The Fastest Knight Ever

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about the Blackthorn?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh? Was this a date or a sales pitch? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, Ok," he stammered.

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

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

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

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

The "Serial Killer" Knight

Let's preface this blog entry by stating: I love people who let their freak flag fly.  If I did not feel this way,  I would have allowed what was a great experience to pass me by.  . .

I was checking my inbox on my dating site of choice and I came across an email that caught my eye.  I can't recall what the title was, but "hey" or "sup" wasn't the subject, so I decided to read on.

In this man's intro he wrote he had been on the site for some time, but had not really contacted anyone. For whatever reason, when he came across my profile he decided that he HAD to reach out to me. I wish I still had the email because it was so witty and well thought out, for the first time on this crumby dating site, I was impressed. He had a great dead pan humor way of writing and if you took offense easily, well, he wasn't your "cup of tea," he wrote. He was complimentary, witty,  and already had a plan for a first date according to his email.  This was a lot more than I can say about most of the men I have dated so far! Come to think of it, his intro email was probably one of the most sincere emails I have gotten while on this dating site.

While still basking in the glow of this awesome hello letter I went to check out his profile. His handle was something like SerialKiller. The glow is now beginning to fade. . .

As I began to read the profile, I realized that a lot of his profile stats were BS. If you didn't, you were an idiot.

I'm just sayin. . .

He spoke Tagalog.  He was a dictator of a small African nation, and had a summer home on the moon. I liked the irreverence. It was refreshing.

His profile was LONG. Longer than mine and probably one of the longest I have read from the varying suitors. He had a scpheal on his profile about "if you were attracted to the dictatorial, baby seal killing, 6'7 type" he was your ideal mate.  He then went on a whole diatribe about how if you had pistachio shells for brains or wanted a man "who's wallet in his back pocket weighed him down more than his manhood in the front," you weren't going to be his cup of tea either.

At this point most women would probably be horrified, but me, nope. I was enthralled. This guy goes on a dating site to meet chicks and writes psychobabble. I thought it was revolutionary.

I looked at his pictures to see what this radical dictator/astronaut did in his spare time. I was pleasantly surprised to see  pictures of him from all over the world. The funny part was that I KNEW where he was in most of the pictures. . .and I'm not talking he was standing next to Mickey with a giant castle in the background. He had pictures of him on tropical islands, on the streets of Europe and poolside at Mexican resorts. He likes to travel.  He's in.

I decided that despite the craziness in his profile writeup I loved the email, loved the pictures and if two out of three gets you somewhere on American Idol, who am I to argue with this logic.

To further see if I had totally lost my mind about this specific specimen I invited my friend Denise to listen to me read a few excerpts of his profile entry and his intro email to me. As I sat there, reading to her, her face sliding into a state of shock, I knew I was nuts.

"Chris, his handle is SerialKiller or whatever. Don't you think that that is a reason to NOT go out with him?" She looked exasperated.

"Nah. I think it's a front. I think he's detached or something. Maybe we're supposed to meet so I reattach him,"as I laughed wildly.

This dating death march has definitely affected me.

I email him back at 4pm that day to tell him that I think that we should speak sooner rather than later. He calls me at 5pm. I am still with Denise. It's friend time. No boys horning in on friend time. It's like, you don't talk about Fight Club. It's not debatable.  I text him that he should try back later around 9pm.

Well by 9pm we have been sipping margaritas for the better part of happy hour and I am blush with Don Julio. Denise has departed and I am arranging and re-arranging clothes and dishes. SerialKiller gives me a call and I can't help but pick up. I am more than relaxed enough to talk to a complete stranger.  After the last Eminem event, even if this goes south, it may be good fodder for the all girls lunch this week. I mean, we still talk about the random dick pic.

SerialKiller and I proceed to talk for over 2 hours. We talk politics, religion and favorite places traveled around the world. We periodically speak Spanish to each other, because we can. He has me giggling like a school girl and I feel like, finally, I can connect with someone.

I am not a phone person, and the fact that this man has kept me on the phone for the better part of 3 hours is no small feat. We agree that we will meet later on this week somewhere in between he and I. He asks if I like the Bonefish Grill, and I tell him it's a great place and I love their bang bang shrimp. He agrees that we need to go drink good wine and eat good food and that is where we are going to go.

The night of the date I arrive at the Bonefish Grill before him and take my seat at the bar. It's been a rough day, and I am excited to have what seems like it will be a great evening ahead. After waiting for a few minutes I notice someone out of the corner of my eye.

When he sat down next to me he was strikingly more handsome than his pictures portrayed. He had pale alabaster skin and eyes that reminded me of the water of Bermuda. He seemed as if he was about 6'4 and pretty slim.  His head was shaved with a slight hint of brown stubble under the smooth surface.

As he was getting comfortable in his chair, he seemed to be studying me as he sat there. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed, beguiled or just stunned. He sat there looking at me like he wasn’t sure he was there. I in turn began to wonder if I was the person this man was looking for, or if I was part of some traveling staring contest.  As soon as I was going to say something to break the ice, he did.

“Why hello,” he cooed. I said “hi” and introduced myself. He sat back in his chair and the bartender stopped by. He ordered a Bud and then apologized for ordering crappy beer.

Well at least he  knew he was ordering crappy beer. I sat there with my three olive Chopin martini that I had paid for in full prior to his arrival. I had been eyeing it up for the minutes before he arrived, hoping that it was going to be worth sitting through.

I know, I am sorry.

I know I sound jaded but at this point I had been on nearly 20 dates and was really questioning the world and my place in it.

Was I looking for too much? I didn’t think so. . .

Other women out there had gainfully employed, fully functioning male counterparts who didn’t make you feel like they were going to either drive you crazy with their idiosyncratic quirks or smother you in your sleep at night.  So far everyone I had gone out with made me think that perhaps being married to my career had been the RIGHT choice and this dating thing, well it was, bush league at best. 

I came-to out of my "what am I doing with my life" mental montage to see the man sitting next to me still sitting there so this must be my reality.  We spoke of how he had decided on Bonefish Grill and I expressed how pleased I was to not to have to pick the restaurant. He began to ask questions about my day and trip over and truly seemed engaged. We chatted about my time with roller derby since he knew someone who had done it, his job in sales and why we couldn't get non GMO labeling in the US. We then spoke of the parameters there were for dinner, since I am allergic to nearly everything, and he had hard limits with the kind of fish he would eat.

We segued over to a table after I insisted in paying the bar tab.  I felt a level of, “I can walk away from this date if it goes South" because I paid the bar tab. I don't know why I always feel that way. . .

When we arrived at the table the great conversation continued. We seemed to have very similar values and beliefs. There were even some similarities that we had  that were not common or popular. He was eloquent, kind and really listened. We were now closing the restaurant. We had been at dinner for over 4.5 hours. Since I believe in restaurant karma, I felt badly sitting this late and suggested we make our way outside. As we were beginning to gather our things to get up and go outside,  he stopped speaking abruptly and just looked at me. I thought I had sprouted a lobster out my ear. 

He looked at me and said "I don't want to do this once again."

I sat across from him wide eyed and mouth agape. I have been turned down before, but this was like a harpooning. I thought it had gone well!!

"I want to do this as often as we can," he replied with a smile.

I nodded in agreement and a sigh of relief escaped me. I felt like a high school girl who just got told a boy liked her.

We departed the table, since the restaurant was now closing, and he offered to walk me to my car. I think I had the spot literally right next to the door, so I pointed, smiled and he nodded and laughed.

"Should we do this again soon?" he asked.

I nodded in agreement. He kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good night and promised to text when he got home so I knew he got home safe. He asked me to do the same and I agreed.

As I walked to my car I was really excited. I felt like he and I had a ton in common and really connected.  I was excited to see where things were going to go.

As I put my key in the ignition to begin my journey home, I noticed that the car he had gotten into was not heading towards the parking lot exit, but rather racing towards me. The car was coming at my drivers side door at such a clip that I thought that his car was going to ram into mine!

"What the hell is he doing?!?!?!"

Just as I thought that I had been duped by some crack pot, demolition derby fan, the front end of his car stopped just short of my drivers door. As I was going to roll down the window to scream "what the hell are you doing?!?!" he threw the car in park and got out.

I am now totally baffled. Am I getting carjacked?

I had the window rolled down to call out to him and as I leaned out it, he kissed me. He then stood back and said "I needed to do that. I guess we can go home now."

I was a bit taken a back. It was sweet and scary all at the same time. I couldn't tell if my heart was a flutter for the fact that he had done this outrageous thing to kiss me, or if I was just scared for my life.

In any case, I was definitely going out with this guy again.