Here’s what I knew about Brian before our date: He is a man, in sales, lives in SLP, very musical, plays in a few bands, 38, never married, tall, cute, driven, nice. … Okay, fine, quite a bit out of my age range, but he sounded promising so I thought I’d give it a go. I looked forward to our date with the necessary and controlled anticipation of a serial blind-dater.
Here’s what I knew about Brian after we met: He loves playing the guitar, is an avid biker, just finished putting in hardwood floors at his place, LOVES HIS MOM SHE IS AMAZING SHE IS TREMENDOUS A FANTASTIC WOMAN, loves the word “cute,” and was a gymnast. Loves effeminate hand gestures, sushi and 80’s hair bands. Also: Very nice, good values, cherishes Minnesota, sure does love the word “cute,” and seems as straight and narrow as my dad’s wheelbarrow.
On the date, the fellow had root beer, the lady had wine. He showed pictures of his cats, I blew kisses to my puppies. He likes working for a small company, I like working for a super-sized establishment. He’s the youngest child, I’m the oldest. Etc. Despite our differences, the conversation was bumping along fine and we luckily hit upon our mutual passion in music. Unluckily, his favorite bands were the ones who were selling out stadium shows when I was lounging around in my diapers and building towering cities out of Duplos. We swapped life details in a corner at Cooper for a few hours and when the bill came, I knew I wasn’t interested in much further — there just wasn’t any excitement.
So, when Brian wanted to know if I was up for hanging out again, I used my new “move” on him. Instead of whipping out the smart phones and doing the awkward I’ll-call-you-and-then-you-save-me-in-your-phone dance, here’s what you do: ask for his business card. It’s brilliant because now you have his number should you want to make contact again, but he can’t get in touch with you. This is a lifesaver especially if you have no interest in exchanging information, but don’t want to be mean and then always kick yourself later for not just saying “This was fun, but I’m not interested in anything more” when he keeps texting you. (This is only to be used when you are not up for getting down with the guy. If he’s a keeper, grab his phone, enter your digits and call yourself. In 10 seconds, you’ve ensured a means of communicating again.)
Throughout this adventure, I’ve had really great conversations and thoroughly enjoyed meeting people who come from all walks of life. It has certainly broadened my perspective, but I haven’t found anyone I’ve been drawn to — no one has stuck in my craw, as I’d imagine they would say down south. I suffer from whoosh-out-my-head-they-go syndrome after we part ways.
If anything is going to keep my expectations in check — and serve as my daily entertainment — it’s OkCupid. Clearly, I’ve set the bar too high:
You’ll never find a movie star handsome compassionate caring man… doesn’t exist. The world is a different place to guys (and girls) like that… people bend over backwards to be with them… I’m pretty darn close to the guy you’re looking for except for my physical appearance. You have a huge list of demands that you may want to split up into two different people. A nice, smart good guy and a silly handsome guy who isn’t very intelligent… I can be the nice successful guy!
For the record, my OkCupid profile in no way portrays a desire for a Hollywood handsome man. In fact, I think someone who is really good looking can be really boring looking. A truly attractive man has some uniqueness and dimension and embraces his individualism. Also he’s tall. And smokin’. But not smoking.
Although the dating site is cluttered with “hey, baby, let’s get a drink” dudes, “I’m doing research to find out if ladies who have a cute smile also have a cute laugh” boys and “don’t let my age scare you” 55-year-old retirees, there are a few seemingly decent gentlemen. I’ve exchanged online messages with a few, but haven’t pulled the trigger because, really, you can be anyone you want online and I’ve learned to cherish the buffer of the It’s Just Lunch vetting process.
For now, I’m picking and choosing, including an upcoming date next week with an elitist. But, first on the docket is a meet-and-greet with Jeremy, a 32-year-old about whom I can’t remember much else. Because he really isn’t going to notice if my toe nails are appropriately polished for the new season, I’m instead curled up in my grubby college sweatshirt and slippers with a new memoir, re-experiencing the Jayhawks, sipping Good Earth tea and kind of wishing I had some Duplos to play with.
Oh, and about next week’s date — I was selected as a potential match for members of the It’s Just Lunch Elite program, a more comprehensive and exclusive dating service for successful professionals who have the money, but not the time to search for Mr. or Mrs. Right. I’m meeting Luis, a former national soccer player and all-around worldly dude, at Manny’s downtown, and I hear he’s a sharp dresser. I anticipate a shopping trip in the near future…