The Basketball Fanatic Knight

With each of these dates in the recent past, I had begun to lose more and more of my faith in humanity. Where do I begin. . .

So nearing the end of the thirty dates I thought I was doing a better job qualifying my Knights.  I found myself spending more time emailing, texting, and talking to these Knights on the phone to try to avoid your garden variety disaster date. I thought that this new tact would help and do a better job of weeding out those that might otherwise just add fodder for the blog, rather than being a great date. 

This particular gentleman reached out to me via my online dating site.  His letter was not remarkable in subject matter: It was a pretty standard introduction.  He was new to this online dating thing, he had run into my profile, liked what he read, and hoped I might see enough commonality to want to write him back.

As I always do, I checked out his dating profile page. He was in his mid-40s, never married, no children, and listed himself as "looking for a relationship".  He was over six foot, with blond hair and blue eyes and a baseball player physique.  He had a number of pictures of himself at sporting events, at the beach and even singing in what was either karaoke or with a band.  His profile said he had a masters, worked in finance and loved sports, the outdoors and was a history buff.

Perfect.  He seemed like Mr. All American. Maybe the universe was finally smiling on me.

I sent him back a message thanking him for the note.  To get the ping-pong going I asked him about his sports team preferences, how he was faring with the crazy weather we had been having, and inquired what his outdoor pursuits were.  Because of this blog,  I had become a professional ice breaker.

He emailed back his responses, and he was clearly a South Jersey guy. He loved the Philly teams, his family time at the Jersey shore, and time outdoors kayaking in Princeton.  He shared that he was ready for Spring; even though winter had just recently started.

We emailed back and forth without a phone call for weeks.  He was my Friday night email buddy.  On Friday nights I would end my evening, come home and email him to see how he was doing. Faithfully, he wrote back each evening.  One would think that a phone call would have been easier, but there is a certain mystery to just having a pen pal. I now, (due to this blog) love to see how others write.  I am no great grammatical whiz or cunning linguist, but I appreciate the written word.

Thru our emails back and forth he shared how skeptical he was, and even embarrassed that he was on an online dating site.  He was a traditionalist who believed that men and women should meet in bars and on-line in the food store, and saw this online dating "thing" as a desperate necessity to try to integrate dating into his otherwise busy world.  He volunteered time to charities, played in a number of sports leagues and adored his family and friends, who took up a large percentage of his time.  He relished the fact that I was willing to email him, and get to know him, unlike a number of the other women he met on the dating site.

He was an old soul who loved Oldies music, quiet nights at home and a good softball game. He seemed to me like someone who I could really be compatible with.  We both loved sports, outdoor activities, movies, charity work and travel.  He seemed to be a stand-up guy with a good head on his shoulders, and this was a rarity these days.

We decided after some texting back and forth and a couple of phone calls that we would meet for drinks somewhere halfway between his home in South Jersey, and mine up North. We picked a date and time but left the location up in the air till we got closer to the date.

The day before we were slated to get together we still had to decide on a place.  He had sent along a message asking if I had ever been to Sona 13.

I mentioned that I had been, and assumed that we were meeting there since this was the first time a question about location had been raised.

To confirm that this was indeed the place I then sent, "7pm still OK?"

He sent back "Let's make it 7:30 just to be safe."

Great. This location was closer than where we had originally talked about meeting in Bridgewater. I had been to Sona 13 innumerable times and was elated that we were meeting so much closer to my home. 

The following day I got ready to go on our date.  It had just snowed so I needed to wear something that would look normal with snow boots. I threw on a pair of cords, a long sleeved cotton tee shirt and snow boots. I was ready to begin my leisurely drive to Morristown.  I decided that I would text him that I was leaving so that he knew I was going to show.  He had mentioned he was concerned that I might not show up.  

I sent on a text that said,"See you at Sona 13 soon!"

I immediately received an incoming text from him. 

"WHAT?"

Ummm. What did 'what?' mean? I thought we were meeting there tonight? Hmmmmmm.

"Why are you going to Sona 13?" he replied.

"Because I thought that you mentioned that was where you wanted to go.  You asked if I knew where it was," I replied. 

"No, no, no," he replied.  "We're meeting in Bridgewater! I only asked if you knew where Sona was because it was near you."

Um. Ok.  I was totally confused.  Who makes plans like this?? Instead of getting discouraged, or upset, I just asked where he wanted to meet.  He sent back that he was cool with the Green Knoll or Char, both of which were in Bridgewater.  

I guess I was headed to Bridgewater after all.  Since I was driving and didn't want to text, I pulled over to try to call him to see if we could figure out where the heck we were going. 

The phone rang and rang.  I didn’t understand. He had just text me not but a few minutes ago.

After I thought the call was ringing to voicemail, someone suddenly picked up said “Helllllooooooo”. 

This was not the "hello" of a grown man- it sounded like a woman's voice. 

What was going on?

All kinds of thoughts went though my head.  Was this his elderly grandmother answering his phone?   Was this his assistant? Surely this wasn’t his wife or girlfriend? Whomever this was, she sounded like the crypt keeper.  

"Hellloooo. . . "

As I stammered "who is this?" I heard laughing on the other end. 

"Ha ha ha. It's me!" I could now hear that it was my Knight on the other end.  He was laughing hysterically.  I guess that he thought that impersonating an old lady was hysterical. I thought that this was sort of odd. . . 

"So where do you want to meet," he asked. 

"Well I know where Char is, so let's just head there." I was making the executive decision here.  If we were going to go somewhere, we were going somewhere I knew I could get to easily. 

"Um, well, OK.  That's sort of nice," he said.

"Well I'm a nice girl, so it's a good fit then," I replied. 

"Well, can we make it 8pm then?" he inquired.

"Um. OK," I responded.  I had already passed Morristown on 287 and was going to arrive way ahead of 8pm at our new destination. Not really much I could do other than find something to do in Bridgewater to kill time. 

"I'll see you at Char at 8pm," I said. I was about to hang up and he said, "Wait, wait!! One more thing. . . Um, if anyone asks, we know each other.  You know. Like this isn't a first date.  I don't want anyone knowing that we met online." 

Now this seemed even more odd to me.

"I assure you," I responded, "the bartender won't question us, and no one else cares."

"Well, OK, but I just don't want anyone to know that we met on an online dating site," he commented.

"No worries," I said. "See you in a bit."

I hung up and pulled into a gas station.  I figured I would get some gas, stop at the bank and do a few little errands to kill time now that I was so ahead of schedule. I also figured I would do a "sanity check" as I like to call them, with my bestie.  I rang her and explained to her the bizarre course of events that had transpired.  The strange woman's voice, the mix up with the location,  the "it's a nice place" comment, etc. 

Her response, and I quote was "I really think you need to be done with this online dating thing. It's really not working out for you." I had to agree.  It really wasn't. And here I was, slated for what looked like it was going to be another doozy of a night. 

I told her I was going to stick out the date because I was nearly at the destination.  I said I would call at some point during the date to let her know how it was going, and if I needed an "emergency phone call" from her. She agreed that she would keep her phone near her, and wished me well.  

I arrived at Char just before 8pm.  I made my way in and sat down next to the service bar.  There was a man my age sitting to my left and I put my handbag on the empty seat to my right.  I ordered a glass of Chenin Blanc and a water, and awaited my fate.  While I was waiting for my Knight to arrive, the man sitting next to me asked me what branzino was.  I told him it was a fish and giggled that he was satisfied that I not only knew the answer, but he trusted my answer.  We had a laugh, talked about some of the food they served, and eating no carbs (which was something he was apparently doing).  I giggled and pointed at his beer, asking where it fit in to his plan, and he laughed as well.  He said the food was easy to give up.  Good beer, not so much.  Just as we were beginning to really hit it off, I felt someone standing next to me.  I turned to see who it was and it was . . .

Tim Robbins!!! 

Well not the real Tim Robbins, but perhaps, his body double.  

I sat there in awe. 

I didn't find Tim Robbins particularly sexy or attractive.  How did I not see the resemblance in the pictures!!!

The Tim Robbins Knight leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and slid into the seat next to me. 

Not wanting to not be rude to the kind, and very attractive gentleman next to me who I had been speaking with, I turned to politely close out our conversation.  

In the time it took me to turn around and say some parting words to the man I had been speaking to, Tim Robbins had already engaged conversation with the bartender.  I could hear him negotiating for the remote control.  What the hell was going on next to me?

I turned around and my Tim Robbins Knight was now in possession of the remote that controlled to the TV just above us.  He was intently scrolling through channels in search of something.  . .

Really???? Who does this???

He stopped on the basket ball game and ordered himself a Bud Light.  

He then informed me that he had put on a crucial college basketball game that he really needed to watch.  I inquired if he had bet on the game (and that was why he was so darn interested in watching it on our date) and he replied that he had not.  But usually he did. 

To be polite, I introduced him to the man next to me that I had been speaking to.  Apparently the two of them were both big college basketball fans, and proceeded to talk basketball. . . for the next 15 minutes. 

After their opening chat about basketball, I think the man to my left, who I was not on the date with, finally declared that he had been taking my Knight away from me for long enough, and said that he should pay some attention to me for a bit. 

It was a bit sad that this patron had to let my Knight know that he should be paying attention to me.  

My Knight now didn't take this as an opportunity to talk to me, but rather he re focused on the ongoing basketball game.  Not wanting to disturb him I I now stared up at the TV and sipped my wine failing interest in what was going on.  I think I began to inventory the various liquors and wines behind the bar.  I ordered another glass of wine.  This was a nice atmosphere. I could just sit here and space out until I finish my wine and he can watch the game.  I can do this.  

Nope. 

While watching the game he was giving me play-by-plays of what was happening, even though I am sure I looked like I really didn't care. When his team was doing well, he would elbow me in excitement, which actually kind of hurt.  He had stretched out so he now, somehow, was sitting on both of our bar stools.  This was now driving me off the side of my bar stool and I was clinging to the bar so I didn't end up on the lap of the man next to me. 

At this point the Knight turned to me and asked me if I was going to order anything to eat.  I said that I had not had dinner and asked if he had eaten, hoping that he would say "no" so we could share something.  He told me that he wasn't going to order anything because he had made himself a Lean Cuisene at home before he came out. 

Great. I guess I was having wine for dinner. 

Just after this exchange he got up to go to the bathroom.  I had decided I was not feeling this dude at all.  He had barely spoken to me while he had his attention affixed to the basketball game.  He had already slogged back two beers and had ordered a third before he got up to head to the bathroom. 

I put my hands on my face and my elbows on the bar shaking my head wondering how I continued to end up on dates where I wanted to shoot myself.  

The guy next to me must have seen me crumple into my hands, and inquired how long the guy and I had been dating.  I told him it was our first date.  He remarked that my Knight had acted like we had known each other for some time. I told him that he didn't want anyone to know that we had met online so he is apparently acting like we have known each other for ages because of that.  

He looked stunned.  He then commented that he also couldn't believe that the Knight would come in and commandere the TV for the basketball game while on a first date.  I then shared that I couldn't believe it either. I think I commented that this was turning into another awful date.  

Just as I was going to ask him if he wanted to run away with me, somewhere, anywhere other than here, my Knight came back from the bathroom.  The Knight saw that I was talking to this man next to me again, and took this as an opportunity to strike up another conversation with him about the alumni basketball players from each of their respective universities.  I was now going to use this as my opportunity to go to the bathroom and call Kristina to tell her I needed the emergency call after all.  

While standing in the bathroom I noticed the restaurant had those chocolate covered individually wrapped mints.  I grabbed a handful and started feverishly opening them and slamming them down my throat.  I was STARVING. I had lunch at roughly 12 that day and not eaten since because he had spoken of dinner via text when we were setting up the plans. I was now a glass and a half of wine into my evening and if I didn't eat something I was going to end up on the floor. 

I got Kristina on the phone. 

"I am now in the ladies room, eating the mints and hating my life," I proclaimed. 

I told her about the in-restaurant events that had happened, and she asked if I was OK. I told her I was going to try to wrap this up because it was going no where.  She offered any help I needed and I told her I would text if I needed her to call.

I made my way back out of the bathroom and realize that these guys were STILL talking.  The other thing that I noticed was that the waitstaff were packing up and the bartenders were pulling the mats and glasses.  

YESSSS!!! They are closing soon. This highway to hell was going to end. 

This was sort of an amazing date.  This man had found a way to barely speak to me at all.  

I sat back down and commented that it looked like the wait staff was packing up to leave.  I told him that I always felt bad staying till the end of the night because it kept the staff there later than they would otherwise have had to work.  He agreed that it was polite to pay our tab and leave.  I offered to pay for my two glasses of wine and he said that he was happy to get them.  

I had gathered pretty much nothing about this man other than that he loved basketball.  I think that this was the first time I had sat with someone for over an hour, and learned absolutely nothing about them. Weird.  He walked me to my car, told me he had a good time, and wished me a safe ride home.  I asked him to text when he was home to make sure he was home safe.  We waved good bye and got into our respective cars.  

I got a "it was great meeting you and I hope we can get together again soon" text when I arrived home. I was not sure how to respond, because there was no chance I was going out with Mr. Basketball again, ever. I figured I would send something the following day when I had a chance to collect myself with a nights rest.  

Before I had a chance to send a text the following day I received the following texts:

1.  "Okay maybe not anyway it was great meeting you and I wish you all the best in the future :) Take care."

2.  "Old message there.  Not sure if it sh be disregarded LOL"

I was now not going to even bother texting him back. Those messages had got me a free pass for "I don't have to text you back ever again because this whole thing was weird."

The Farmer Knight

Leave it to me to find one of the only farmers left in the Garden State.

Sadly, this was not his profile picture.

In my quest for my Mr. Right and weekly log in to my online profile, I had received an email from a man telling me he liked my profile, thought I was down-to-earth, and might have a number of things in common with him, if I didn't mind the fact that he was a bit younger.

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.

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."

Dream big? Right? 

I drifted back to reality with a certain sense of peace. 

"Let's hope this works,"I thought to myself.

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. 

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. 

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!