Every year I swear no more blind dates, and invariably find myself on one. There’s something about being harangued and accused of being a coward that tends to wear me down. This year, however, I have (so far) stuck to that resolve. It’s not that I am shy about blind dates, it’s that experience has taught me to steer clear.
The last blind date I went on, I sat around for an hour before realizing I had been stood up (again). The one the night before that was a disaster from the word go. I showed up at our appointed meeting place, scanned the not too crowded bistro, and not seeing my date (we had been shown each other’s picture) went to the bar to order a drink. After standing in line for two minutes someone calls my name. He had been sitting and watching me for several minutes (creep factor). Strike two: he looked nothing like his picture. Somewhere between a walk in the woods and showing up on Harvard Street, he had put on thirty pounds.
For the next hour I had two conversations going; one with this guy and one with the crazy person who lives in my head. “How are you getting out of this? Just get up and walk out? There are no windows in the bathroom and no back door in the kitchen. You’re screwed! Screwed, you hear me? He’s never gonna shut up and you’re not doing a very good job at seeming interested in the conversation and you’re starting to get snarky. Just because you don’t find a single word he’s saying interesting doesn’t mean you can forget your manners.”
The blind date before that was much the same. We even met at the same place, though when this date showed up 20 minutes late, with a tank top tucked in sweat pants and dress casual shoes on, he informed me he didn’t drink. This will be known as strike one. Actually, two–no three. Showing up late: strike one. Wearing Wal Mart attire: strike two. Not having a drink: strike three. I know what a crash landing is, but what do you call it when you crash and burn on take off?
Over a grueling cup of coffee (the coffee was great, I love coffee) I had to restrain myself from getting up and walking off. I am a person who makes eye contact in conversation, and when someone you’ve never met won’t take off sunglasses that completely conceal where their eyes are, it not only creeps me out, I have trouble staying focused on the conversation. To remedy the dull topics being discussed and lack of eye contact, I spent much of the hour making eyes with a very cute guy sitting behind him, who had he not left before I did, I would have gone and spoken to following the end of my miserable coffee date.
In both cases, there was no follow up date. I in fact at parting I just shook hands and walked off. I may have said “nice to meet you” as I am habitually polite, but did not respond to the “let’s stay in touch” suggestions.
I know straight people have a hard time matching up us mo’s, but when your lesbian friends can’t be counted on, then there is simply no hope for the blind date. None.