The Knightess

Happy 2014! 

Long before I ever decided to do this dating blog, I had erected an online profile on a dating site to try to meet people when I lived in Oz. I found that after a few dates with Australian men I had nothing in common with, I all but forgot about this profile. One day when I was back living in the US, I realized that I had this dating profile out there and decided I would investigate if it had better opportunity for me now that I was back in the States.

As I put in the criteria for my search of who was online dating in NJ I mistakenly hit "women seeking women" instead of "women seeking men." As a bevy of women's profiles popped up, I thought to just close out of search and start over.  Then, for a reason I am still not sure of, I began to read a few of the profiles.

Now. . . my sexual preferences didn't just magically change over night. That is not what caused me to put a toe into the lady pool. You see, when I really like a person, I find it is the person I really like. Not if they are male or female, not if they are rich or poor, not if they have a powerful job or if they are a pauper. It doesn't matter to me. What matters is that I have feelings for that person, love who they are, and want to be with them.  

My mother raised me telling me that she didn't care if I came home with men or women, just that my hair had to be longer than the guys. I grew my hair as long as I could, and I felt free to date anyone. With my European approach to sexuality I spent my whole life appreciating the beauty of women. I didn't think it was weird to think women were attractive in the same way I thought of men, and because of that, I believed that dating, for me, could encompass an individual from either of these groups.  

This mentality has caused me to have great, healthy relationships of varying degrees with both men and women. I wouldn't classify myself as gay or heterosexual; I don't know that I would even call myself bi-sexual. I would say I am an opportunist who just loves people. 

Or maybe I'm a human squid. I hear they don't have a preference either. 

Getting back to my Knightess. . . 

I had sworn off dating women for what I thought was going to be forever after I met a woman a number of years ago I truly loved and cared. I thought that, after her, I would no longer date women as a way to sort of commemorate the way I felt about her. I didn't want to ever feel like I was replacing what I had with her with anyone else, so I just put my interest in women on a shelf after our relationship and thought I would never dust it off again. 

But here I was, a few years later, wondering if holding a torch for a past relationship was the best idea. I took a look through some of the profiles of the women on the site. Maybe there were two dozen women seeking women. There were no where near as many profiles as there were of men. I peered through a number of profiles and found the same result as I did with a lot of the men I saw on the site: There were a lot of great people out there, maybe just not the great person for me. As I was about to give up my search entirely I came across a profile that stopped me in my tracks. 

She had just one picture and she was smiling like the Mona Lisa in it. She had this cool chick air about her that seemed to be tempered with a good sense of self that was somehow easily conveyed in this lone picture. As I read her profile she seemed to be a down to earth person, who was an entrepreneur, with a myriad of varying interests and a positive outlook on life.  I looked back at her pictures; she was beautiful. She had long brown hair, light eyes along slender face and slim build painted with tattoos.

I decided I was going to throw caution to the wind and send her an email to see if she might have any interest in me. I told her that I had seen her profile and it had caught my attention. I can't recall all the specifics because it pre-dates my blog notes, but the exchange via email was kinda just a "thought I would say hi". To this day, I can't recall what she sent me back, but whatever it was, it got us texting and emailing for quite sometime.

For a year we exchanged text messages and phone calls.  A year.

She would call me and we would joke about how we were never going to meet.  I would tease her about her schedule being worse than mine somehow. She sent me smiling pictures of her out in the sunshine, and I sent her pictures of me in my bartending blacks.  It was a sweet friendship that just always had "to be continued" embossed on it.

Throughout all of this, we had never tried to get together to meet. I don't know what we were afraid of, or even if it was just bad timing. . .We just never even seemed to bring up getting together.

With all this time passing in between our communications, I had started writing this dating blog. I think that I either told her I was writing it, or she saw that I was the author of it.  She would joke about what I was going to write about her if we ever went out. I thought that we were never going to get together so it wasn't really a concern of mine. . .

After we had crested just beyond a year of periodic phone calls and random text messages she told me that this couldn't go on anymore: we had to meet.

We were two single people, neither of us were seeing anyone, and it seemed like our schedules were going to finally allow this meeting to happen.

I agreed with her that meeting was a stellar plan.

We agreed upon a late lunch.  We both owned our own companies and could have a long lunch if we so wanted.  Go us entrepreneurs.

When I arrived at Urban Table she was running late. I was happy to sit and surf Pinterest till she got there (as I now find it a hobby like some would needlepoint).

When she arrived she was cloaked in her long wool jacket and a scarf. It was particularly cold for this time of year and she was as bundled as I was for our evening.

She immediately spotted me, came over waved and plunked herself down across from me.  I think that for the first few minutes we both just sort of stared at each other nearly in disbelief that we were finally meeting.

As she took off her coat and got comfortable we made small talk about the weather, our arrivals there and our respective days to this point. I immediately felt at ease talking to her. . .Something even MADE ME want to talk to her like I had known her my whole life.  I would say it was the months of back and forth mini communications, but it wasn't that. She was like Oprah or Barbara Walters: You just wanted to tell her your life story and you weren't really sure why.  Maybe it was the way that she asked questions that made me feel like I was the only person in the whole building.  Maybe it was how engaged she looked when she listened to what I had to say.  Maybe it was because, for once, she seemed to be running the show as far as questions and the flow of the conversation.  She seemed inquisitive about legitimately getting to know me, and genuinely interested in what I had to say.

I think my Knightess could definitely replace her on daytime TV. 

I, was equally fascinated by her.  At times we both had questions for the other and had to politely excuse ourselves for cutting the other off. We had so much to share. Stories of our travels, our friends, our businesses, our dating experiences. We had so much in common! I think that the only things that we didn't agree on were that she loved coffee and I didn't, and she had a small of militia of pets that I was potentially deathly allergic to.

Our lunch date turned into afternoon drinks.  Our afternoon drinks now turned into an early dinner as the sun set. I think that the waitstaff even changed hands to the night shift and we were still sitting there sipping our martinis, and chatting. I think that we may have barely drank our first drinks because we were chatting away so much.

This was a great date!!

I found out that we had both dated men and women and how interesting it was that we had found each other.  "What are the chances," I thought.

One of us looked at our watches.  It was nearly 8pm in the evening. We had set out for this date HOURS ago. There was some work that she had to do, and I still had some things that I needed to wrap up for clients for my work.

My initial feelings of skepticism of going out with another woman had totally washed away.  Maybe this could work out. . .We had so much in common and seemed to want the same things. . .The only tough part seemed to be our schedules being so demanding of us.  It took us over a year to get together, but here it was, seemingly well worth it.

As we were departing the restaurant we went back and forth who would walk who to their car.  She won: we ended up walking me to my car. Our night ended as most date movie endings do.  She and I both stood by my car kicking stones, shimming our legs nervously, shuffling in place doing the "when do we get to go out again" dance. We determined that we had a great time and we should see where this went moving forward.  I agreed. This had been one of the best dates I had been on. She stepped in and gave me a big hug and kissed me goodnight.  I was entirely OK with this.

We were like high school kids saying good night. We backed away from each other waving goodbye and smiling.  I was really happy that we had finally decided to get together.

As I got into my car I noticed that I felt flush. I thought perhaps it was the feel good high I was on.  As I put the key in the ignition I couldn't help but keep blinking and squinting my eyes because they were itching.  By the time I was half way down the block, my hands, my neck and my face were itching terribly and covered in red swollen hives.  I was now starting to wheeze.

HOLY SHIT. I AM HAVING A MASSIVE ALLERGIC REACTION!!

As my left eye started to swell up and my throat itched like I was being rubbed with sandpaper it occurred to me: This had happened before with my friends that had cats and dogs that I was allergic to.

In the past I had occasions where I hugged someone goodbye and the cat or dog fur that was on their coat or shirt threw me into an allergic fit.  Tonight was no different. I guess her scarf or jacket had some of her pet's fuzz on them and when she hugged me goodbye, wa la.

Yes. I am really that allergic to fuzzy creatures.

How could this be!! Everything had been magic!

As I drove off itching and scratching, fumbling for my emergency Benadryl and inhaler, I couldn't help but feel like this dating thing was just never going to work out for me :(

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 "Dude of 1000 Pictures" Knight

There is a reason why there are advisories against drinking and pretty much any activity. Even online dating should have a breathalyzer.  

I had finished up after a long day of work and decided to sit down to watch the Walking Dead, as I do on a Sunday night during the season. Generally on commercial breaks I work on making dinner for myself for the week, and enjoy a few glasses of wine while I am manning these various activities. I sometimes pepper the bevy of activity with some online shopping, reading, or as of late, checking my online dating site email. 

On this particular evening I found a message in my inbox from a man who had a handle (suchandsuch)Ranger. With all this dating of men in the service, I still had not been out with a Ranger and I am learning a lot about the military through these dates, so why not continue to expand my education. . .

I open the email and it was very sincere and kind. He expressed that he lived in the area, was a "nice" guy, looking for a "nice" girl and wondered if I would like to get together for a cup of coffee.  I read his profile. It had a NUMBER of pictures of him, all of which portrayed him as a fit, dog loving, country loving, man of the military who looked great in plain clothes. He appeared to be tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed, but didn't really smile in any of his pictures. What, nothing to smile about? That's sad. . .

I read his profile and it was pretty basic and brief. He talked about his time with the military, his dog and how he believed in chivalry and being good to the people he dates. 

Unable to really do some qualifying with this person based upon their profile, I sent him a message back. I told him I loved dogs, was interested in hearing about how one becomes a Ranger, and thought that based upon the fact that he believed that chivalry was alive and well in his universe, if he was interested, perhaps we should meet for a cup of coffee to see how we got on off line. I included my number and hit send. 

A short while later, while I was now about three glasses of wine into my evening of Dead and pretending to be Betty Crocker (or Betty Ford, depending on how you look at it I guess) I received a text message from a strange number. I opened it up to find a picture of my ****Ranger and a big "HELLO!"

It struck me as odd that as an intro that this man would immediately send a picture, but  he was 25 and I find that the next generation down LOVES SELFIES. Odd to me, but a good sense of self never hurts, right?

I text him back hello and how was his evening going. I was a bit tipsy at this point and really probably shouldn't have been texting a complete stranger, but this was fun at this moment. He text me back and forth about how he was a good cook (picture of dinner), enjoyed the outdoors (picture of him outdoors), loved his time as a Ranger (picture of him as a Ranger), loved his dog (pictures of him with his dog).  You get the picture.  

I comment on some of the pictures as much as I can keep up.  He tells me that the ones that are not selfies were taken by a girl that he's friends with that has the hots for him but he doesn't care for her. Interesting share. . .

Now keep in mind, I am not sending ANY pictures back.  This photo bombing is a one sided assault. 

He asks if I am available tomorrow night for a cup of coffee.  I await a picture of him drinking coffee. Strange, he doesn't have a picture of him drinking coffee, but I agree none-the-less. He clearly is photogenic, can cook, loves his dog, the great outdoors and has shared in great detail how he opens doors and says bless you because he wants to keep chivalry alive. . . Those details have allowed me to say yes to the date. 

He tells me that he will text me tomorrow and confirm, and of course, sends a goodnight picture of him CLOTHED but in bed snuggling with his dog.

Now even in my Pinot Grigio soaked mind I know that there is no way that this man has had 22 outfit changes and cooked a full dinner to picture perfect this very evening. Sooo, this means that this guy has a ton of pictures because:

A. He's narcissistic.  

B. He's a total player

C. He's a budding photographer

I immediately rule out C and despite the negative connotations with A and B, I just wanna meet this guy because I wanna know who this "Dude of 1000 Pictures" is.  It's not like I haven't been on a billion bad dates by now or something. 

Maybe this is the alcohol impairing my judgment. Whatever. I'll take this as my "last mistake of the day," finish my wine and head to bed to read. I knock out on my couch to Chelsea Lately and dream I have a talk show and have invited her on. Odd.

I am awakened from my nesting as a couch urchin to a 5:30am text - "Good morning. Did I mention I was a morning person?" (picture of him working out at gym) 

Actually, it's not me. 

I am tempted to text him back "Did I mention I wasn't," but I refrain and don't send a message back. I drag my ass into my bed, put on my eye mask, shut the blinds and pass out face down in my bed to once hopefully now dream of being Oprah, or at least living her life. 

6:00am - (incoming text/picture) "So are we on for tonight. How's 5?"

Have I mentioned I'm not a morning person?

Now, my dear friend Sean can attest to my wrath in the AM when you text me while I am deep in my re-slumber state.  

I immediately pick up the phone and type into the keyboard, "Hey, yeah. . . tonight doesn't work for me. I had this thing come up. Can we reschedule. I'll text you later." I flip on the Do Not Disturb feature on my phone, and resolve that I can't, nor do I, want to do a planning session right now. I roll over attempting to grab one last half hour of sleep. Sleep does not come for me. I guess I will start my day. Awesome.

Later that afternoon, I decide I will reach out about the AM text and the three subsequent texts. He had expressed in his text message that sometimes when you don't meet immediately after talking (odd, I thought we were texting?), you lose that "spark".

OK Dr. Kinsey. . . So he wants to meet up, if we can, tomorrow before he goes away to a Ranger get-together in Georgia. 

I let him know that tomorrow doesn't work for me. I mention that I don't feel that the "spark" thing is an issue if someone really is intent on getting to know someone. I let him know that he should have a good time at his Ranger event and if he's still interested in me when he gets back, to ring me then.  I figure I'm not so thrilled with Mr. Early Riser, and will cut down with the potential of wasting time with a dude on this site that just wants to hook up. 

Roughly a week later I get a text message: "Hey. I lost my phone in Georgia and didn't have a phone till today. I had to go back on line to get your number. How are you?" (picture of him in a suit and tie)

So his phone got lost at his Ranger Gymboree. . .jeez. 

I reply back that I am doing well, and inquire how things are with him.  We have a brief exchange of texts and he asks if I want to get together.  I now have a powerfully busy schedule this week. I still want to meet the "Dude of 1000 Pictures". I'm not sure why I still want to go out with him but, well, everyone comes across differently via phone and email so maybe he's amazing in person. 

We decide that we are going to meet for brunch, and he suggests the Hyatt in Morristown. I agree and put the date on my calendar. 

The day of the brunch I throw on a cotton long sleeve shirt, jeans, my cowboy boots and head on over to Morristown. I arrive at the hotel and sit myself in the lobby. A short while later I see a man who looks like the man from the pictures walk in.  As he walks closer I can see it is definitely him.  As I stand up to greet him I am eye-to-eye with him.  This is not a good start. I'm tiny and so is he. He actually looks EXACTLY like Eminem.  Weird. Didn't get that front the pics, but, oh well.

Yeah, I'm living in NJ now

He hugs me hello and ushers me over to the brunch area. He tells me that he comes here some times after church. We begin to sit down. I explain that I was worried I was going to be late. I had broken my sunglasses and was trying to fix them.  He turned to me and laughed. I inquired why he laughed and his response was that because I was a girl, didn't I have like six other pairs of sunglasses at home.  I said no and asked if I was supposed to, and he went on about how girls have all this crap at home. Odd. I don't. 

We sat down to breakfast and I asked him how his Ranger convention was. He said it was fun, but wild and crazy. 

I can't even imagine what this exercise is for.

I asked how his new job was going, because he had mentioned a while ago he was starting a new job. He said that he had not started yet, and that he wasn't sure what was happening with it. "Well," I thought, "at least he will have a ton of time to take pictures."

We kind of muddle through the conversation. He is sweet, but truly, there is no spark. The more we talk, the less we have in common. He is polite and I am trying to come up with engaging questions to ask, but it's a lackluster performance on my part because I want the date to be over now.  

He had mentioned he had somewhere to be around lunchtime. This was my out.  We had been at brunch for nearly an hour, and I was so done you could stick a fork in me. He was very pleasant, but, just not for me. I mentioned that it was getting late and I also had somewhere to be. I offered to pay for my half of brunch and he said that he was happy to get the check. I thought that that was a nice gesture. I told him I would leave the tip, and so I did. He walked me to the elevator to the garages and we said goodbye and I waved. 

On the drive home I was trying how to formulate how to tell this guy I had a nice time, but I didn't want to see him again. Nearly an hour later, I was sitting on my couch, still trying to put together what to say to him.  He had been pleasant, but I definitely didn't want to continue with anything. Hmmm. What to say. . .

And then, as if the Universe had answered me, a text came in from our Knight. It was the picture below with they caption "I can't stop thinking about you."

He had himself in a pose I had not yet received, nor one that I wanted to see.  

In disgust I deleted the message. At least this saved me from having to come up with a message back. 

The Paratrooper Knight

I love military men: they wear uniforms, they can shoot guns, they are usually pretty darn fit. Strangely enough Veteran's Weekend was just that for me with the dating adventure. I had received an email from a man who was just back from the military, lived nearby and was interested in meeting me if I "dated men his age". I see nothing wrong with 26. . . maybe I am getting into my Puma years.

His profile handle was bizarre, but I figured if he was in the military it was probably one of their nick name things and just kept reading. When I read his profile it was brief. He was just recently out of the military with an engineering background, looking for a job and figured he'd try out the online dating thing. We had corresponded a few times back and forth and decided that we were going to meet for a drink after my night job on Sunday night. I left it up to him as to where to meet and he picked The Office in Morristown.  I had not been there in a while and loved the beer selection so I agreed.  If all else failed I could get some wings and a beer and make the most of it.

On the off chance that the date was a total bust and I wanted to get out of this date early I had reached out to my friend who I knew would be in town for Sunday Funday. I was scheduled to meet my date at 7pm. I had told my friend to call at 8:30 to check in.  If I told him "I was busy" and "what's up," he was to get me out of the sticky situation with some call for help. If I told him that "all was well" then he could go back to drinking his Miller Lites and rock on without me.  I truly do have the best friends.

I arrived at the bar at just after 7.  I sat down and took a look at the beer list. I couldn't decide on one so I went with a glass of Chenin Blanc (You never find places that serve it these days and here it is at the Office? Wow.) I received a text asking where I was sitting and I sent back that I was the girl in the scarf at the end of the bar. Shortly after 7:10 I see someone walk up next to me. Now, the next three steps that happened I have only ever seen in movies. He walked up to the bar, looked dead straight on at the bartender, ordered a drink, she brought it and he throws back a big gulp.

When was the last time you saw that happen? A Western. Yeah. Never in real life.

He then turns to me, and just starts in with a conversation about I'm not sure what. Maybe it was about the parking, I don't know. All I know was that I was in shock and awe of the fact that that sequence of things happened so seamlessly. He proceeds to sit down on the bar stool, and continue sipping his beer. I was a bit put off that he just showed up and downed half his beer upon arrival with not so much as a "hi", but maybe this guy was nervous.

Now that I can focus on him and not the beer commercial that just unfolded, I realize how very tall this man is. Another secret. I love tall men.

It's not hard for me to. I am 5'4 and pretty much everyone is taller than me, so I feel that does not rule out a large group of people. I am just from the shallow end of the gene pool in the height department
and my children should have a chance at being able to see over a crowd.

I realize that not only is this man very, very tall (I think his profile said 6'7) but all of his features are very tall? His fingers unfurl when he goes to grab his beer. Somewhere in the back of my mind I keep asking myself, "Is it the size from thumb to pinkie or 3 of their thumbs in a row." I start wondering if I am sitting next to a descendant of Ron Jeremy if either of these theories are true.  I snap back to reality and he is talking about how he had gotten out of military just recently and was living at home while he was looking for a job.

I notice that while he is speaking he's blinking and rolling his eyes and the facial gestures just don't seem to be in sync with the conversation.

I try not to focus on looking at him directly in the eyes just in case this is a nervous tick. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable.  I figure if I start to ask some questions he is comfortable with, maybe it will even out this whole weird start to the date. I ask why he joined the service, what division he was in and what he enjoyed most about it. He confessed that he loved that he was stationed over seas where he had a chance to learn a new language and to surf. We began to talk about surfing and it seemed like it was turning into a normal conversation.

I did notice that when he spoke he made grand gestures with his hands and his long fingers curled and unfurled wildly. It was nearly distracting to concentrate on what he was saying because you wanted to see what his fingers did next! At points when he was depicting things, it looked like he could have been conducting the New York Philharmonic. I think maybe I am just over reacting, but he tells me during the course of our conversation he was told not to gesture during interviews because he intimidates people. And well, it's sort of intimidating me.

Now while all of this is going on he has finished off two beers, I have had my wine and he has paid for them. Points.

He asks for another beer and I order a club soda. At this point I think that I am going to stay a while. We had a great conversation about surfing, traveling and I am thinking I don't even need my call. He asks if I am going to have another glass of wine and I think "sure, why not, I think I will stay".

"Yes, please". The bartender brings another drink and I offer to pay for this round. She then asks if we will be having anything to eat, he says no, and I figure, OK Chenin Blanc for dinner it is. He starts talking about how all there was to do on the military bases was drink. I worry that this is his hobby.

I ask him to tell me more about his time in the military and what he may have enjoyed about his training.  Apparently this man was a paratrooper. Yes, as in someone who WILLINGLY jumps out of a plane. I talk to him about this very fact. What makes a sane person jump out of a plane? "Your superiors" he tells me.  This makes sense. This to me is the most revolting activity I can imagine.



I once went canyoning in Interlaken, Switzerland (see below). For three hours you were spelunking through dark caves, climbing 80 meter walls, repelling down sheer cliff faces and swimming through bone chilling glacial water with Sven and Ven who would tell you things like "jump to the left so you don't break your leg."  After jumping off cliffs that were 80 and 100 meters up, it was enough for me to swear off skydiving forever and seek counseling for what was NOT an Action Park adventure. And here sits this man who was happy to just willing to throw himself out at a height I could barely comprehend. We chatted about this for a while and by the end of the conversation I had begun to reconsider my no skydiving stance.

Now due to the success with the recent past conversations I assume that asking about this man's hobbies will reveal more conversation provoking information and ideally we will end up watching the Bears v. Texans game that is due on at 8:30.  I have also written off the emergency phone call at this point, but have done nothing to stop it. It is roughly 8pm.  I turn to him and casually ask, "What are your hobbies?" He tells me he doesn't have any. I ask if he had any in college - "no," he responds.  I ask him if he had any in high school.  He responds "no" again. Hmmm. This is getting tough. I ask him what keeps him positive or what he is passionate about. He tells me that he is not in any way a positive person. He always believes the negative is going to happen and that it gives him anxiety.  Oh jeez I think. Who actually comes out and says "I believe in the negative in everything and I have absolutely no interests". I realize that we are sitting on the precipice of the date. This is where we went from a good time to barreling down the cliff of "This Is Going to Suck".  THANK GOD THE PHONE RINGS.  I pick up - "Hello, everything OK," I ask.  My friend on the other end of the line begins "I'm really wasted and I need you to come and pick me up."

Here is the phone call to end all phone calls and I am so very grateful.

I politely excuse myself from the bar where I am sitting with this man to step a few feet away, just out of earshot.

"Really," I say.  "You are wasted and need me to come get you?"

"My girlfriend is pissed at me and I can't drive myself home and I need you to come and get me," he replies.

At this point I am truly unsure if he is wasted and needs my help because he knows I am available (potentially) at 8:30 or he's not, in which case I am calling him an agent. This is an Emmy winning performance if he is not, in fact, wasted.

"OK. Just sit tight and I will be by shortly. I am just going to wrap up here," I respond as I slide back into my bar seat, "and I will be right by to get you."

"Wow," I comment to my date. "I guess my buddy had a little too much Funday on Sunday and he's ready to go home and can't drive. He knows that I was going to be in town and asked if I could come by and pick him up. My date remarks "Oh, OK." Before this gets akward I have to capitalize on this opportunity! I apologize for having to get up and leave in such a hurry.  We both finish our drinks and he walks me out. I thank him for a lovely night, wish him well and head off down the street to investigate this quizzical phone call.

I make it down the street to the 'Hopper where I see my group of friends. There sits my friend, drink in hand. I can't tell from this distance if he is well or he has officially zoned out for the evening. I look at my clock. The date was exactly one hour and 15 minutes. I think that that is some sort of new record and I should call Guinness.

"Are you OK?" I ask. "Of course I am OK," he replies.  "You said to call."

I have to giggle. I hug him and thank him and think, "Thank God I had a parachute for that jump."

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!