The "Dodgy" Knight

dodg·y  (dj)

adj. dodg·i·er, dodg·i·est Chiefly British

1. Evasive; shifty.

2. Unsound, unstable, and unreliable.

3. So risky as to require very deft handling.

During the Giants season I was trying to catch all the games I could while I wasn't working. This is a difficult depending on how my day business was going, and how much I was working during the evening.  

I had the whole season laid out for me on a wallet sized card, but weekly I never knew what was going to come up that I would prevent me from watching my Boys in Blue. I tried to make all of the games I watched, while not standing at work, as enjoyable as possible. I generally went somewhere that had a TV larger than my 13 inch so I could actually see the ball when it was thrown down field. 

There is a place that we "locals" refer to the bar down the street as The Box.  I think that it was supposed to be a sports reference, a dog's age ago, but now we have no idea why it's called that. Judging by the crowd there on any given night, I could sometimes call it the penalty box. 

Truthfully, most of the locals that come here are lovely. However there is another faction of bar goers that laddered up, (as you corporate people would say) to one of two camps.  Either people had been cited for a penalty and were waiting their time given, or were spending their time given in this bar. I liked the fact that no one really came there to watch the hockey games, and usually the football games still had seats available even well into the second quarter. It was a good place to meet your Bail Bondsman, and in hindsight, maybe not a potential boyfriend.

On this day in particular I was there watching a Sunday evening Giants game. I had made my way down to The Box and had watched the Giants lose this particular night. Nights when I come to watch the game, I generally bring my laptop with me as to avoid conversation with some of the patrons which are part of the Box penalty serving crowd. 

I was going to wrap up the work I was doing on my computer, finish my beer and head home in disappointment. I began to collect my various items: pad, pens, laptop.  As I was putting all of my materials back into their respective bags, I noticed that a man had walked in. He waved hello and smiled at the other folks at the bar.

OK, so he must be a local too. He was wearing a knit hat, so I couldn't see him well, but even from this cursory glance, I could tell I had not seen him before. 

As he took off his coat, he was wearing a Giants jersey. I check out the number on the back. Cruz. OK. Interesting.  Popular choice.  Actually a fan though?? Hmmmmm . . .

I continue to watch my version of the Nature Channel here at the Box. The main programming tonight is a roughly six foolish, dark haired, swarthy man. This species looks like he could be Latin or Italian. His jersey, jeans and work boots make it look like he's been working hard somewhere.  Men in work boots = employed? Now I am making all sorts of wild assumptions. 

He puts his belongings on the chair a few down from me, asks the bartender for quarters, and heads to the jukebox.  This is about to get good. All I need is popcorn. I am starting at this man like he's the after school special "New Guy in Town". God help me. This is the best entertainment I have had all night.

The jukebox now goes from silent to the words, "Yeah, this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'," and I realize that this young man is playing Biggie. The Notorious B.I.G is one of my all time favorite artists. I'm just sayin'.

So just to recap for you folks at home, our Nature Channel pic of the week is: a Giant's fan, employed(?), likes good music and I find him attractive. He's smiling as he turns from the jukebox and makes his way around the bar shaking people's hands as he goes and the bar tender buys his drink. OK. So he's well liked by The Box patrons.  Plus or minus column?

The next song comes on. It's TuPac. Old school rap. My favorite. I decide that there is more work to be done with this man and re open my computer, take out my paperwork and decide to continue to work while someone else is playing DJ. A Dr. Dre song later and my eye candy wanders past me. Up close he remains a good looking guy. Probably late 20s? Looks like he's a happy man and he smiles as he passes me. 

As he returns by me a short while later, he stops by and asks me if I liked the music he put on.

I responded, "yes," and that it was rare I ever heard rap coming out of the jukebox here. He asked me what songs I liked that he chose. I told him and he laughed. Apparently, for whatever reason, it doesn't seem like I should be a fan of Gangsta Rap. 

Yea boi! 

He offered to buy me a shot and I decided what the heck. I think the bartender suggested some kind of Three Olives Vodka that tasted like a fruit loop. We decided we would have a shot of it to give it a try. 

Drinks poured, presented and poof. We giggled at how much it did taste like fruit loops and continued chatting about the music. I asked him about his interest in the Giants and shared that I was a huge fan as well. He asked me what sort of work I was doing and he seemed fascinated with the spreadsheet. He just kept staring at my Excel spreadsheet like it has the answers to the universe embedded in it. If only it did.  

He worked outdoors and enjoyed the labor intensive job. He told me how it was challenging but he had a good work environment and liked the hours. 

We talked for a while longer about living in the area and some of the hobbies we had. He showed me some pictures of fish he had caught recently and just seemed like a genuinely nice guy.  I realized it was getting late and that I should probably be heading home to finish up my work. I thanked him for the drink, packed up my belongings and started to leave. He stopped me to ask me if he could get my number. I thought, "why not?" and scribbled my number down on a piece of paper. I'm a dater of the 90s.  I still put my number on a slice of paper, and sometimes, said person and I have a laugh about it as I realize that I CAN just put it in my phone.

If you ever used one of these phones, yes. You are old. 

I pulled my things together and wandered home. I sat and thought about the evening. I didn't think that I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man but, it was another date and I still believed in the power of positive thinking. 

We sent a few texts back and forth over the week and decided we would catch a Giants game at a local pub that Sunday. I had the day available, which seemed to never be happening these days, and was excited to get to see my Men in Blue!! He offered to drive us to Miami Mikes which is a giant sports bar. I had never even been there to see a game but there is a first time for everything right?

He picked me up in his late model Honda. I don't want to that to sound condescending and this is not intended to be.  I think of it as more Lloyd Dobbleresque 

"I can't really work it all out now, I'm just kinda hanging with your daughter."

That, and I choose not to throw stones in a glass house. My Jetta is 13 years old, has had 14 recalls and is literally the 90K dollar Volkswagon from the amount of work that has gone into decoding and attempting to fix her lemon ass. Svetlana, as I have been calling her for the better part of a decade, was a befitting name. She was no different than the Russian girls that used to  dance where I bartended (not the other way around). They were attractive from the outside, took a ton of maintenance to keep happy, cost a small fortune to keep up with and at any given time when they had a meltdown or malfunction, it was epic. I digress. . .

As we headed for Miami Mikes he was asking me about my week. I had mentioned that it had been a particularly busy and he was happy to swap stories about work and the like on the way to the restaurant. 

He was a bit late to pick me up, but I wasn't upset. I was just happy to have  the night off and get to sit and watch a football game.  Part of me didn't even really care how it went. I just wanted to embrace my eight plus hours of not serving the community or the social media sphere.  

We may have arrived as the dead last people at the day's festivities. As  I walked in, my enthusiasm was quenched by the throngs of colorful jerseys.  This facility had a number of rooms, ALL OF WHICH were filled.  It was the second quarter and we looked like the Johnny Come Lately's to the party. I was going to make the most of this.  I immediately surveyed my setting.  I was like one of those chefs at a cooking competition. I had foie gras, white chocolate, seaweed and a squirrel to make an amazing meal with. Go. 

Same concept.  

I scoped out a chair which may have been used for a bouncer, and one last chair at a comfortable table of eight I could easily poach. Wa- la VIP seating. . .

I am the missing member of the A team.

As we sat ourselves at my miracle invention we happened to sit right smack in the middle of the stations for two severs. . Manifique! Everyone had pitchers of beer.  I thought that popular convention was the way to go. We got our pitcher of Miller Light and the waitress put in orders for lunch.  I decided on beef brisket and he had a burger. We began some small talk.  The ride over we had gotten in a bit of conversation, but now we really had no way of talking.  

The televisions on multiple walls boomed over us.  He leaned in to ask how things were going. I said great. I noticed that he and I had nearly drank the first pitcher. I having now hit my two glass maximum, was going to head the water route. It was still pretty early in the game, and I wanted to make sure everyone was getting home in one piece. He ended up ordering another pitcher. 

I had not thought about dining when I got our "create your own table" location. Thankfully, the nice men at the table next to us were amenable to our sharing their table. This made for a great way to have a squatters picnic, but kind of made for an awkward first date.  

My Knight would periodically lean in and chat me up about the game.  He had  mentioned  during this time how he really wasn't drinking that much since being out of rehab. Hmmmmm.  I didn't think you were supposed to drink AT ALL when you were out of rehab, but, maybe there are different techniques I am not aware of. 

I didn't really ask about his time in rehab but he offered up that it was instead of doing more jail time. Hmmm. I wasn't really sure why he had done his jail time, but I have this feeling, without even asking he was going to tell me. And of course, he did. It was the blow that jammed him all up.  

Fantastic. 

I've dated people in recovery, people who have been in jail and people who have done drugs. Everyone deserves a second chance. Lord knows the universe helps me out every now and again.  It just seemed that this specific sequence of events didn't bode well for me or honestly even him, seeing as we were a pitcher into his recovery efforts. 

I asked if this was a good idea coming to a sports bar for lunch. He just shrugged at me and said "nah, it's the other stuff I have to stay away from." I am glad to see that the drug community is now distinguishing between class A and class B drugs for rehabilitation purposes? We both leaned back into watching the game and I just wondered to myself "who is this man I am out with?"

It worked out well that we sat where we did.  We have conversations with those around us, hi-fived other Giants fans and heckled the opposing teams' fans. We watched the game to completion. The second pitcher still had quite a bit of beer left when we were getting ready to leave. We hadn't really spoken all that much to each other. He had stepped outside a few times for cigarettes and I had gone to the ladies room a few times to text a friend or two to share the license plate and make and model of the car just in case they heard of a renegade drug cartel shooting up a late model Honda on the news at 6. 

As the check came I politely took out my card with every intention to split the bill with him.  He immediately looked at me holding my card and answered "Oh cool. I'll get the next one." Huh?? I guess I was footing the 70$ plus bill which was way outside my free/I'll pay for myself dating parameters. I just quietly paid the bill and collected my bag and coat to leave. I asked if he was OK to drive and appeared to be.  

On the way home, he shared more stories of his sordid past. The crazy ex-girlfriend, the strung out buddies who made random appearances at his home and the Probation officer he wasn't looking forward to seeing next week. I just sat there wide eyed, nodding, having NO REFERENCE POINT for any of this lifestyle. When we arrived out front my house, I wondered if it had even been a good idea letting him pick me up. There were four choices for what apartment I could live in, but even that made me uncomfortable. 

He said he had a great time and he definitely wanted to take me out again so he could repay me for the afternoon today. I told him it was OK, and thanked him for accompanying me. I wished him well with his probation officer, pending court case and continued success (?) in recovery. 

I walked up to the wrong door and walked into the wrong apartment hallway just to make sure that he wasn't sure where I lived. I think it was safe to say I was NEVER going out with this guy again no matter how great his taste in music was. 

The Pisan Knight

pisan: (as listed on the Urban Dictionary website) An Italian, esp. an Italian Male 

This date was initially going to be called the Persistent Knight, but I think he is being de-throned as I write.

As soon as I got the on-line dating page resurrected this gentleman started emailing. He was pleasant in his email but the messages seemed a bit canned. If you have never done the online dating thing, here's a little secret. . .Some dudes treat their dating profile introduction like the introduction to their insurance agency. You get a form letter. What I find to be hysterical is when I get the same form letter twice. The kick in the ass is that you can see what you have written in all your message chains back and forth. Stunning.

I am fairly certain I got at least one and half canned letters from this gentleman, so I wasn't really keen on meeting him.  Also, something about his profile made me ignore the initial requests. I can't recall at the time but I just was not totally into meeting this guy. Apparently though, he was totally into meeting me.  He continued to email me asking me if I had any time to get together, how my work was going and would kind of check in and say hi periodically.  I liked his persistence. It wasn't creepy, it was determination to get me to say OK, so I did. I like persistence.

We had agreed to meet the first time I think the night that Hurricane Sandy hit. I had cancelled in anticipation of the storm and he was already asking for the rain date.

Donate to Sandy

I think we then agreed to meeting if power was back for both of us (as it turned out) the night that we had a Noreaster.  I was assuming the universe was telling me three strikes and you are out. . .Maybe I should have listened.

From the get go he had wanted to meet at Bensi.  I agreed, having been there once. He had sent on the address for the initial meeting, which was now some time ago and buried in my text messages and that's where things started to go wrong. Now anyone who knows me, knows I was destined to be a CEO.  "Just give me the 30 thousand foot view." I like the big picture and glaze over details like a doughnut. He had sent the address ages ago, I had glanced at it, saw the highway it was on and though "Oh, I know where that is", and then never looked at it again.

I set out the evening of our date due to be at Bensi at 8.  It wasn't Blue Ribbon, but I was amped to go none the less. It's like when you are standing on the side of the boat getting ready to go diving. You know it's gonna be an adventure you just aren't sure if you are going to get out of the water relaxed and at peace or screaming and terrified.

I pulled into the parking lot at roughly 7:58pm and there were just a few cars. Something just felt off. "Was this the right place?"I thought to myself.  For whatever reason, NOW, I decide to jog back through the text messages to see what the address was. Yep, as I had suspected he was headed about 5 minutes down the road to the OTHER Bensi. Awesome.

I called him and sheepishly confessed that I hadn't checked the address and I was at the wrong place. He was flabbergasted.  He kept asking "Didn't I send you the address?" I kept repeating that I had received it but had gotten my wires crossed and he was beyond vexed as to how this could have happened.  I offered to come to where he was if he was willing to wait just a few minutes more. He kept asking if I had put it in my GPS.  I kept explaining I didn't have a GPS. (Generally I like to drive with the Force. No GPS crap. I just FEEL like we should go the way we are going.)

Good enough for Obi-Wan Yoda and Gary Coleman is good enough for me

Kindly, he offered to come to where I was and to look for him in a few minutes. I sat down at the bar, ordered myself a drink and commenced with waiting. I am not usually a fruity drink girl, but seeing as I didn't think that this date was going to last long from the jump, I figured again, what the hell, I might as well have a buzz on while I wait.  I ordered a clementine flavored cosmo and truth be told, it was quite tasty. Shortly there after in walks our Knight.

To give you some background on my hesitation with my Pisan Knight -  I am Italian.  I can hide it about as much as I can hide my love of the daily Ross and Simons emails I get.  I knew at some point during this dating adventure I was going to run into a fellow full blooded Italian man. Being from the Northern New Jersey area not running into an Italian guy in a pool of 30 was pretty much like like going surfing and not getting wet. I don't have anything against Italian men. Don't get me wrong. I just find that the ones in their 40s who have never been married and still live with their mothers are well, not my ideal candidates. In my experience, I have found that this group are fastidious, regimented and kind of old world in their thinking. They believe women still belong in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant, men need to do men things and flex their machismo, among other depressing dogmas that cause a staunch feminist like me to feel a bit itchy every time I have to keep their company. I thought perhaps maybe by the good grace of the universe, I would dodge the Pisan bullet and get a "modern" Italian man.

He was about 5’8, full head of dark hair and very Italian looking.  His profile said 42 and looked like he was into working out and skin care products.  He was clean shaven and dressed in a purple button down shirt and jeans.  Upon realizing who I was he immediately started in with “I had a number of jokes  I was going to use with you about not being able to get to the right place,” and I wanted to bolt out the door speaking in tongues assuring he would never call again. It’s like bartending and getting the guy who thinks he’s hysterical and you are his private audience. Unless you’re Eddie Murphy it’s pretty fucking painful. I felt badly about the mistake and his idea of humor was being lost on me.

I suppressed the urge to run and told myself I have a blog to write and I really need to commit to make this work. I am close to having my first sit down dinner since this whole dating blog started and it’s 8pm and I am starving. We agree to move from the bar to the restaurant so I close out my tab and grab my martini. We sit down and immediately he brings the conversation back to the fact that I was at the wrong place. I now try a different tactic.  I tell him how grateful I am that he was the one who fixed the problem. I hope that this will get us past this or I am ordering the check. This seems to work, he backs off and  he and I look at the menus to figure out what we are going to eat. He tells me that he is very health conscious and will be getting his usual grilled chicken and salad.  Shit. I can’t be a total heathen and order a full entree with this guy. I think I said “Oh cool,” and starting perusing the appetizers. The waiter comes over and asks if we need anything to drink. I tell him I am just looking for a water back for my martini and my date orders a Appletini.  Now maybe I am strange but I don’t usually see guys ordering Appletinis.  Discuss.

He starts the conversation with “So how’s the dating website working out for you?” I look at him and respond dryly, “If it was going so well would I be here?” I figure he’s either going to be offended or laugh this comment off. If he’s offended, game over, I am out of here. If he laughs it off, I’ll stay.  He ends up laughing it off and I figure we are going to continue the conversation. Now begins the interrogation. Am I originally from New Jersey? Where are my parents from in Italy? What do I think of online dating? Is my hair naturally blond?  What sort of business am I involved in?  Do I work out? And a laundry list of about three dozen other questions rained down on me for the next 15 minutes that made me feel like all was missing was spotlight and someone asking me where I was on the night in question. He at one point  HE even said, “I am asking a lot of questions. This is turning into an interview,” and again more serious than joking responded, “yep, sort of.”

I try to dodge the battery of questions by asking him what his hobbies are and what he is passionate about. He tells me he is into trading stocks, options specifically. I begin to ask him about this topic because I know as much about stocks as I do the square root of phi.  At first this seems like it is resuscitating the conversation. He becomes animated and starts telling me about naked buys and sells and despite the fact that I have only had 2 sips of my martini, my head is swimming trying to keep up with all the phrases and terms that he is using.  When dinner arrives, my fried calamari and his clams, (last minute decision to grow a pair I guess and not get a salad?) I am relieved. Perhaps now this will change the course of the conversation again. Wishful thinking. He now takes this opportunity to start in with “OK, here are some Series 7 questions" . . .  and begins quizzing me on the material he has just covered.  Fortunately for me,  I am getting the questions right but have no idea why or how. . . but this is getting seriously old. I feel like I am on a date with my college professor trying to get extra credit points. I try to shift the conversation yet again. . .

He mentioned he liked music so I begin to ask him about what type of music he plays/likes.  We have what turns out to be a decent conversation about music, that then segues a conversation about cars. He explains to me that there are girl and boy cars and of course I have a Jetta because it is a girl car. This is all very interesting coming from a man drinking an Appletini. Periodically he stops his diatribe about who-knows-what to attempt to force feed me calamari and clams. I had never been browbeaten into eating appetizers, but tonight seems to be a night of firsts, why not.

I need to get off this crazy train I am calling a date and get on with my getting home. I’m stuffed to the gills, my head is still swimming and now my date who has had ¼ of his drink is telling me he feels “tipsy”.  I have never been more happy to see waiters breaking down a restaurant in my whole entire life. I see our waiter come over and I immediately start with “I don’t want to keep you here any later than you need to be here. I’m in the biz and I feel terrible we are the last table holding you up. Please bring us a check whenever you are ready” I find that this approach, in its altruism, masks the disdain I have for sitting one more minute with this man. He agrees it is getting late (It’s 10pm) and he should probably be getting home too.  He walks me out to my car. I thank him for a lovely evening and he asks if we can go out again another time. I tell him that the rest of the month with the holidays and what not are going to be a challenge for me but I will do the best I can to get back to him in a timely manner. I get in my car and drive away giggling. Well at least I know I might be able to pass the Series 7 Exam now!