Friday, January 13, 2012

Date#56 - January 7

This man wrote me a message but I forget what he said. All I remember was that he wrote me a lot of them until he got my number. He was the type of guy to really beat around the bush (pardon the pun). He started out by texting on a Friday or Saturday, however I do not text strangers – especially, as every Rules girl knows, not on the weekend  - he eventually had to call.

He called on a Monday night during a James Bond film with Daniel Craig. Since I had just re-read my highlighted copy of The Rules over the weekend (The Rules recommend that you refresh your memory every so often), I decided to set my oven timer for 5 minutes so I could get back to my movie quickly while making it seem like I was busy cooking some delicious feast. The benefit of my oven timer is that it’s shrill piercing shriek can shatter glass and eardrums in a fifty mile radius.

(I once had an actual boyfriend comment, “Did it come like that?”)

So five minutes in, when he still hadn’t gotten to the point, the buzzer went off and I made my excuses and got off the phone. In the absence of an actual dinner, I poured myself a hot glass of wine and got off to Daniel Craig. Shut up.

Somewhere in the conversation I had mentioned that he wasn’t the only guy I had met online (a fairly benign admission) and this completely inflamed his desire. He became fervent in his wish to see me on Saturday night. He sent texts and online messages saying “I like competition” and “Keep Saturday open”, which I did according to The Rules, but since he had not asked me a question, I did not feel the need to answer him. This had the desired effect and while I was out on Friday night he finally caved and texted, “Where and when?” I gave him the address of my local and he promised to be there. A Rules girl always waits for the man to make plans, unless he asks for suggestions.

He texted Saturday afternoon while I was taking my nap to confirm the date. This is normal and expected. Then he texted a few moments before the date time telling me he was at the bar. But he wasn’t. He waited until I walked in. Then he texted from outside asking what I was wearing. I was beginning to lose patience and I warned him that I was going to leave. Rules girls only wait 5 minutes. Finally he walked into the tiny bar and stood against the wall and stared at me and my table. I rolled my eyes. Beat around the bush indeed.

Then he did the one thing that defines exactly how a date will go: He looked at me, then walked away pretending he didn’t see me. He wanted me to chase him. Or something. I sighed. I now knew everything I needed to know about him. He was insecure.

He approached the table and I was pleasantly surprised to see that he looked like a less-bulky Mark Wahlberg. He was 46 but in GREAT shape. He was separated with four kids. The date went quickly. He was very engaging and I forgot that we got off to a bad start. He was really fighting for the date because he sensed I had one foot out the door. He described himself as competitive. He wanted a relationship where he was “not accountable to anyone”. Twice he asked a version of the question, “What are you doing later?” but could never quite get to it. I did not answer directly but instead changed the subject. My bush was getting tired of being beaten around.

He called for the cheque and walked me to my car. I could feel that he wanted to kiss me, but he lost his nerve. As soon as I was in car and out of view the texts began again. He wrote “def like u”, that he wanted to see me again and that he wished he had kissed me… Well, we all want things, Son. So I guess I can file this under “lotsa talk, no action”. Besides, my bush was exhausted.

Full Disclosure: Cue the Needy Text Message Monster!
On Monday evening the texts began again. It was more of the “hello”, “How was work” variety. Since we all know how I feel about text messages, we know exactly what I did with them. I deleted them.

Tuesday they started a little earlier with “What are u doin later” and went later into the night with “U alive”; a profound statement he felt the need to send twice. Lack of punctuation indicates hipster apathy. I can’t really deal. Then the grand gesture! A phone call at 9:48pm but that was too late for me to pick up (read: I was busying watching “Secret Diary of a London Call Girl”). He did not leave a message. I guess it wasn’t that important.

Here’s where it get interesting. On Wednesday, he suggested I drive an hour away to meet for a drink. (read: He wanted me to drive for an hour in the driving snow wearing thigh highs and garters, by request, and deliver sex to his doorstep). I declined this generous offer. But he was persistent and on Thursday he asked (via text!) if I wanted him to pick me up and he could do the driving. Since that is how most axe-murder movies start, I wrote the following text hoping to terminate the relationship:

What kind of car do you drive?

Nothing irritates a non-BMW-driving man more than this question from a female. Where I grew up, all men drive a car they are fiercely proud of, no matter how stupid, silly, rusty or covered in peach sparkle paint (He called it “Peaches and Chrome”, get it?). I discovered men’s sensitivity to their vehicles only later in life. Real Men are proud of what they drive the same way they are proud of their watches. If they aren’t, there is something wrong. As I said before, he was insecure.

He: lol why?

Me: Interesting answer. No thank you.

There was a 15 minute pause and I thought I had killed it. But, no…

Him: My car was stolen. I’m driving a rental. Why does that matter?

I nearly screamed with laughter. He still wasn’t telling me what he drove. But he was alluding that it was worth stealing.

Me: You chose me based on looks. I choose men based on chemistry and part of that is how successful I perceive them to be. I’m afraid I do not believe your stolen car story. Please do not contact me again.

He: looks um no. your a little weird ill pass

Me: Good choice.

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