nearly 90 minutes of torture we had finally completed the tour of the zoo. My date looked like he had been waterboarded. But keep in mind, his hair was still totally in place.

We exited the zoo and again he commented again how we were the only people without children there. I asked him if he had a good time, and aside from sweating bullets, he agreed it was a good time.

We got into the car and drove over to the restaurant that we literally could have hit with a stone from where we were. I wasn’t about to make this poor guy walk one more foot. He was saturated from head to toe and his clothes were now clinging to him.

When we sat down I immediately summoned the server.

“Can you please bring two LARGE glasses of water and some sides of ice?” I inquired.

The waiter brought over waters and I ordered a glass of Prosecco.  I asked my Knight what he was going to be drinking. He said he had “like four bottles of wine at the party I was at last night. I am super hung over and I can’t even look at wine.  I didn’t even get to bed until nearly 5am .” 

Hmmm. So he's one of these rage until dawn guys. I don't know if I can keep up with that anymore. 

“I’ll take a Markers Mark Manhattan,” he declared.

"Welp, that is definitely some of the hair of the dog that bit ya.” I thought to myself.

Usually the sight of water when I am hung over makes me want to heave. This guy was going for the gusto with the bourbon.

He looked at me beaming, “I learned what a Manhattan was watching Mad Men. I think that Don Draper is my hero.”

If I drink like Don Draper, then I am Don Draper. 

I smiled back feebly.  Hip hop horray?

As he sat there cooling like a nuclear reactor on the brink of blowing up, we chatted about our work and other previous jobs we had. He asked me about my experiences on the dating site and shared his.

I guess he had been dating via this site as much as I had, and had stories of crazy women and tales of Catfish a plenty. He was definitely no stranger to dating or women in general. He was happy to tell me of his sexcapades and wild nights and professional wooing of women. 

Through all this however, I do have to say he was very complimentary. He shared with me that he loved that I was Italian and blond. Only one of the two I had really had any say in. At one point he had asked me if we would go out again. I told him that “we would see how things went.”

He then shared that he was a womanizer that was trying to change his ways and just be with one woman.  No more of this going out, getting drunk every night and hooking up. He was looking to be a changed man. 

I cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t really sure if me and a wanna be reformed party boy would really work. I had dated men with these ambitions in my 20s, and found that if they really were going to change, apparently it wasn’t going to happen during our tenure. My nights of drunken shenanigans, and partying till the sun came up were long in my past. I was now happy if I made it past 12:30 and seeing the sun come up seemed like an anxiety ridden nightmare these days.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond.

“That’s great,” was all I could come up with.

"Now," I thought to myself, "we begin the descent into the part where the date is gonna go south." 

“So why are you without your car these days?” I inquired.  

Let’s get all the awkward conversation out of the way right now. 

“Well I am in litigation to determine whether or not I am getting a DUI,” he responded.

OK.  Many of us have been there. I don’t think that is the particular issue. What we run into here is one of the cardinal rules I tried to put in place at the beginning of this endeavor. Dates must have a car/be able to drive.

This was gonna be a challenge. 

I then thought it would be a good time to move on to “inquiring minds want to know” question number two. I felt like I was on a roll. 

“OK. That’s good to know,” I said.

“So then are you living at home to save money for a house?” I asked.

“Well,” he said. “It’s convenient when I need rides places that I can hit up my family members. I have my own room in the basement and it’s not bad being there.”

Guideline number two: Must not live at home.

I felt like I was on a date with a teenager. So not only would I have to schlep him back and forth from his home, but I would have to jockey for a position on the couch when we wanted to watch a movie.  Awesome.  I felt like I had done this in my 20s too.  I would have actually welcomed him telling me he was still living in a fraternity house at this point.

Let’s focus on the positive I thought.  “So what’s the best part about your job?’ I asked. “Well I pretty much call my own hours, come and go as I please, only work three days a week and I pretty much just show up and wine and dine people.”

So my reformed womanizing date, who is trying to give up the party lifestyle gets paid to be a slacker and day drink as his job while others support his “pursuits.” Oh and don’t forget Mom does his laundry, cooks his meals and paid for his attorney for this court case.

I think that at 25 perhaps I would have signed up for this; because I was young and stupid. 

I would have said “I love driving. I don’t mind sharing a space with a man’s family. I think that it’s worth taking the chance that this man will become who he wants to be and I can help him.” But now, today, I just wasn’t feeling it.

My good friend Caroline tells me all the time, “You are not a charity. You don’t have to save anyone. You need someone who is complimentary to you and can be there and help care for you if you need it.” Her words echoed inside my head.

I thought it was admirable that he suffered through intense heat and the onslaught of small children. I was impressed with the fact that he paid the bill. I was flattered by the fact that he was intent to see me again, but I wasn’t really sure that this was going to go anywhere.

As we drove back to his place, I was trying to determine if I was being too judgmental. 

Again, he turned to me and asked me if we were going to go out again. "We'll see," I answered. 

As I looked over he was slathering his lips with some sort of lip balm. I commented on how I loved the lip balm I used and how addicted to it I was. He commented on how he had to continually apply it because being in the sun caused him to regularly have cold sores. But I wasn't to worry, because, it wasn't like I could get them from him. 

Umm. I didn't think that that was how all it worked and mentioned this, but he was happy to tell me I was wrong. 

Hmmm. 

As he got out of the car and said good night he told me again how he loved that I was Italian and blond. He told me he wanted to see me again. He told me he wanted to see what it would be like to be intimate with me. 

"OK, awkwardly forward," I thought to myself.

I told him that I had a lovely time, thanked him for suffering through the insane heat, and joked that he shouldn't run out and buy condoms yet. Trying to add some levity to this awkward parting dance. 

He then looked at me and laughed. 

"I don't believe in condoms," he said.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.  This man must be kidding. Right??? Who says that???

I thanked him for a nice day, bid him farewell, never, ever to see him again.