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 Knight of Convenience

I recently ran into a girl friend of mine from my youth while shopping at the local Trader Joe's. She and I knew each other from elementary school in West Orange where I grew up.  We had not seen each other in years, but she immediately recognized me, having been my friend on Facebook for some time now. It was delightful to see her.

We spoke of our families, our day off, my first dog, Shadow, who she remembered, and happened upon the topic of dating. She had been reading this very blog and being a single person out there in the fish bowl, shared a similar story of 'what you see is not necessarily what you get' with her dating experiences.  I remember saying to her that we had spent all this time on our educations, careers, traveling and enriching ourselves. For who? 

Was she single. Probably.

Neither of us had foreseen running into each other 25 years later, single, without children and with such low expectations for dating.  We looked great, but were exhausted from the "monotonous discomfort"- as my friend Steve so aptly put it.  We decided that we would meet for drinks to get together there after to catch up, and have a night out where you didn't feel like you were on an interview.  As I walked off I thought of one of the most recent dates I had been on. 

This particular suitor had sent me a message introducing himself in the usual way on the dating site. He had just happened upon my page, thought we had some things in common and he lived locally. He was hoping I would want to catch a drink to see if there was chemistry. This was his intro. 

Here's my new view of online dating in 2014.  There is no flirting. There is no flattery and complimentary alluring innuendo. Modern dating has turned into: Email (maybe a few) of solicitation, obligatory getting-to-know-you texting and then the date. There are usually no phone calls.  There is no hope for dinner out, or flowers like you would see in the movies for a first date. It's not all Richard Gere in Pretty Woman as we children of the 90's were hoping for.  Well not entirely. . . 

If dating were sex, it would be more like sex with a hooker.  Wham, bam, thank you ma'am is the speed with with which you virtually 'meet' and then voi' la; you're on a date. Interest in another person online seems to expire more quickly than milk, so it's get out there or be left in the dust. Modern dating is a Chuck Norris, daisy-cutter style of dating.  

Now having learned to conform to this new Chuck Norris approach to cutting to the chase of whether or not you wanted to go on a date, I now feel I have a black belt in this art form.  

I check out his profile page on the dating site before I respond. He looks attractive in his picture but I have now begun to pay more attention to what these guys write.  Sometimes what they are 'saying' in their profile let's on more than just the words they type. This will make more sense in later posts.

He has a few selfies of himself from the neck up and clothed.  Thank God. He gets the gold star for the day. 

He has a few pictures of places and events. OK, that's pretty standard. 

Is is a good looking, dark haired man, with matching well manicured facial hair and what seems to be a good sense of style. 

He lives in the area, is employed, has a list of similar interests and has a simple yet attractive 'about me' section. He shares his interests, what others think of him and what he's looking for in a partner. He writes in full sentences and uses punctuation.

I look to his age cringing in awful anticipation of the worst.  Ah ha! My fears of  once again plunging into the kiddie pool have been laid to rest.  He's older than me! No wonder he writes with punctuation!

He's in.

I agree via email to meet for this get together and ask him where he would like to go. We agree we will go out in Morristown later on in the week, and he sends on his phone number so we can set up places and times. 

I feel like I have done this 100 times in the last nine months. I'm sort of thread bare from this endeavor but I remain positive and hopeful???

The day that we were scheduled to meet, I end up not feeling well and canceling. I ask if I can get a mulligan and he politely agrees.  Later on that week when I am feeling better, I text him to see if we can try to connect again. I mean, I have to meet this man; he still uses full words, not just text speak. 

We agree that we will meet the following evening at a bar in Parsippany that is conveniently located for both of us. 

The night of our date I put on my usual 'date outfit', that consists of jeans and a cotton tee shirt , with a long jacket like sweater over it. I arrive at the restaurant that we agreed on and the server ushers me to a table. I sit there and let my eyes wander while I am waiting.  I've sort of spaced out when I notice in my peripheral vision someone approaching. I focus my attention on this figure next to me. Here he is.

His pictures online were pretty true to form. Here he was; a good looking, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man. 

He said "hello" and then immediately popped himself into the seat across from me. 

The waitress then immediately came by to get his drink order.  He said something to the extent of "I'll have my usual."

He placed his order, sort of winking at the waitress in a kind of 'I'm a VIP here' sort of way. I guess that's his swagger?

"So this is where all the PoF dates come?", I thought to myself and sort of smirked.

I ordered a glass of Sauvignon blanc, and settled in. "I think we have a fellow veteran dater here folks," I thought to myself.  Cool. Maybe there will be a little more ping-pong in the conversation than the last date.

He asked me if I had ever been to this bar before. I explained how I had seen it built, but had never been here. He then divulged that he lived about 500 yards away and had walked here. 

"Convenient,"I thought to myself. Was this another guy just looking to hook up? I was now a little apprehensive of the evening. I mean, any bar you can drag your date's body from. . . 

I noticed that there were a number of TVs that were probably great to watch games on.  I mentioned this and we began to talk about sports teams that we liked.  I liked none of his.  He liked none of mine. I think that he may have actually scoffed and laughed at me when I mentioned I was a Giants fan. I couldn't be offended by this. They did suck so far this year. 

I explained to him how this year I had become more interested in the game of football and learning stats and plays. He looked at me as if I had begun speaking in tongues.  Had he never heard of a woman who loved football?

To make sure he understood what I meant, since for some reason he didn't seem clear, I began to talk about the games that I had seen the previous Sunday. I recalled some of the plays and all of a sudden it became Sports Center mash up here on our date.  He began to challenge my re-telling of the games I had watched and felt some of my re-cap was wrong. He argued that the plays and people I thought were successful were not correct accounts of the performances and dismissed progress for any of the teams that I was in favor of as happenstance or luck. 

This was resulting in an awkward silence. 

He was now ordering his second beer.  He had relaxed back in his chair, with one arm slung over the back of the hi back chair. His body language either read, "well this is over" or "Yeah, that's the way it is." Either way, I was not feeling the vibe. 

I figured to change from this heated subject to a more mellow topic, why not ask about his job. I segued to inquiring how he liked his work in the hopes of this getting us back to homeostasis. He began that it was a job, but he had been there for ages and well,  "it is what it is."

He seemed to have this over arching blasé attitude about everything from that point forward.  Now I was beginning to check out. I don't want to date someone who is unattached and blasé about his existence.  Nope.  This wasn't gonna cut it I was thinking as he then remarked. . .

"Do you work out at all?"

"Ouch," I responded. Jokingly.

"Well I couldn't tell," he responded.

Jeez.  I guess my season of pumpkin beer was doing more damage than I  thought.  I now felt like Kobe beef dangling across the table from him. 

He then ordered a third beer.  We had only been here for about an hour. I was now uncomfortable: Not at the drinking,  just talking to him.  I felt like he thought I was such an awful date that he was going to drink me away. He was looking around, for what, I had no idea. I had finished my glass of wine and thought it was my chance to make a dash for it. I would wait till he was done with THIS beer and then mention that I still had some work to do and had to get home. 

I wasn't going to waste any more of what could be a good night of conditioning my hair or re-arranging  my underwear drawer at home. 

We both suffered through the conversation during his third beer. If there was a camera there, you could have seen us both uncomfortably shifting in our seats.  I hadn't ordered another glass of wine so I could hopefully 'empty-drink pressure' my date into finishing his. We muddled through more mundane conversation about the traffic in the area and commutes to work.

I work from home during the day.This should give you an idea of how well the conversation was going.

I think that watching mold grow at this point would be more entertaining.  As soon as he finished his beer I noticed that he was going to hail the waitress over for another beer.

Hells to the NO. I am outta here.

I told him that I was really appreciative of his getting together for this mulligan date but since it was a school night, I best be getting a move on home.  He seemed more upset at the lack of opportunity for another beer than missing out on more time with me.  In fact, while I was standing up to leave, I think he was hailing the waitress for another drink.

It was A OK. There was zero chemistry and he was more in love with the curves of the beer glass than he would ever be with me.

The "Serial Killer" Knight

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

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

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

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

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

I'm just sayin. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This dating death march has definitely affected me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know, I am sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am now totally baffled. Am I getting carjacked?

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

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

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

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.

The "Dodgy" Knight

dodg·y  (dj)

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

1. Evasive; shifty.

2. Unsound, unstable, and unreliable.

3. So risky as to require very deft handling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yea boi! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Same concept.  

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

I am the missing member of the A team.

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

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

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

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

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

Fantastic. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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