The "Perfect" Knight

To say that this has been a successful endeavor so far would be like calling the war on drugs successful. 

I was beginning to wonder if perhaps by choosing a free dating site, was this what was hexing my dates. Perhaps segueing to a paid site like Match.com would get more Knights in "buying mode" if you will, and produce better affects. While I have been mulling over this idea, I decided maybe I had to be more proactive in my pursuits.

Maybe I was relying too much on the luck of the draw of the dating site, and I had to get out  in public and make myself known. Take initiative, if you will, and try more traditional modes of meeting men.

I have no shame in approaching someone and introducing myself. I guess it comes from the life mantra  I have of, "if you don't want to know me, I've come this long in my life without you. I will continue living without you hereafter."

I must say though, most of my great relationships have started with me introducing myself. Knowing now what I didn't know then, they probably would have NEVER approached me in public. Many mentioned well into our dating I appear unapproachable when with my friends, or that they didn't think that I would "go for" someone like them. This is all very odd to me. Why would they think that?

But using this research and developing based upon the past mistakes and newly acquired intelligence, I began to put myself out there as much as I could in real life; not just my virtual one. 

I have attended concerts, gone to night clubs and attended parties where I didn't really know anyone but the host or hostess. I even stumbled upon a singles mixer (actually I had no idea it was going on, I was just there having birthday drinks), joined day trips and taken a small engine classes to "put myself out there" in a traditional manner. It's gotten me what my father likes to call "gatz." (If you are Italian you will know the answer before I translate it for our non-Italian peoples.) Nothing. 

I was beginning to get concerned that perhaps I would not be able to do a blog with 30 dates, if there were not going to be 30 Knights. The pool that had been soliciting me, however unique and interesting they were, just weren't what I was looking for. 

I was reaching a new level of despondence with the blog.  As I sat at my local watering hole with a few friends, my mind wandered and I wondered why I was doing this blog. For whatever reason at this time, I happened to look across the bar and see a large gathering of what looked like co-workers getting together for a happy hour. I noticed one man in particular that seemed to be the center of the conversation of the group. He was laughing and smiling, and telling some story that had the whole group engaged. He was tall, well dressed, with nicely styled light brown hair and eyes that seemed to twinkle when he laughed.  He seemed to be fit, and employed, judging by the group he was with.  He also seemed older. Perhaps in his early or mid forties and I DID NOT SEE A WEDDING RING! 

I thought perhaps that the glass of Pinot Grigio I was having had gone to my head. From a distance, this man looked like opportunity knocking. I was not going to miss this opportunity! I pulled out one of my business cards, scribbled a note that read "If you would like to grab a drink at a later time, give me a call" on it, and proceeded to pull myself together.  Unlucky for me, because I was in all black, I looked like the rest of the waitstaff at the restaurant. Damn my all blacks!! Whatever. My business card clearly said that  I had a job outside of the world of waitressing so maybe this would help. 

But what about this crowd of people around him. . . If this didn't go well this could make me the laughing stock of the whole group. 

"Oh screw it," I thought. 

I had never seen these people before and would probably never see them again. 

I stood up, straightened myself out, took my hair out of its ponytail, did a flip and fluff and walked over to him. I tapped him on the shoulder. I looked straight at him and said "I am sorry to disturb you while you were with your friends. I just wanted to give you this," as I placed my business card in his hand.  I then proceeded to walk as if I was continuing to the ladies room where I shut the door, pushed my back up against it, (like he was somehow going to come in) and wondered to myself "what the hell did you just do?"

I shortly thereafter scurried out of the bathroom, making sure to hide myself as I returned to my seat across the room. I happened to glance at my unsuspecting victim and his cadre of people. They were huddled around him holding up my business card. My worst fear confirmed!!! Oh Christ. What have I done.  I was awaiting the prank phone calls asking for an Al Coholic or text messages with lewd pictures. I began to assume the worst. What have I done!

I decided it was a good time to make a break for it. This looked like it wasn't going down well, and maybe this was a mistake. Nothing like sneaking out the side door as you are publicly humiliated by the man that you thought was hotter than baked bread.

I slinked out the side door unnoticed, and that is when the text messages started.

"Who is this," someone from a strange number wrote.

Trying to make light of it, I decided I was going to play dumb. 

"I don't know. You're the person texting me," I responded.

The next text came as the ultimate surprise.  "Are you some sort of stalker?" he responded.

Oh man. This was going south at warp speed.  How can I salvage this?

"If you are texting the number that you received on the business card, as I believe you are, I am not some sort of stalker. I am a girl that was sitting at the bar and thought perhaps it would be nice to see if you wanted to get a drink. You were surrounded by your friends, and I didn't want to disturb you, so that's why I dropped the card and ran. Remember me?" 

"Were you the waitress," was the response I got back. 

Oh jeez.  

Clearly this man has had quite a bit to drink, but I guess being in all blacks, it was easy to assume I was the waitress. I think I could still salvage this. 

I authored the next text which was either going to make or break my situation. "Does this help?" I attached the most G rated, wholesome, above board picture I had of myself. 

"Yes, yes, yes!" Was the response I got back. 

Now here is the affect I am looking for from these men!

"I thought you were the waitress!" he proclaimed.

"Well that's OK," I thought. Then the next text rolled in. . ."And who would have thought such a beautiful woman would have given me her business card." 

Now we were getting somewhere folks.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"Well," I responded, "I am heading home right now," as I scooped my belongings and ran out the door before he could see me. 

He asked if we could get together in the near future, and I told him I was game.  After all, I was pleased as punch that he was interested in meeting. 

We decided via a few texts that we would meet at the Famished Frog around 7pm for a drink or two. I put on a sweater dress, leggings and boots and bundled up to head out in the freezing weather.  I was excited. I recalled what he looked like, but I find that over time, even if it's a few days, I begin to get hazy on the specifics. I blame it on anything from the conga line of bar patrons at my night job, to glamorizing people to some extent. I hoped that he would be somewhere obvious, so that way I would be able to spot him easily. And there he was.

He was half into his pint of Yuengling when I arrived. He stood up to greet me.  He was more handsome than I had recalled. He had this smile that sparkled like a game show host when he greeted me "hello!"

He stood from the table dressed in a chunky sweater, jeans and black shoes. I thought to myself "what a snazzy dresser he was!"

I sat down across from him and just sat and stared for a minute. "Wow, this guy's even better looking than I remember!" I thought to myself.  I actually began to get nervous.

My ship has come in!

He remarked at how it was so odd how we "met", and that how he wasn't sure who I was so he was a bit pensive about our meeting. I told him that it was a little odd, but really, who wants to meet totally normal people. 

I ordered myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and settled in for what I hoped was going to be a great chat. His first question, was the same as many of my dates.  "What type of business do you own," he asked.  I find that across the board, everyone wants to know what I do for work during the day since I profess to "work for myself." I often feel like this is some sort of qualifying question to make sure that they aren't going to have to pay for the date beyond drinks or something odd like that. Generally when I explain the work I do in marketing, you can nearly watch their faces awash with relief. 

I inquired about his work since he had mentioned he worked independently and had flexible hours as well. He was an investment banker and had been for nearly 20 years. I was now doing the math trying to figure out how old he was. 

He looked like my peer.  I would have said late 30's and probably bet money on it. He was fit, with a youthful face and a thick head of dark brown hair. However, the way he was talking, I could tell that he was older. That was totally cool with me. I'm not an ageist. 

He asked what I had been up to in the recent past, and I mentioned that I had been planning my birthday vacation to St. Lucia and the last trip was a girls night out in Atlantic City. He then asked me how old I was. Well, where this bothered me at the beginning of this Tour de Dates, now it was just old shoe. Besides, if they couldn't take the heat, better to get out of the kitchen now. 

"Thirty five," I responded, with near pride.

He then told me that I didn't look a day over 25 (points) and that he was 48. I nearly fell off my chair. This man looked AMAZING for near 50. 

I told him how great he looked and asked how he kept up this great shape. Turns out the guy was totally into yoga, biking, running and diving. Wow. This guy just gets better and better!

I asked him about his diving experiences, having had my fair share as well. I enjoyed listening to him talk about his adventures and felt quite comfortable talking with him since we seemed to have a number of hobbies in common. This may be the perfect knight!!

He mentioned that he had two children that were not yet teenagers, and how active they were with sports and activities.  I commented on how proud he must be of them and he shared that they were "great". However the next story was kind of off-putting. 

He shared that he had not felt well over the Christmas holiday and despite the fact that he had missed Christmas with his children, he had managed to rally to go skiing the following day. Hmmm. Didn't seem very fatherly of me, but maybe I was being super critical. 

We continued on with our conversation. He asked me questions about my work, and I about his. We talked about how we had both enjoyed living in Morristown, past trips we had taken and some of the things we were looking forward to come Spring.  We talked about how we love horror films, good wine and great food. He asked how my trip to AC had gone and I told him it was a brief girls night out, and how bizarre AC could be on a Sunday night.  He then launched into an odd story about his last trip to a casino in Pennsylvania. He shared that he and his buddies were three sheets to the wind and a group of girls came over and started to chat them up. Then he divulged that one of the women made her home on his lap and how he could tell she wasn't wearing any underwear while he was grinding on his leg. And that was the story.  Gross. Really? 

"But you were doing so well!" I thought to myself.  

Why ever would he want to tell me this story?  Well, maybe it was because in less than two hours he was now enjoying beer number five, that I had seen. Hmmm. 

I got up to use the rest room. I walked off assessing this date. It had started out so magical. What happened? Was I being critical? Had I just come to the point of dating fatigue? I was going to rally and give this the old college try to make sure I was to remain open minded.  

As I went to sit back down in my chair he commented on how "bootylicous" I was.  Really? Was I getting punked? Oh shit.  Here we go. 

Growing concerned about his drinking and potentially driving, I inquired if he had far to go. He divulged that he lived down the street and had walked. Phew. This segued to his next lot of stories that to save time I will entitle, "Times the Police Definitely Should Have Carted Me Away for Public Intoxication/Drunk Driving". There were roughly a half dozen of these. 

Now I am doing this weird running check sheet in my head. 

This near 50 year old man, acts like a boy on Spring break, parties like a Fraternity kid, has the self control of a toddler, who seems to be a self-centered crumby father and keeps referring to me a being bootylicious.  I think it's time to bow out gracefully and exit the first door, or window I can find. 

I then proceeded to do my patented "Oh my gosh, I'm so tired," while yawning. . .

He tells me he has had a great time, and we should do this again soon. I nod in silence. I tell him I am going to head out, and he tells me he is going to stay behind to have a "few more" and watch the games. Awesome. I am getting away scott free. 

I walk to my car fearing I have been judgmental and I don't like that. I tell myself that I am going to give this man another opportunity if he texts me and asks me out again.

The following day he texts me.  He asks me if I want to bring my bootylicous self by to his place one night this weekend to watch horror films and have a sleep over.  I don't even respond. Why have a sequel to this horrifying event. 

The Collegiate Knight

I know that there have been a number of wacky dates and it's been a while since I had a date where I didn't wonder why I was doing this. Fortunately for me, this Knight was a breath of fresh air. It's an odd start to a good story. . .here we go.

I bartend a few nights a week at a restaurant that is uber close to three universities. Due to this fact, on any given Friday night I marvel and enjoy the spectacle of college kids in the "we are allowed to drink finally" ritual. This event of binge drinking followed by hysterical shenanigans give the staff a great laugh and bring me back to my college days when throwing up in the bathroom and then continuing on with your night of boozing was par for the course.

One of the other things that I marvel at concerning these kids is how young they look. When I was in high school the Senior boys had five o'clock shadows before lunch and both the men and women looked like they were thirty when they graduated. I find that the college students that come in to my restaurant now are Beiberesque in their youthful charm. Even the 21 year olds look like they are twelve and generally once a night I am stunned by what a 23 year old man or woman looks like. I must be getting old.

The Friday night I am about to relay started out as most do. You have your happy hour crowd, followed by the dinner crowd, followed by the band crowd, followed by those who are making one last rally on the way back to their dorm. This particular evening we are somewhere between the band crowd and the last hurrah group.

I realize this bar is different from the bar I speak of but the crowd pretty much looks just as energized. 

By this point in the night, this place is a mad house. The bar is full, the tables are packed and it's standing room only. As I navigate through the crowd I am frequently reminded of re living my birth, and the phrase "excuse me" goes from a request, to a demand.  If I am serving the bar tables I am generally just dropping drinks and running around in my "orbit", (as I like to refer to it) as I circumvent the bar. I don't generally see people. What I see are near empty drinks, empty drinks, or people flagging me down for drinks. I am in work mode: I am a machine. 

Three glasses of Pinot Grigio, two shots of Jack, four Blue Moons and a partridge in a pear tree. I got it all in my noggin till I report back to the computer to ring it in, pick it up and drop it off.  Repeat.  That's my night. It's invigorating, frustrating, fast-paced and fun.

Periodically I have a quick chat with the other server to make sure that we are all OK and if I am lucky, I get to say a few words to the servers on the dining side of the restaurant while standing at the service station. This particular time we were standing there one of the servers had asked me if I had carded one of the guys at the table behind us. I card everyone. I do with style and grace by telling people I have to "card everyone who doesn't look old enough to be my Mother/Father." I find this curries favor with those who are otherwise offended by my ask. . .and you do get more with sugar than vinegar. 

I tell my fellow server that, I had, in fact, carded the table and knew that they were not only 21 but all 22 and older. We remarked at how young looking they were for their age, and then I dashed off to drop off my laundry list of drinks. Turns out I was headed to this very table. 

I cruised over, smiled, and dropped off their drinks. One of the five graciously took the glasses that were empty and passed them along the end of the table and smiled at me as he did so.  He had a boyish charm when he smiled at me. I smiled back. I recalled carding him. He was 23. I gathered the empty glasses, thanked him, and scurried off to the next table. 

A short while later I was back at the table and they were asking for shots. I brought a round of shots to them and then as per my orbit, picked them back up upon my return. Again, this kid put all the glasses together and passed them back to me, making sure to make eye contact with me. Again, I smiled, thanked him and took the glasses.  As I took them off the table he quietly whispered to me "you know you're a beautiful girl." I smiled at him, turned fifty shades of red, thanked him for his kind words, and scurried away again. Clearly this man has been drinking. 

A while later I was coming past again I noticed some empty glasses and stopped to pick them up. This time, the gentleman that had been passing the glasses was sitting at the table alone among a number of empty glasses and chairs. I turned and remarked to him, "What happened to your friends?" He looked at me and he said "I waited behind after they left because I wanted to get your number." I was stunned. This never happens. 

I looked at him and recalling his age I leveled with him. "Look. I think that that's super sweet but if you knew how old I was, I am sure you wouldn't be interested." 

He looked at me quizzically. 

"I am going to be thirty five next year," I responded feeling my wrinkles multiply as I said it. 

Looking unfazed, he asked again "so now can I get  your number?" 

"I think you have had a bit too much to drink. . . Thank you for flattering me but I don't think I should be giving customers my number."

I liked this persistence, and he was super cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and a bigger build. He looked like he could be a some sort of athlete, and I wondered what? But wait. No.  Too young Chris. Keep moving. 

While I was having some internal debate between whether I was a cougar, puma or just fatigued from a long night at work, he was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"Here you go," as he handed me his number.  "This is my number so you can call me and have me take you out." 

Here was this 23 year old kid channeling the phrase I would have killed to hear from a man my age.  As to not be the talk of the staff that night, I took the number from him and squirreled it away in my pocket vowing that despite my taking it I was not going to use it.  

He wished me good night and then departed out the back door. What was I going to do  with this number? He was a customer, too young, and a laundry list of other reasons why this was a bad idea.  I continued on with my night of bussing, dropping, filling and re filling and then ultimately cleaning and heading home. When I got home and was emptying my pockets I found his number. Not sure what to do with the number, I put it on my foyer table and starred at it. Like the frigging number was going to give me an answer. 

The number sat on my foyer table for two weeks. 

Now a fortnight later I am working at my job, per my usual schedule. I've been buzzing around the busy bar all night taking my inventory of empty and full glasses. I happen to see a table get seated off on the other side of the bar so I begin to head over to get a drink order. As I get closer I can now see it is the gentleman from earlier in the month who had left his phone number. Crap. Now what. I never called. Akward! 

I am just going to glaze over this.

"I can do my job, make like I am busy and just pretend like I don't even notice he's there. I am sure he won't say anything," I nervously think to myself. I begin to breeze by the table and I feel someone touch my arm.  

"Oh NO!" I know it's him.

"You never called me," I hear him say.

I turn to look at him. He looks at me inquisitively.  He IS a good looking guy. . . 

"Oh, yeah. I just figured you had a bit to drink and your friends put you up to it. Ha ha," I laugh nervously. 

"I wasn't drunk. I remember everything. My friends didn't put me up to it. I stayed behind to give it to you. I came back to see what happened that you didn't call."

Take a dagger and put it right through my heart. 

We continued on with this awkward dance back and forth of why I didn't call and since I am a crap liar, the conversation is tanking. He gives me a playful hard time about my not calling and I tell him I have to scurry back to work.  This guy is persistent, and cute. . .even if I could have babysat for him. 

I sidebar with my colleagues. Thank God I work with some of my closest girlfriends! I express to them that I am not sure what to do, but I am now leaning towards acquiescing to his request. They agree he's too young, but why not. He did have the balls to give me his number and then RETURN to my place of work to give me a hard time about not calling him in a sweet and tactful way. I don't run into men my own age that do this. Shit. What the hell. I have a blog and I need to think about single dating women everywhere. I am their representative!

Later that night as he is getting ready to leave I decide to throw caution to the wind and scribble my number on my guest check pad. I casually place it in a check presenter with his check and a note that says "If you are serious about wanting to hang out, you can call me." I drop the check presenter on his table and run away, nearly afraid to see what happens. I guess he paid his check and left because less than a half hour later I get a text message that he got my number and wants to know when is good to get together. Wow. I'm impressed.

We text back and forth and decide to meet after both of our respective jobs one night at Poor Herbies for drinks. I arrive first and end up sitting at the bar with one of my regular patrons sharing the story of who I am meeting and how we met. He's having a heck of a time giggling at me as to how this event has occurred and is more excited than I am to see this guy show up!  When my Knight arrives, I excuse myself from my bar seat and move to a table in the dining room where he and I can talk privately.  

I sit down across from him. He stands a bit taller than me, and is reminiscent of a swimmer I dated when I was a Junior in college. He has bright blue eyes and if he doesn't have a Norse background, I'll kick myself. He is clearly WAY younger than I am. I feel very Mrs. Robinsonesque and am not sure that this is exciting good, or exciting like when you have the police pulling you over. Dang. 

He parks his Guinness across from my Pinot Grigio and we talk about work, the phone number passing debacle and what he's been up to. 

I am immediately at ease with him. Maybe it's that we have the hospitality job in common. Maybe it's because he's been so warm to me to this point; who knows. All I know is that we sit down and started talking and didn't stop for hours.  We spoke of his major, what he was looking to do with his degree and what made him choose the studies he did. 

He was returning to college for the second time and felt he now had the determination to do the best he could to be successful. He shared that he had made some big life decisions in the past year that led him to be living back home.  He was working towards his future and felt he was on a good path to accomplish his goals. I was continually impressed with his work ethic, determination and overall take on life. He was happy, friendly, polite, genuine and held a great conversation. He asked me about my work, travels, hobbies and my days with roller derby.  

Part of this filled me with panic. I was connecting more with this guy than I had with men my own age. We had the most in common of ANY of the dates I had been on. How was this possible? 

We were both in love with travel, humanitarian causes and boxing. We shared a love of wine, music and inappropriate jokes. Everything seemed great, but I was stuck on the age difference. He didn't care. Why did I so much? Should I? Hugh Hefner has probably never had this inner monologue. Why am I? This has been the best date I have been on so far. What do I make of this?

I chalk it up to a kid who just wanted to go out with Mrs. Robinson. I don't think he'll ask me out again. This was just a check box on the bucket list for him and well, it's been a lovely night  for me, so whatevs. 

We continue to talk right up until the bar gives last call. He realizes that the bar is packing it in and abruptly stops talking. I stop putting on my coat and ask if everything is ok. He smiles at me and tells me that he wanted to make sure that we were going to get together again.  For the first time in all this madness, I say "Yes" and actually mean it!