Crazy Train

And we're back! Life's been a little chaotic, so I finally got back to Daterville this week. Let me preface this story by saying that I'd hidden my profile temporarily because I needed a time out after crazy Tiny T.

So I took my profile out of hiding on Monday night, and after a few minutes I was informed that I'd been emailed on the site. So, excited to see who was behind Door Number 1, I sign on. And I see him.

Tiny T was smiling back at me in what apparently was a new photo. What is your PROBLEM?!! I blatantly told you I wasn't interested.

Of course I opened it, and inside it simply said, "Welcome back =)"

I felt like the e-walls were closing in on me and I just couldn't shrug this idiot.

User was immediately blocked.

Counting the Dates

When hearing about my blog, a popular question is what will I do when I start seeing a guy on a more serious basis.

My first reaction is that Prince Charming will think it's funny that I did a blog, and see the entertainment value in it. And he'll be confident enough with himself that he'll be proud of me and will be able to laugh about it and we'll float away on our fluffy pink love cloud and everything will be perfect.

The reality is, he'll probably want to know if and what I wrote about him. And if his identity has been compromised, and if the entire world knows he's online dating, how he kisses and that I was turned off by his clammy hands on our second date.

Then I try to think about how I'd feel if some guy said he was blogging about his single excursions. As a writer and opportune voyeur, I'd be generally interested in what he had to say about his dates. But then I'd have to wonder how serious he was about finding a nice girl to come home to, call right when he hears good (or bad) news, and un-friend his ex on Facebook for.

As my older brother put it, "If someone had a one night stand with a guy, and the guy told them the next morning that he had a blog about one night stands, you'd assume he's sleeping around....and around."

I mean, when you're casually dating, you'd be naive to assume the guys you meet aren't going out with other girls. And they should be. That's the whole point of dating. You wouldn't go to a beer tasting and just stick with one micro brew.

But you don't want to hear that the person you're out with is seeing the entire third page of the online dating catalogue. Which makes me wonder....before the Internet, why didn't someone come out with a dating catalogue? You could sit in on snowy Tuesday evening with some red wine and your highlighter, browsing the profile pages like one would a J.Crew spring issue. And then you could call the 1-800 number and punch 4523 for Carl, slouch down in your couch causing your voice to sound a little sexier (seriously try it), and leave him a witty message with your digits.

Then again, I guess you could always call Livelinks.

So I guess my point is, when is it appropriate to tell a guy that I've been dating around, enjoying being single, and writing about it for all of my Internet family and friends to read? And when a guy does actually read this blog, how will he react? Especially if I've gushed over him. Or totally badmouthed my future husband.

It'll be like the time in 8th grade when my friend and I were home alone and my crush and his friend stopped by. Well my crush decided to sneak up to my bedroom and saw my corkboard, which had my dolphins calendar, two photos of him that my yearbook friend had given me - one of him playing football and the other was from a basketball game that he was in the stands for and didn't know he was being photographed - and a movie ticket from Romeo & Juliet that our whole class went to see, but I wrote on my ticket Sat next to Jeff.

He came downstairs and looked at my friend, while I was mindlessly jumping on the trampoline, and goes, "I didn't realize she liked me THAT much." Yeah. He never asked me out.

When I was out for pizza with Tiny Tim last week, I was getting bored, so for my own entertainment I told him I'm blogging about my online dating experiences. He sat up a little straighter and goes, "Really....." and uncomfortably laughed and just stared at me. And I just smiled, nodded and watched him squirm a little, as all the questions flooded his mind. What's the URL? What has she said about me? How many guys is this chick dating?

Finally he goes, "How much did you write about me?" and flashed a used car salesman grin. Gross.

At first I lied and said I didn't, but then he seemed disappointed so I said, "Well I might have written about when we got sushi......I don't know I really don't write anymore." I'm the worst liar.

Moving forward, I think it'll be my little secret unless I find a man who I think would appreciate that I've been able to do something I love (writing) about something I love (guys).

Until then, I'm going to keep dating along. And counting the number of doormen, CVS security guards and bus drivers have hit on me. And how many weirdos I've met for drinks. And number of first kisses I didn't sign up for. And amount of times a guy texts "lol" to me about something I didn't laugh out loud at. And the number of deep breaths I've taken before turning the corner to meet a cute stranger.

I'm going to need a calculator.

Fade Resistant

So that little bug who we've come to know as Tiny Tim showed up on Saturday at the bar during the football game. Alone. Shocking, I know.

Of course since he was solo, he conveniently had to sit at our table. Luckily the only seat open was across from me. I had a nice friend fortress on either side of me. But I could have used a moat. And an invisibility cloak.

Anyway, he hung out for a bit and got to know my friends. He still had his beard. But all I could stare at was the large whitehead begging to be popped just below his bottom lip. I mean how could anyone leave the house with a pimple that size? If you have a massive puss-filled mound just chilling on your face, it is your moral and social obligation to pop that sucker. Sure, you don't have to look at it all day, but everyone else does.

He made conversation with everyone, and was polite. But he kept saying what he thought were witty lines and staring at me, smiling, like we had some amazing, deep connection and only I would get what he was saying. The only thing I got was increasingly more nauseous. My friend sitting next to him totally caught on to this creepy gesture, and my disgust, and was laughing her head off.

After an hour, he finally gets up to leave. He slowly walks around around the table, right up to my back, and I'm so terrified he's going to try and kiss me again. This time I'm on my guard so I only do a half-turn, making sure my left shoulder is blocking any advances the little bugger might make. He says, "I'm leaving," so I go, "Okay see ya!"

He laughs and says, "See ya? That's all I get?"

What do you expect? You want to make out with me in front of all of my friends in the middle of a bar? Dude even if I really liked you, I wouldn't partake in midday PDA with you. Especially with that monster on your face.

So I just laughed and said, "Yup! Bye!" Luckily he accepted my cold shoulder and walked out of the bar.

I thought that perhaps that was the end of our little escapade. You'd think I'd know by now. Because around 2 p.m. the next day he texted me to see how my Sunday was going.

When I replied with, "Fine," he followed up asking if I can cook. Oh gosh, here we go.

I knew where this was headed, and knew I'd have to just be honest with this guy. He clearly wasn't picking up on my attempts to fade him out. It was only fair to him. So after I said yes, he responded with, "I think you should make me dinner this week :-)"

Really Tiny T? That's your game? Telling a girl to make you dinner?

It was time to drop the bomb. So after writing and rewriting my little message a few times, I settled on sending him, "Haha. Hey I think you're a really nice guy, but I just want to be friends."

Even though I was across town from this guy, I felt like crawling under my bed, closing my eyes and plugging my ears. It's just so awkward blatantly telling someone who's interested in you, and trying desperately to be cute, to take a hike.

Well he replied within 10 seconds with, "Is it the beard? Lol." Enough with the LOL sir. You're an adult male. And writing that after every "joke" is like holding up an APPLAUSE card to your audience. If you have to ask for it, you don't deserve it.

In keeping with my new Honesty theme, I told him that it was not because of the beard. He finally conceded, and said there were no hard feelings. I thanked him (no idea why I did, I just felt like saying thanks. Maybe I was thanking him for finally dropping it, or for the fun average times we had) and haven't heard from him since.

Lessons I've learned from my time with this man:

1. Listen to my instincts! If I don't want to go out with a guy a second time, even if he corners me in my elevator holding flowers and a puppy, I won't accept.

2. The fade out is only applicable to certain guys. Like self-aware ones. Men who have their head up their ass need a much more direct denial.

And probably a slap in the face.

Infestation

So I didn't reply to any of Tiny Tim's texts that he sent me 2 days after our pizza outing. That was until he sent one saying he was going to my neighborhood alumni bar on Saturday. During my school's football game.

MY school. Not his. MY neighborhood. Not his. He lives like 20 minutes north. That leaves about 700 other bars in between us that he could watch the game at. So how convenient that he's going to MY alumni bar during MY football game.

Since that's where my friends and I were planning to go to watch the game, I texted him back so he didn't think I was there because of his tiny bearded self, and just said I might be there but wasn't sure what my plans were yet.

I probably should just tell him the jig is up. But I was hoping I could just ignore him until he went away.

This guy's a persistent little f*cker. Like a mosquito.

Level of annoyance: 8. Similar triggers of a level-8 annoyance: Gilbert Godfried's voice, running towards the train as the conductor looks me in the eyes and pulls away, and stubbing a cold toe.

Do they sell man swatters?

Tim to Leave

After giving Tiny Tim what I thought was the obvious brush off, saying I was busy all three times he asked to hang out, I thought he'd gotten the hint.

That was until I turned the corner in my local Barnes & Noble, innocently perusing the selection of hobbies I could take up in 30 pages or less, when BAM! Tiny Tim was standing there. We started talking and he invited me to grab pizza with him the next night. I will run to hell and back to avoid awkward situations, so I said, "Sure."

Which I knew my mother would be proud of, because every time I say I'm not interested in going on a second date with a guy she says, "Well I didn't like your father at first. Go out with him again."

So we had dinner the next night at a little pizzeria across town, and it was fine for the most part. He's cute, he's nice, he used to be the lead singer in a band and plays guitar....I just don't get the butterflies from him. He also kept talking about his beard, which was a new feature since I last saw him. Beards gross me out. And he kept telling me to touch it and I refused every time.

I don't want to pick the poor guy apart, because I'm sure he'll make some girl very happy. Just not me.

When our waitress asked if we wanted a second beer, he asked me if I wanted to stay there or go somewhere else. I really just wanted to go home, put on my pj's and watch reruns of The Office, but they were both just staring at me so I said, "We can go somewhere else for a bit."

So he gives her his credit card and says to me, "I'll get dinner, you can get our next round."

He ran this same line after our sushi dinner, when he said I could get him dessert. Stop speaking on my wallet's behalf, you tiny cheapskate!

So we went across the street and he leads me to a booth in this lounge area near the back. In a dimly lit area. Very sly, Stallone. I was tempted to sit across from him, but he sat on the larger couch-type seat and goes, "Have a seat." So I sat on the same side as him, but I made sure there was an arm's length between us. And luckily from that side of the booth I could stare at the trio of cute men sitting across the bar.

We had a drink and chatted for a bit more. It was fine, but there were zero sparks. Less than zero. I'd dare say we had a negative amount of sparkage. Well on my end at least. He wanted to stay for another round, yeah since you're not paying, but I said I should get home. I really just didn't want to be in his presence anymore. He was so eager it was grossing me out.

We walk outside of the bar and I'm trying to flag down a cab, but of course there are no cabs in sight. So he comes up to me and puts his hands on my elbows, oh gosh this again, and goes, "I should do this now," and goes in for the kiss. Someone's awfully sure of himself.

I backed away quickly like he was covered in spiders, and said, "Easy pal" to which he just chuckled. Like the Devil. Like muhahaha my little flower. I'm wonderful and you are probably already in love with me and my new beard and I stole a lock of your hair when you weren't looking and I'm going to follow you home and stare into your window and braid your hair into mine.

Luckily a cab pulled up before Lucifer could come at me again like a little bearded woodpecker. I said adios and hopped in the taxi without looking back. What a dating predator.

I'd just fade him out, but this guy's bulletproof. He doesn't take hints and is body-language illiterate.

I'm going to need a stronger weapon.

Me So Corny

I debated over how to write about this next date, because I was torn over this guy's personality. Is it possible to want to hug and slap a person at the same time?

I'd been talking to Tiny Tim casually for a few weeks, but I never left any conversation dying to hear back from him. I think the fact that he replied immediately anytime I'd get back to him had something to do with it. I don't like games, but come on dude, pretend like you have a life for at least a few hours before responding.

Anyway, he's a 27-year-old who grew up in the city and works in HR. His pictures seemed cute and he was always very cordial. But he just seemed so painfully corny. Like when he'd say things like "Sorry I didn't get back to you last night. I was being a flakey flake." Barfy barf.

However, when he asked me out for dinner last week, I decided that instead of waiting around for butthead Marky Mark to call, I'd go out with a new guy. So we agreed to meet for sushi on a Friday evening. As I was getting ready, he texted me with, "TIM HUNGRY!!!" Oh my gosh, why am I still going out with this guy?? He was already en route, so I knew I couldn't cancel.

I wore a black sundress and a pair of my highest wedges. His profile said he was 5'10" so, being 5'4", I assumed there shouldn't be an issue with height.

Well when I walked into the restaurant, I was pleasantly surprised at how cute he was. Like way way cuter than his photos suggested. Then he stood up from his bar stool and slowly looked up at me and said, "You're taller than I imagined you'd be."

5'10", huh pal? Someone got a little creative with their profile stats.

Despite inadvertently catching him in a little lie, Tiny Tim and I had a really nice dinner. He was very easy to talk to, and I kept looking at him and thinking, "You're cuuuuute." After dinner we got some gelato and walked around the neighborhood. 25 minutes later, he asked if we could go somewhere to sit down. "Like your apartment or something," was his suggestion. Oh I'm sure you'd like to go sit in my apartment.

If I had a roommate, and a living room, I might be more open to letting a guy sit in my apartment on date one. But I live alone in a studio apartment. So it's like having a boy up in your room in high school. It's just not allowed. Although if I'd met a guy on the Internet when I was in high school he probably would've ended up being some creepy 45-year-old who drove his wife's rusty Dodge Caravan to my house with a box of condoms and a 6-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade. Yeah I've seen To Catch a Predator.

Anyway, we ended up just sitting by a fountain in this cute park that had lots of people around. He decided to pull a quarter out of his pocket to "make a wish" and, maybe I'm heartless, but that's just so dumb. It's sooo dumb! Then a horse-drawn carriage went by, and we got a nice whiff of horse poop, and he goes, "Oh, good there's a horse going by." Then, as if one indigestion innuendo wasn't enough, Tiny Tim just had to really drive the point home by saying, "I wondered to myself, 'Is that me? Is the sushi already running through me?'" Oh gross. Thanks. Now I have to sit here thinking about your bowels.

At this point I was getting tired, and didn't need to wonder about the spicy tuna plowing through his intestines, so I said I was ready to head home. He walked me to my door and asked if he'd get to see me again. I said sure (but really wasn't so sure) and looked down to get my keys out of my bag. When I looked up again, I was faced with a pair of lips that reached me before I could react. He pulled away and now I just wanted to get inside, but I saw him coming back for more. INCOMING! This guy is BOLD. He was already sending out the second wave of troops. This time my defenses were at the ready, and I casually turned to the right so he got my cheek.

Gentlemen. Don't just bombard a girl with your lips. Even if you think you're finer than Jude Law was in The Talented Mr. Ripley (you aren't), do not go in for the kill without giving her some sort of warning.

So I'm left in a bind. I mean he's fun to look at, and has a great smile. But if I write about him any longer today my eyes are going to roll right out of their sockets. I know he's interested, so I'll see what happens in the next few days.

If he wants a second date, Tiny Tim needs to do something to keep me interested.

I can't help that I have a...short attention span.