The "Magneto" Knight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I NEVER EXPECTED that he would email me back. 

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

Still haven't lived this mistaken identity down. 

"Please Come Back" the opening line pleaded.  

"Interesting," I thought.

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

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

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

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

Why the hell not. 

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

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

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


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

I don't drink coffee

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

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

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

Turned into:


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

I don't see the last line. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting. 

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

He was not interested in another location. 

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

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

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

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

Super sexy location for a first date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can see Russia from here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The "Cougar" Knight

So I am bartending on a Thursday night, surprise surprise.  

Let me start by saying where I bartend has the lowest rate of attractive men after a Star Trek festival.  In the two years that I have worked there, I have probably seen six men that I would want to ask me out; if I was forced at gunpoint to want that. 

I don’t understand what the deal is. How can one place be such an abysmal showing of the male species . . .

This particular night we had been dead all night and then had this massive surge of college students around 11pm.  I jump off tending tables and begin helping out the bartenders with the throngs of students drinking Fireball shots and downing Miller Lites.

 

I think this is an actual a place in Australia. . .

As I am slinging shots I happen to notice an attractive man at the bar. I do a double-take.  This is a first. 

He is sitting by himself, seemingly watching some game behind me. I am craning to see him. As I focus on him, I realize that he is meeting my gaze.  I quickly look away. He’s just watching the bartending show, or the other bartender. He couldn’t possibly be looking at me?

He looks young, but maybe, not terribly younger? I can't tell anymore. Whatever age he is, he's still older than 21 and has enough confidence to come to a bar by himself.  Kudos kid.

"It's my sparkly teeth that attracted you to me."

He looks like he should pitch for a baseball team somewhere. He has one of those twisty fabric necklaces like the ball players wear, he's wearing a cotton A&F or Hollister shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers.  No tattoos, clean shaven; I'd say some military service because his cotton outfit is pressed and his light brown hair is cut short. He looks like he's super fit but I wonder if he and I are the same height. That's a deal breaker, but I am willing to roll the dice. Well, I haven't had any luck with military men yet, why stop now. 

I decide I am going to ask one of the other bartenders what his story is. He's not a regular and I have never seen him in here before. I grab my fellow bartender. . .

“Erin, there is a cute boy at the bar!" I exclaim. "This never happens!” 

“And he’s been checking you out, hard” she responds.

“Really?” I inquire.

“Yeah, he’s definitely been checking you out,” she tells me with 100% assurance. 

"Well shit. I am going to do something about this," I tell her. 

When opportunity comes a knocking, I definitely don't wanna miss the chance. 

The bar has now calmed down enough for me to get out from behind the bar and get back on tables. I begin wandering around wondering how I can get close enough to see this man. Hmmmm. . .

Part of my job is making sure that the chairs are where they should be. I realize that there is a deluge of chairs over where this man is sitting. This is my in.

I go over and ask him if he is using any of the chairs that have piled up next to him. He smiles at me and says, “Sadly, I am here alone. Feel free to take the chairs as you wish. I am not using them.”

I look at him and this just rolls off my tongue: “There’s nothing sad about it. I go out on my own all the time.” I give him a smile and a shrug and proceed to begin to pick up one of the chairs.

He stops me from picking up the chair and says “ How about some we go out some night and sit together.”

Smooth man. Super smooth. 

 

"I'm so smooth, I'm chilling this glass as I drink this martini"

For a guy that looks barely 21, he clearly knows how to pick up a chick. Sweet. He did the asking; I am in. 

I flush red.  “I’d like that,” I respond.

“Good,” he says.  “When are you not working?”

“Umm, this is sort of a wacky week," I share.  "I think I am around on Tuesday night.  Do you want to get my number so we can coordinate?” 

“Nope,” he replies.  

“Tuesday night at 10pm at George and Martha’s work for you? I’ve never been there before,” he shares, “and I’d like to take you out there if that works for you.”

“Um, sure. That sounds awesome,”  I  reply.

I love that he is assertive. I love that he made the plans. I think he’s super cute. 

I’m beaming.

The bar picks back up again and I am back behind the bar.  Now I notice that he is watching my every move. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that says he's into me. 

I’m now excited for my Tuesday tonight.  He pays his tab and I get to see his name.  It occurred to me that I was so excited to be asked out that I totally forgot to ask him his name.  Well at least now I know who the hell I am going out with.

Tuesday night rolls around. I drive myself to the bar. It's been a long time since I have been here.

As I am pulling in I notice he is walking across the lot.

Phew, here is my opportunity to suggest another place to go.

“Hey there! So you still wanna check this place out?” I shout, hoping he is not set on having drinks here.

“Yeah, I have never been here before,” he responds. 

Dang. I’m stuck.

We proceed inside.  We sit down at the bar and then chat for over two and a half hours over our cider beers.  He is pleasant and fun to talk to. The conversation ebbs and flows. There are some pregnant pauses when he talks about high school and his prom. I realize that there probably aren't a ton of years under his dating belt.  It's sweet, but he's a bit novice it would seem. 

He has a youthful charm and innocence but has nearly a Fifty Shades control on his life and destiny. 

We both love the same sports teams, are very into our fitness and local, organic food. He has a dry sense of humor, and pokes me back when I am playfully abusive.  It was a great chat. I am happy that I decided to come, even though I think he's too young.  

He then tells me he is going into the service and that he is departing in the near future. This is kind of a bummer. I appreciate his service to his country, but I don’t want to get into a relationship with someone who is going away for four to eight months. 

I am exhausted . I am just cooked from my big week and I realize it is time to go home. I think he's a lovely kid, but he’s goin away for a while. A long while. I wanna date someone who is going to be around, not away, who knows where, for who knows how long.  I kinda feel the universe giggling at me. I suggest since the bar is closing that perhaps we should pay our tabs and head out on our way. Good bartender karma, you know.

He agrees and asks me if I will go out with him again. I nod. I am not sure why. This is going nowhere.  Maybe I choose to nod in compliance because this is just easier.  When he texts or calls, I'll just say I am busy, and it will just fade away.  

I ask him if he has had a good night.

He tells me that he has had an amazing night "with a hot cougar". 

I don't even drink coffee or tea. Oh wait. . .

HUH???

I ask him, "How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know," he stammers. "28?"

I press my smile into a thin grimace. I am seething inside. I don't consider myself a cougar. I looked it up online once and the definition was "a woman 40 years of age or older who exclusively pursues very young men."

 I am not 40. And it's not like he's  young enough to be my son. 

I perceive this term "cougar" as a way for men to poke fun at those of us who are just doing what men have done for eons.  There is no negative connotation for a man who dates women significantly younger than he is, why do I get to bear this scarlet "C"?

I'm not having it.  

I don't respond.

I decide I am not going to say anything further. He doesn’t notice this. Perhaps because he is smitten with this older woman.  Perhaps he is mapping out in his head what he is going to tell his friends about going out with a cougar. Either way, this is over. 

I bid him goodnight and get in my car. 

I can't hardly wait to tell my friends this story. I can't hardly believe the exchange that has just happened. 

Kudos kid on your epic fail with your "cougar".  

The "Professional Dater" Knight

Prelude: At this point of the blog: my family thinks I need psychiatric help and my friends regard this as better than TMZ. 

I am thinking that re-devoting myself to my career and publishing this as my first book because I am nearly convinced I am NEVER going to meet anyone like this. Story time. . .

While doing my weekly check-in on my inbox on the dating site, I came across an email from a guy that had a GREAT smile.  I am talking, I think that guys teeth twinkled at me through the picture. Game show host quality smiling. I read his intro email and it showed he had actually read my profile. He talked about being a fellow entrepreneur and traveler, and he encouraged me to look at his profile. Very LinkedIn of him.

Good smile, but totally not someone I would date.

Of course I then went and stalked his page. (Is it stalking if the assumption is that you will take up the invite to stalk?)

He had standard issue stats:  5'10, career in marketing, looking for a relationship, father, entrepreneur, nearby resident, into health and fitness, divorced. OK. Requirements of not living at home, has job, not married and dating, writes in full sentences, seems interested in me and didn't write a form letter as an intro, check. He makes the cut.

I sent him a message back talking about traveling and asking about his companies. He then writes back and asks if I wanted to have dinner with him to discuss any of these questions further.

I have now gotten much more expeditious with this dating thing. I started this blog MONTHS ago with the hopes of banging this out in a month. I am now nearly 8 MONTHS in. Nearly another full year of my life!!! You know that I am saying yes.

He sends me his number, and tells me to text him to confirm the day before a date we loosely agreed on. I get totally harried with my week, and forget to text him the day before, because I am hair brained like that. Since we have not confirmed, I assume that we are not meeting and I text him the day we had  originally specced to meet when I realize that I have missed the prior day's deadline.

He sends back this text saying that he's at the restaurant by himself. He texts he's never been stood up before.

Wait, what the hell? I scroll back through the texts. I didn't agree to a place or a time. . .What the hell is this man talking about?

I send back: "Being stood up would imply that we had landed on a place and a time. I don't see that. Did I miss something?"

He sends back that he is just joking, but I can buy the first round of drinks because I moved the date. I don't agree, but tell him I am willing to reschedule. He asks if we can reschedule for the weekend. I agree, put it on my calendar and am still baffled by the previous texts. Whatever.

He tells me he will text me later with options on where to go.  I feel that even if we don't have chemistry to date, he seems like a pretty interesting business person, and if all else fails, we have our work to talk about.

He offers Roots, or Urban Table. I choose Roots because I haven't been there in AGES. Keep in mind, Roots is a steak house. I ask what time, and he tells me our reservation is at 8.30pm.

This is the first man who has made a reservation for dinner and only the third man I am having dinner with.  Yes folks, this is what the fish bowl is like these days. . .

He suggests that we meet at the bar at 8pm for a drink, and then head to our table. I agree. I see what he is doing though. . .If it sucks having drinks, or he wants an out, he can bail before dinner. I would do the same. Touche.

He then sends me this odd text:  "And I don't  eat red meat."

Strange. Why would one pick a steak house then. My dreams of a lovely Porterhouse, great wine and great conversation have been squashed. I wonder what he's going to eat? Why do I care? Whatever, not my problem.

The day of our date I arrive just before 8pm.  The bar keep clears a place for me at the bar amongst the throngs of patrons. I thank him and order myself a Stoli, dirty martini. Two can play the half hour game.

I text him that I am sitting at the bar wearing jeans and a black shirt.

All of a sudden my Knight is standing next to me and immediately slinks into the seat that is available to my left. He is as attractive in person as he was in his pictures. You can tell he works out and he is dressed well in his pressed, black button down shirt and jeans.

He orders a Tito's and club soda and gets settled in. He sort of busts my chops about moving the dates, but I brush it off and tell him how "happy I am to be here today."

He begins by talking about his work in the health services industry and how he got his start building his empire. He is quite accomplished and he is very eloquent. He is exceptionally engaging and probably kills it at business development. He's a great conversationalist.  He asks me about my work in marketing and for the first time on pretty much any of these dates, the man totally and fully understands what I do for a living. I am impressed.

The maître d' stops by us at the bar to tell us that our table is ready. The bartender asks if we are going to transfer our tab to the table. I tell them that is is fine and leave a cash tip.  My Knight then tells them that he doesn't want to transfer it to the table. I say OK and reach into my wallet to get out my money to pay for my drink. My Knight then looks over at me, says "thanks," and walks off towards the table.

I guess he did get his free drink on me after all.

When I arrive at the table he is standing there waiting for me talking to the waiter. Seems he is a regular. I am a bit ticked that I just plunked down nearly $30 for the drinks. This was going to severely cut into my personal steak budget.  Dang.  Now I am at a steakhouse and I'M not eating steak. WTF?

As I turn to sit down I notice that I TOWER over this man. He is not only shorter than me, but think middle school dance girl boy height ratio difference.  Awesome.  5'10 my ass.

I re-compose myself, and for whatever reason decide I am going to stay for dinner.  Probably because I am starving and well, I am one of these people that always hope for good to come out of situations even if it looks bleak.

He orders a Caesar salad and a mac and cheese side and a glass of wine. My budget has me now down to a tomato salad. I am assuming I am paying for at least my dinner and have embraced this.  However, I now have no budget picking up his dinner as well as mine. Not happening.

We chat through dinner about his work, my work and then we begin to discuss the topic of dating. He tells me of the many, many dates he has been on. How he can tell if someone is into him or not, how he usually dates early 20somethings, how some of the dates have been complete disasters. I agree that dating is a real challenge and ask him about his worst date. The conversation continues like this, and I realize that this man may actually have been on, as many, if not more dates than me! I am fascinated by the stories and we carry on like this for a while. We wrap up dinner and decide against dessert. He is a charming man, but seems to be happy dating and lying about his height. No worries, just not for me.

He offers to pick up dinner and I thank him. This was a lovely gesture.

He walks me to the door and I tell him that I will find my way to my car. We sort of nod to each other good night in a very business-like fashion and head our separate ways. As "professional daters" we both know that this is the end of the line.

As I arrive back my car, I realize that, after quite a bit of digging,  I don't have Svetlana's key. Usually it is buried in some nook in my bag, but tonight the car key is gone. Legit.

I am in monstrous heals and am dreading the three block walk from my parking space BACK to the restaurant.  As I get a few steps into the restaurant I walk right smack into my Knight. We look at each other quizzically.

"I think my key fell out of my coat pocket during dinner," I stammer.

"I had to go to the bathroom," he replies.

Neither of us have unscrewed the shock on our faces at this point though.

I begin to head towards the booth we were sitting in hoping I won't have to ask some poor person if I can crawl under their table. Thankfully there is no one there. I crawl all over the floor while the staff shines phones and my Knight jockeys chairs. No success.

The search party now carries over to the bar, which has significantly cleared out. Thank God. This is just awkward enough without digging under more chairs.

As I walk over the bar keep smiles at me. He asks me if I am looking for "this," as he holds up my car key. Turns out the sucker escaped into the crevasse in the chair I was sitting in, and the guy sitting next to me found it in my chair when I stood up.  I thank him and the Knight and I begin heading for the door for the second time tonight.

Again, he offers to walk me to my car, I politely decline. It's like Groundhog Day with my date. I say goodnight and wave as I wander off.  I meander back to my car, feet aching. As I stare up at the moon, just to check if it's full or not,  I again question why it is I am doing this.

If everyone says that you meet someone when you are not looking, maybe I should really stop looking. Or do I believe that everything does, in fact, happen for a reason. Hence the reason I am trying to stick out this thirty date endeavor is because this is what needs to happen. I don't know. Each day I seem to feel differently. The dating has been 80% terrible with the two exceptions: it has given me a lot of perspective and this has provided me the ability to learn that, perhaps, I can write.

I hop in my car, throw on my flip flops and drive home to my sanctuary on the hill.  I try to author my text message farewell to this evening's Knight, but I end up falling asleep watching Real Housewives of Atlanta.

I awake the next morning and see no signs of him having text. Well, I feel I am absolved from messaging. Super!

At lunchtime the text comes in. He had a great time, and maybe we could do it again, but not at a steak place. I send back that I had a great time and hope he has a great week. Nebulous and polite. I believe that the professional dater will be able to take the hint.