The Farmer Knight

Leave it to me to find one of the only farmers left in the Garden State.

Sadly, this was not his profile picture.

In my quest for my Mr. Right and weekly log in to my online profile, I had received an email from a man telling me he liked my profile, thought I was down-to-earth, and might have a number of things in common with him, if I didn't mind the fact that he was a bit younger.

I was somewhere near the 25 or 26 date mark and figured as always, what the hell, I'll check out his profile. How many bad dates could I go on from this site. I had surely ticked through a first date with what I had hoped, at least for humanity's sake, was 97% of all of the most eccentric characters on this site. The law of averages was that I had to have a good date soon, right? Surely I wouldn't get through all 30 dates?

I arrived at his page and was immediately drawn to his pictures. A number of the six featured photos were of him on a farm.  I assumed he was a farmer, and I thought to myself, "well here's a person with a profession that I think is commendable."

I think that in order to be a farmer you have to respect the land, have to be good with your hands, care for living things and you get to commune with nature.  I think, theoretically, all of the life experiences working on a farm make for a person with qualities that I admire: hard working, understanding, respectful and probably pretty darn chill.

He looked really happy to be working on his farm in his pictures and that was refreshing. I think it's also amazing when you love your job. I feel it's an important key to a happy life, and it's fantastic when people have the good fortune of doing what they love.

Quoted earlier this week as saying she thought her career would be fun and it was.
Yes. This is who you think this is.

I checked out the other pictures of him at a party and what appeared to be a concert.  He looked like he had friends that enjoyed his musical pursuits, and no one was sacrificing animals on stage in any of the pictures. All good things. 

I checked out his "About Me" part of his profile. He talked about being a farmer, loving his work, enjoying music and concerts and finished with sharing he had a vast knowledge of wine. Super cool.

I checked out where he lived and it wasn't hundreds of miles away. Cool. He owned a car, didn't have a cat (I'm allergic and not going to come between anyone and their pet), was seeking a relationship, drank socially and didn't have any kids. All of these things were a OK with me. 

"Might as well," I thought to myself. At worst this was another crumby date, at best, it could be a tale of two people meeting and having a wonderful dating existence. 

My mind flashed 20 years into the future. I was retired and living on a farm, sitting on a wrap around porch in front of a large farmhouse, feeling the sun warm my skin while I sat sipping a glass of my family's vineyard's wine. In my vision I looked left at my winery, and right to rolling green hills of my family's farm and thought to myself "who knew meeting someone on this crazy site would have landed me here."

Dream big? Right? 

I drifted back to reality with a certain sense of peace. 

"Let's hope this works,"I thought to myself.

I sent a message telling him how interesting I thought it was to have his job, and how cool it was that he seemed so happy doing it. I also took the opportunity to ask him what show he had gone to that was pictured in the image he had posted. Maybe this was a lame start, but, I don't have a ton in common with farmers. I have killed nearly every house plant I have owned and my garden this year; let's just say that those poor little seedlings didn't stand a chance.  

I logged off the dating site, went about my evening and fell asleep that night dreaming of lunches on a wooden table in vast vineyard field. Maybe I was reenacting the scene from Under the Tuscan Sun. Whatever. You get the picture.

The following day I checked to see if the farmer had checked back. He had!

In his email he thanked me for responding. He talked about his job, his pride in his work, and long days and nights that had led to him online dating. He asked me a few questions about my day, my job, and what sort of music I liked, and inquired if I would be willing to meet for a glass of wine at a local restaurant the following evening. He included a phone number and told me if I text him, we could get to know each other before we met.

Yes sir. This sounded like a plan. 

At this point I went back to his profile and looked at his pictures. He looked really young but, well, since when is looking young a crime? Had I looked at his age? Nope. Better not. Let's just live in the moment and not go into the date with judgements or expectations. If he knew about wine I am sure he didn't start drinking it last week, and if he was suggesting this specific place, he struck me as more mature than 21.  

I jotted down his number on a sheet of paper,  shut the computer and thought, "hey, this might go well. Stay positive." 

That part of me, that usually is the voice of reason, deep inside me cringed a bit at my brain's positive, dogmatic mantra. 

A short while later he text me asking what time the following evening would work. We agreed to meet around 9pm since I didn't want to schedule too early with my work, and he couldn't schedule too late because, well, I guess he got up when the rooster crowed?

We text back and forth and discovered that we shared a love of DJ music. I had spent the greater part of my early twenties bouncing from night club to night club listening to all the hottest DJs of the late 90's early 2000's. My friends and I were regulars at the China Club, the Limelight, Twilo, Vinyl and Sound Factory. 

I was doing this long before Miley Cirus was even alive. 

I can recall making a trip to the Ministry of Sound in London specifically to see what sort of DJs the British were getting down to. I listened to DJs like John Digweed, Sasha, Junior Vasquez,  and Paul Oakenfold who forged paths for today's dance music and awesome beats. We chatted about music for a while via text, text about our love of wine and our respective trips to the Napa Valley. It was getting late and he was needing to retire and I didn't want to soak up all the potential conversation for the following day. 

The next day went by fairly quickly and next thing I knew, it was about an hour till I was due to meet my Knight at David Todd's City Tavern. Despite the fact that they had been open for some time, I had still not gotten myself to this fine establishment. I thought I knew of a few of my fellow colleagues from years past in the service industry now working there, but still, my travels had not taken me there. I threw on a pair of jeans, a comfortable fitted cotton shirt and a pair of open toe sandals. 

If my date was lying about his height of 6'3, at least I wouldn't tower over him. 

I arrived at the restaurant to find that it was nearly empty. As I looked down the bar, there was one, lone, dark-haired man leaning over a phone, with a glass of beer in front of him. This has got to be my Knight.

As I walked over, he turned around to greet me. In his pictures he was clean cut and neatly groomed. Today, he looked like he could be one of the brothers from Duck Dynasty. His beard was large and in charge. It was also getting a bit ZZ Top'esque. He also had a big bushy head of hair and large framed glasses. For a second I actually thought he might be wearing a disguise. I was nearly waiting for him to pick up the glasses and have the beard and mustache attached become un affixed from his face in a "gotcha" sort of way.  I was trying not to look surprised. 

Now let me say I have no problem with facial hair. I know a LOT of women out there who feel very strongly about their man not looking like a lumber jack for any number of reasons. I however, think men should be hairy and continually find it strange when they wax, shave and manicure their chests and well, other bits. I am all for manscaping, but leave SOME of what Nature gave you. 

Ok some, being the operative word.

He shook my hand "hello" and I sat down next to him. All I could think to say was, "I dig the glasses."

He looked like he was blushing at my comment, and now emitted this odd hi pitch, fake sounding giggle that didn't seem like it should come out of a man this size.  He was definitely 6 foot plus, and seemed to have a slight build for a farmer. All of this was congruent with his photos, but the hair and the laugh, I felt like he was in character or something. Or maybe this was who he was.  . .Guess I was going to find out. 

Trying to make everything more comfortable for everyone, I pointed at the glass of beer and said, "I guess you didn't care for the wine list?" I smiled big and tried to show him I was poking fun and not being critical. 

"Oh yeah, " he said. "I'm kind of a snob I guess."

"Well that's OK. I'm a bit of a foodie and wine person myself. We like what we like, huh?" I smiled. 

Again, he emitted that odd nervous laugh.  

He stared at the glass. He then stared at me. Then the glass again. 

I was going to have to carry the conversation. OK here we go. . . 

"So this is a cool place," I remarked looking around.

"Yeah," he said. "I've been here a couple of times."

"This is my first time here. It's pretty nice. Have you had the food?" I inquired.

"Nope," he commented.

"Was it a long drive for you here?" I was digging for small talk so he would be less nervous looking and in turn it would make me less uncomfortable.  

"Nope.  It's not far. My friends and I come out this way when the growing season is done and I can have a bit of a break."

He divulged that he worked pretty much 5am till 8pm every day except for one weekend day that kind of rotated.  On top of that, he never got to really go anywhere because there were only just a few brief weeks a year that he wasn't committed to the work on the farm.

I wasn't sure how this was going to work. How was anyone supposed to date this guy? He was only available from 8pm (maybe), till 10pm (because he had to be up early for the farm), 6 days a week with only really 2-3 weeks of quality time to himself a year? Maybe being a farmer wasn't so cool after all.

My vision of my large farmhouse, backyard winery and lush green backdrop for my life were crumbling. 

I didn't want to date someone on that tight a schedule. I felt like the relationship would have more of a booty call feel than a real dating feel. Dang. 

When the conversation slowed, I brought up the music that we had been discussing the evening before. He then dropped the "how old are you anyway" question.

I replied as I had so many times before my date turned into a pumpkin with the magical words "I'm 35."

He then replied to me, "Woah.  You were around for the Golden Age of raves and clubbing." 

I now felt ancient. 

Yeah. She was single at my age too. It's cool.

It was bad enough the music I listened to in my early 20s now comes on the Old Skool album compilations. Or even that, years ago, I scoffed at my parents for listening to 106.7 because of their "lame old music" and now, I found myself tuning in to this very channel to hear "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "She Bop". Oh, how the tides have changed. 

Turns out my farmer, when he did have more than three hours to himself, was raving and raging till dawn at underground clubs, warehouses and anywhere a DJ could set up a sound system.  Raving was his passion. 

So was mine. Fifteen years ago.

I didn't see how this was going to work. 

He now regarded me as a relic of a time period he revered. I felt like a museum piece that was being marveled at.  The fact that this now mundane conversation about whatever had now turned into his excited questions about my clubbing past made me feel like there was now a gaping chasm between our ages. 

Trying to decipher how old he was without coming out and asking, I asked how old his siblings were, and how many years between them and him. 

I'm no mathematician but the number I kept landing on was 24. 

Nope this wasn't going to work. I had vowed to get out of the kiddie pool and here I was, yet again, wading ankle deep. 


The natural course of the conversation was winding down and I felt that this was a good time to make an escape. 

I mentioned that I knew he had to be up early, and I was just beat from the day.  Being old and all. 

He paid for the wine and told me he was interested in hearing more from me about the music from "the old days".  

I thanked him for the wine, bid him goodnight, smiled and asked him to text when he was home safe. 

I received a text from him when he was home and then the following day the text messages continued. 

I finally leveled with him and expressed that I wasn't sure how I thought this was going to work with his limited time, and our few common interests.  He said he was OK with this because he didn't feel an attraction to me on a pheromonal level. 

Huh?

What did that mean? 

Everyone was polite in their departure texts but I was bewildered.

Maybe he was looking for a human stimulant that could be his daily Molly? Who knew. To this day, I wonder what happened that I didn't make the cut as the traveling human rave. 

Ha! As if!






  

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 "Cliche' Knight"

For years I have enjoyed being involved with a number of community groups. While President of my roller derby league, I frequently met with various non-profit groups and civic organizations to partner with, or participate in their various events and activities.  Due to these experiences, I have forged a number of long term friendships with some of the great people who participate in these organizations.  One of the great friends that have come out of this participation is my friend Grant.

Grant and I have now been close friends for nearly 7 years. Due to the fact that he now knows me pretty well, I have been sharing the annals of my dating blog during our monthly lunches. As we were discussing my latest debacle on the dating front, his face lit up.

"Chris," he exclaimed, "I can't believe I didn't think of this before."

I sat there in cautious anticipation.  "Grant, what didn't you think of before?" I inquired.

"I can't believe that I never thought of setting you up with this kid I know," he responded.

I heard kid, and wondered where this was going. . .

"Yeah," he proclaimed.

"I can't believe that I didn't come up with this before.  I have this friend who's son I worked with, and I think that he may be a good fit for you. He's in his late 20s, but he has a good family, a job and his own car. I think that you might like him."

Now, I have known Grant for the better part of a decade. Grant is good people.  I felt that if Grant was going to vouch for this guy then he was something pretty special.

Grant mentioned that perhaps we could all go to a happy hour together.  I thought this was a great idea. I could do the group first-date-thing, and hopefully get all the awkwardness out of the way with Grant as the cushion.

Grant and I wrapped lunch and he promised he would produce a point of contact for this amazing potential-Knight for me.  I bid him farewell and awaited my conduit for contact with this mystery Knight. Not that there was any pressure already, my friend Grant rang me shortly after lunch. He informed me that if this mystery Knight and I were to get married that he wasn't going to accept fish being served at the wedding. I promised that if we did reach the nuptial phase that there would be a steak in Grant's future.

Is it sad that in looking at all the wedding reception photos this excited me the most?

Two days went by, and then I was contacted by this would-be Knight.  The Knight text me that he had gotten my number from my friend (I had consented to my phone number being dolled out), and was reaching out in the hope that we could set up a meeting.

As fate would have it both Grant and my Knight had to work on the night that I had wanted to attend happy hour. To try to make the situation with my Knight work,  I offered to meet this new Knight one evening after my night job: he agreed this would work.

I text Grant and let him know that this new Knight and I would be getting together for drinks in the middle of the week instead of our proposed happy hour. Grant wished me well, and wanted me to to make sure of two things: 1. That I call him afterward to make sure I was OK and fill him in as to the details of the date and 2. Make sure that my Knight was to pay for whatever we did.

I have good people looking out for me :)

My Knight suggested that we go to a place near where he used to work. I had never been to this Cloverleaf bar, but had heard that they had amazing craft beer, so I agreed this would be a great destination. I scheduled the date to be at 10pm to allow for me to have a busy night at work, (I hoped) and still not be running terribly late all shiny and stinky from bar tending.

The night of my date, as fate would have it, my night job was terribly slow.  I was cut at roughly 7:30pm and text my Knight to see if we could move our date from 10pm to 9pm  He agreed and I began to drive over to our meeting place. 

I had thrown on a pair of white pants, sandals and a pretty flowy iridescent blue shirt while I was at work. The girls at work had all given the outfit approval and the boys gave me the wink and nod, and I felt that I was ready to rock.

I arrived in Caldwell tremendously earlier than I had expected. I took this opportunity to stop get gas, buy gum and then park my car and scroll through my Pinterest for a while.  During this time my Knight text me to inform me that he would be running about a half hour late. Thank God for Pinterest.  I sat in the car till he text me that he arrived. I told him that I would meet him in front of the restaurant.  I was concerned that with the bustling restaurant full of people that it would be a challenge to find him. 

Up to this point he had only sent me a Facebook picture via text.  In this picture he was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans and had his thick black hair was styled neatly.  He looked like your average 20 something guy who shopped for clothes based upon a mannequin in the store. From the shot that he sent, he looked like a large, strapping man.  From the picture it looked like he had a broad, muscular body (that I could make out under his shirt) and appeared to be well over 6 foot from the way the picture was shot. I can recall my girl friend and I looking at the picture and both of us commenting that he looked like a huge guy. 

When I showed up in front of the restaurant there was a man with dark black hair standing outside.  He looked like the man in the text picture. He had dark black hair slicked back, jeans, sneakers and an Affliction shirt on. As he walked towards me I realized that he wasn't that much taller than me but his muscles were enormous in his chest and arms. Wow. This man had a serious commitment to working out! He hugged me hello and we proceeded inside.

He opted to get us a table in the back of the restaurant rather than us sitting in the loud crowded bar. I appreciated this, because the last thing I want to do during my non-working time is be bumped by drunk people at a bar. 

We sat down and when the waitress inquired what we were having to drink I was excited at the prospect of sampling one of their fine craft brews.  I looked across the table and inquired what this Knight would be drinking. He proceeded to look at the waitress and tell her he was OK with water.  

Now in the past, when I only had a water, not even a soft drink, this meant that this was going to be a brief date and I didn't really want to be there.  This was not a good start. 

I asked if he was sure he didn't want anything to drink at all. He said he was in training, so he shouldn't, but I should feel free to have one. 

The waitress was stuck in the middle of this back and forth, so to make her life less difficult and not seem like we were just going to sit at a table and drink water all night, I ordered a Stoli Blueberry and club soda.  This looked like water?

As the waitress walked off, the awkward silence had set upon us.  To try to get the conversation going, I asked how he got to know our mutual friend Grant.  He proceeded to tell me the same story that Grant had told me about how they met. Silence again.

I asked him about how he got involved with his job and if he liked his work as a fire fighter.  He told me that he really enjoyed his work, and felt that he had chosen the right career path.  I continued to ask him about his work, how he trained to get the position and what it was like working in a job that could be a life or death scenario daily.  He answered all my questions and then that strange silence creeped in again. 

I was beginning to feel like someone who's parents had set them up with a co-workers son who I had nothing in common with.  I even felt like perhaps he was just forging along with this date to appease our friend.  There was 0 chemistry. 

Out of the blue he blurted out, "so how old are you anyway?"

Oh Jesus.  

What is it with 20-something year old men always asking a woman's age.  When I was younger,  I was raised with the belief that men shouldn't ever ask your age, and now, these days, it rolled off their tongue in the same way they ask you if you are DTF.  What happened to class and cooth? Clearly I had been down this road before.  

"35," I responded.  "Truthfully, there's not much I can do about it."

"Oh, that's OK," he blurted out.  "It's cool."

And so was the conversation once again.  

"So how is your summer going?" I inquired trying to determine if we should just both bail out now or continue with this seemingly forced event.

He told me it was going well. He and his buddies had spent the summer in Seaside going to Bamboo, DJai's and Headliners. 

Anyone who is from NJ is now, hopefully, giggling at this blog entry. Anyone who is not, can click on the links and get an understanding of why they are giggling. 

I told him I was more of a Parker House or Boathouse sort of girl. 

Again. Crickets.

This time he asked me if I was Italian. I said yes, and said I guessed he was too. He was impressed that I knew he was.  I told him it was something about the large, gold, chain with a large, gold, crucifix on it gave me a hint.  

At this point I had managed to suck down my Stoli and club in my VFW hall size glass and began the mental chess game of, do I tell him I am going to get going, or do I stay to see how this goes. 

The waitress immediately attended to us.  We were the last people in the restaurant.  As someone who has worked in the service industry all throughout my life I can tell you, we were the dreaded last table. 

I figured we were packing it in for the night.  I think I even began to do the 'I'm pulling my stuff together and putting my napkin on the table to go' routine.  

He then decides that he is going to have a Red Bull and vodka.  Curious choice, but, OK. He tells me that he guesses it's OK to have a drink. He offers for me to have another.  

Well, he's already ordered his, and I am intrigued that he is looking to continue on with this date.  

"Sure, I'll have another," I tell the waitress.  

I can nearly feel her angst for us emanating off of her being.  Just as she goes to walk away she goes to grab the katsup off the table, probably to  refill it for her side work.  As she reaches for it, he immediately grabs the katsup and tells her, "No, wait.  We're using this."

He giggles and then says "nah, it's cool" to her. I'm mortified. 

For those of you who have never been in the service industry, the last thing that you want at the end of your shift is someone chilling at your table, drinking water till all hours of the night and then thinking they are hilarious when you attempt to do the few things you can do to to wrap up your night. 

I make my 'I don't really know him' face at her and she walks away with a smile that's almost as genuine as my desire to be there. 

"So Grant tells me that you travel a lot.  You ever get out to Vegas?" he asks.

We share our stories of Vegas night clubs, VIP service and DJs we loved.  I tell him that Vegas is the halfway meeting point for my Australian friends and I, and what a blast we have when we go.  He tells me about the pool parties and palatial diggs he scores when he stays out there.  The conversation is actually flowing now. 

This year our alter egos were Miss Australia (middle), her stylist (far left), her best friend (polka dots), I was her  PR person and far right was her manager.  It was like an Australian Entourage. 

I ask where else he has traveled to and he tells me AC.  I share that I was recently there for the opening of Margaritaville at Resorts and he tells me about Murmur and a few other night clubs I have not been to there. 

We talk about our big Italian families and how crazy the holidays are.  He shares that he lives at home with his parents where his mother does his cooking, cleaning and laundry.  His down time is spent at the gym and off nights at various clubs in NJ like 46 Lounge and Jenks. 

I realize more and more we are from two different worlds. I think he does too. 

He's sweet, and kind, and is a good listener.  He's got a great job and a great family, two qualities I think are important.  He's a good looking man, but there's just something that isn't clicking for either one of us.  

We've now finished our drinks and the waitress drops the check.  He offers to pay, and on Grant's advice I agree to this.  I thank him for being such a gentleman, because, truly, he was.  He and I walk out to the parking lot to say our goodbyes.  I thank him for a lovely evening. He offers to go have a few more drinks over at the Ringside, but I decline because it is nearly midnight and well, I've had a long day and I'm tired.  I tell him to have a drink for me and enjoy the rest of his night off.  

He tells me he'll be in touch. I know he won't and neither will I. Kind of thing where if we ran into each other at Corrados we would say "hi" and maybe see how the other was, but I don't see us out painting the town together. 

As he walked towards his tinted out, shiny rimmed Mustang parked in the parking lot, I had to giggle. If I hadn't already been writing this blog with it's Greek tragedy conga line of stories already, no one would have believed me.

The "Self-Destructing" Knight

There had been a long period of hardship with the blog. I realized more and more that this was going to make for a great book, but probably ward me off from dating for possibly, the rest of my life. I had set out with aspirations of potentially meeting a partner, however, each time I told a friend that I thought that this was possible, I was told "Do you really think so?'

I have hope. . . but I hear hope kills people, so I guess I was to tread lightly with that hope.

I was coming off a long string of dates that weren't really gonna go anywhere. You find out at around the third date, if they are going to turn into a pumpkin, they do. I believe that we all put our best foot forward when on a first date and by date three, if they are going to let their freak flag fly, it's unfurled then.

I was beginning to re think my strategy. I was casting a net that perhaps was too inclusive. In my EOE dating, perhaps my own pre-conceived notions and preferences were getting in the way. I never thought I really had a type. I had always prided myself on being the John Mayer of diverse dating, but maybe, as I aged I really did have some ideas of what I wanted. Maybe I wanted to be a bit more selective than I had been. Early on it was fun to have nothing in common with someone. Now it was just arduous.

What is the story here. Is he using the Top Prospect finder as well??

I logged on to the dating website for what seemed like a daily log in to a work email. Parsing through the inbox spam of "sup baby," "ur a hottie," and "wanna chatz" from the team of towel men, I found what looked like the golden ticket.  I looked at his profile picture.  He looked strikingly similar to someone I had dated in college. On close examination of this doppelganger, I realized that he was not the same man and I felt OK continuing to investigate. From the looks of the picture I immediately knew that it had been taken in Bangkok. One tick in the "we have things in common category," and a tick in the "I find you attractive category." We were off to a good start.

 As I clicked on the profile I saw pictures of him in tropical locales, pictures of him at a Giants game and one of him at a swanky night club. OK. He goes out, likes football, has friends and good taste in places to go. All pluses. His message to me was simple. He came across my profile, thought we had a lot in common with our traveling and love of the finer things in life, and perhaps this could be a good place to start to see if there was an attraction.

I checked out his profile to see the rest of the stats. He was 28, interested in a relationship and lived about 45 minutes away. He worked at a family owned business and had a positive outlook on life and had a short About Me" highlighting work and his love of a good time. Under "First Date" he had put that he was willing to do whatever his date thought would be fun.

Surprisingly, not someone I have been on a date with. 

I wrote back thanking him for the note, inquiring if the picture was, in fact from Thailand, and what he thought of last season's Giants. He responded nearly immediately. He had his opinions of the season, he disclosed that he was in fact in Thailand in the picture and was impressed that I knew where the picture had been taken. He mentioned that he had traveled quite a bit on that side of the world because he had lived in Australia for sometime.

Huh. Who knew. I had spent some months in Australia back in 2010-2011 and loved it. Now we had another thing in common. Our love of Oz.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi 

He had sent his phone number and suggested I text him so we could get off this site. I agreed and sent on my info that began our texting.

I think we text for nearly two hours the night he gave me his number. We talked about our time in Oz, travels, what we enjoyed about being back in NJ and our favorite foods to cook. Throughout the day, on days leading up to the date, he would send me texts asking how I was, what I was up to and just general get to know you questions. No weird pictures. No creepy dick pics. Just two people getting to know each other via text. We were due to get together on a Sunday afternoon. When he asked what I wanted to do, I, wanting to capitalize on this "I'll do whatever you want" proposition had shot over

Let's go check out the zoo. 

Now let me preface this by saying, the zoo has a special place in my heart. When I was a little girl, I lived just down the street from the Turtle Back Zoo for many years.  Every weekend my father could, he took me to the zoo to marvel at all of the animals. I am sure you weren't supposed to pet the yak, or grab it by the nostrils for that matter, but this was father-daughter time.  From the age of 3, I held huge boa constrictors, pet tarantulas and had my cracker filled pockets nibbled at by nanny goats, all while my father proudly looked on.

I had wanted to get back to this zoo for ages but each time that things would start to come together, something would happen and I wasn't able to get there. THIS WAS MY CHANCE!!

I also felt that it was a wholesome way to get to know someone. He seemed well traveled this mini safari might be just up his alley. I hoped.

He responded back that he had not been in a very long time, it was an original idea and "sure," he would go.

Like a child being told that they were going to Disney World, I dashed through my apartment, phone in hand and threw myself onto my bed, as if I were 10.  I was going to the zoo!!!!

Perhaps this joy glazed over were going to be two of my hard and fast rules.

I asked if he wanted to meet me there. He text me that he wasn't able to because he didn't have his car.

I, stupidly, assumed it was in the shop.

He asked if I didn't mind picking him up. I said that it wasn't a bother because, I think that in this day and age I can pick up my date. Besides, WE WERE GOING TO THE ZOO!

The date was the next day. I arrived at what I thought was going to be an apartment: It was a house. From the looks of the house, it was not decorated by men of their late 20s but rather someone who was into the Arts and Crafts Movement. Hmmm.

I pulled up and put on the air conditioning.  It barely works in my 13 year old vehicle but it was hot as balls out and not everyone is OK with the heat like I am. It began sadly eking out the vents and I prayed that the car actually cooled down before we reached the zoo. As I stood up out of the car I thought to myself, "God Damned, it's hot out here," as the sun scorched down upon me. I was dressed in a light, cotton sundress and flip flops. As my Knight exited the house, he looked just like his picture.

OK I guess I was at the right place?

As he approached I noticed that he was very well dressed. His plaid shirt was pressed, his blond hair perfectly gelled in place, and he was wearing very well cut jeans. Jeans huh? It was 104 degrees in the shade today, and he was wearing jeans. Well, I wasn't his mother, and this was my first time meeting him. What was I gonna say, "Buddy, did you step outside at all today before you got dressed?" Nope. I was going to keep my mouth shut and just stand here and smile.

He walked over to the car and gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug.  He remarked about how hot it was. He even said, "I wonder if I am going to be OK in jeans." I offered to wait while he changed. Nope. He was going to keep them on. OK. Well let's see how this goes.

As we drove the half hour to the zoo we talked about how unique this was as far as first dates go. I told him I really liked making the most of my days off and I thought that this might just be fun. I mentioned that there was a great place right next door called the Boathouse that would be a super place to grab a drink and a bite to eat after our outing at the zoo. I was willing to compromise on my usually paltry budget for a date to make this a great well rounded afternoon!

I noticed that in the car, even with the AC on this poor man was sweating like he was being interrogated. Oh man. This might be a long day.

We parked the car and as we approached the zoo he commented that we might be the only adults inside without kids. I told him children weren't required to enter and we both had a laugh. Once we walked inside I realized that this man now had sweat marks like the rings of Saturn around his armpits.

In the distance I saw one of those sprinkler hoses that children play under in the summer.You know, kind of like the watering system at the grocery store that sprays the plants. There were children dancing under it, and fathers nearby, faining interest in the dancing and trying to get their soak on under the guise of mindful parenting.  I playfully suggested that we should take a run under the sprinklers and cool down. I proceeded to run through and awaited him on the opposite side. He told me he didn't want to mess up his hair. I stood bewildered.  You would rather sweat to death than mess up your hair. OK. So this man cared more about his hair than I did mine. Who am I to pass judgement.

He cautiously stood so the water barely sprayed him and definitely didn't hit his hair. I think that he may have mentioned that his shoes were new too. . .So I'm just more of a rough and tumble girl. So be it.

I offered to get him a water to drink, or throw on himself, a multitude of times while we were walking around and he declined. We had a good time chatting each other up while wandering around. I was filled with dread that this poor man was going to pass out from heat stroke while we were trying to enjoy our day. Any opportunity we had to get into an air conditioned exhibit, the dark bat cave or even petting the sharks to cool down, we took it. I continually re assured him that we could go at any point. He insisted we stayed to see all the cool looking exhibits and that he would be OK. I thanked him profusely for being such a good sport and promised good food and cold drinks in our future.

After nearly 90 minutes of torture we had finally completed the tour of the zoo. My date looked like he had been waterboarded. But keep in mind, his hair was still totally in place.

We exited the zoo and again he commented again how we were the only people without children there. I asked him if he had a good time, and aside from sweating bullets, he agreed it was a good time.

We got into the car and drove over to the restaurant that we literally could have hit with a stone from where we were. I wasn’t about to make this poor guy walk one more foot. He was saturated from head to toe and his clothes were now clinging to him.

When we sat down I immediately summoned the server.

“Can you please bring two LARGE glasses of water and some sides of ice?” I inquired.

The waiter brought over waters and I ordered a glass of Prosecco.  I asked my Knight what he was going to be drinking. He said he had “like four bottles of wine at the party I was at last night. I am super hung over and I can’t even look at wine.  I didn’t even get to bed until nearly 5am .” 

Hmmm. So he's one of these rage until dawn guys. I don't know if I can keep up with that anymore. 

“I’ll take a Markers Mark Manhattan,” he declared.

"Welp, that is definitely some of the hair of the dog that bit ya.” I thought to myself.

Usually the sight of water when I am hung over makes me want to heave. This guy was going for the gusto with the bourbon.

He looked at me beaming, “I learned what a Manhattan was watching Mad Men. I think that Don Draper is my hero.”

If I drink like Don Draper, then I am Don Draper. 

I smiled back feebly.  Hip hop horray?

As he sat there cooling like a nuclear reactor on the brink of blowing up, we chatted about our work and other previous jobs we had. He asked me about my experiences on the dating site and shared his.

I guess he had been dating via this site as much as I had, and had stories of crazy women and tales of Catfish a plenty. He was definitely no stranger to dating or women in general. He was happy to tell me of his sexcapades and wild nights and professional wooing of women. 

Through all this however, I do have to say he was very complimentary. He shared with me that he loved that I was Italian and blond. Only one of the two I had really had any say in. At one point he had asked me if we would go out again. I told him that “we would see how things went.”

He then shared that he was a womanizer that was trying to change his ways and just be with one woman.  No more of this going out, getting drunk every night and hooking up. He was looking to be a changed man. 

I cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t really sure if me and a wanna be reformed party boy would really work. I had dated men with these ambitions in my 20s, and found that if they really were going to change, apparently it wasn’t going to happen during our tenure. My nights of drunken shenanigans, and partying till the sun came up were long in my past. I was now happy if I made it past 12:30 and seeing the sun come up seemed like an anxiety ridden nightmare these days.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond.

“That’s great,” was all I could come up with.

"Now," I thought to myself, "we begin the descent into the part where the date is gonna go south." 

“So why are you without your car these days?” I inquired.  

Let’s get all the awkward conversation out of the way right now. 

“Well I am in litigation to determine whether or not I am getting a DUI,” he responded.

OK.  Many of us have been there. I don’t think that is the particular issue. What we run into here is one of the cardinal rules I tried to put in place at the beginning of this endeavor. Dates must have a car/be able to drive.

This was gonna be a challenge. 

I then thought it would be a good time to move on to “inquiring minds want to know” question number two. I felt like I was on a roll. 

“OK. That’s good to know,” I said.

“So then are you living at home to save money for a house?” I asked.

“Well,” he said. “It’s convenient when I need rides places that I can hit up my family members. I have my own room in the basement and it’s not bad being there.”

Guideline number two: Must not live at home.

I felt like I was on a date with a teenager. So not only would I have to schlep him back and forth from his home, but I would have to jockey for a position on the couch when we wanted to watch a movie.  Awesome.  I felt like I had done this in my 20s too.  I would have actually welcomed him telling me he was still living in a fraternity house at this point.

Let’s focus on the positive I thought.  “So what’s the best part about your job?’ I asked. “Well I pretty much call my own hours, come and go as I please, only work three days a week and I pretty much just show up and wine and dine people.”

So my reformed womanizing date, who is trying to give up the party lifestyle gets paid to be a slacker and day drink as his job while others support his “pursuits.” Oh and don’t forget Mom does his laundry, cooks his meals and paid for his attorney for this court case.

I think that at 25 perhaps I would have signed up for this; because I was young and stupid. 

I would have said “I love driving. I don’t mind sharing a space with a man’s family. I think that it’s worth taking the chance that this man will become who he wants to be and I can help him.” But now, today, I just wasn’t feeling it.

My good friend Caroline tells me all the time, “You are not a charity. You don’t have to save anyone. You need someone who is complimentary to you and can be there and help care for you if you need it.” Her words echoed inside my head.

I thought it was admirable that he suffered through intense heat and the onslaught of small children. I was impressed with the fact that he paid the bill. I was flattered by the fact that he was intent to see me again, but I wasn’t really sure that this was going to go anywhere.

As we drove back to his place, I was trying to determine if I was being too judgmental. 

Again, he turned to me and asked me if we were going to go out again. "We'll see," I answered. 

As I looked over he was slathering his lips with some sort of lip balm. I commented on how I loved the lip balm I used and how addicted to it I was. He commented on how he had to continually apply it because being in the sun caused him to regularly have cold sores. But I wasn't to worry, because, it wasn't like I could get them from him. 

Umm. I didn't think that that was how all it worked and mentioned this, but he was happy to tell me I was wrong. 

Hmmm. 

As he got out of the car and said good night he told me again how he loved that I was Italian and blond. He told me he wanted to see me again. He told me he wanted to see what it would be like to be intimate with me. 

"OK, awkwardly forward," I thought to myself.

I told him that I had a lovely time, thanked him for suffering through the insane heat, and joked that he shouldn't run out and buy condoms yet. Trying to add some levity to this awkward parting dance. 

He then looked at me and laughed. 

"I don't believe in condoms," he said.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.  This man must be kidding. Right??? Who says that???

I thanked him for a nice day, bid him farewell, never, ever to see him again.