Another moment that I have been dreading has finally arrived. As if coping with the dreaded moment of becoming an adult was not bad enough, I actually took some action in upgrading myself from permanent WingGirl status up to potential Top Gun Pilot. I recently took a giant step into embracing my new sassy, single status and went on my First First Date. I am considering it the First First Date, because when it has been more than a decade since my last First Date, I am pretty sure the first date slate gets wiped clean.
The Guinea Pig that unknowingly volunteered to introduce me back into the wild, crazy world of dating was introduced to the crazy that is Cari on match.com. We exchanged a few messages and he spelled my name correctly each time. One point. We exchanged phone numbers and he did not text me inquiring about my foot massage preferences. Two points. He called, we talked and there was absolutely no mention of bowling. Three points and he earned himself a meet-up.
I must admit, I was terrified about this experience. The night prior, I was texting the Badger all evening long planning location and attire. The day of I was shooting off a flurry of communique to JP about my impending First First Date. I finally decided on an attire that flattered my curvy build and selected a location that I felt comfortable in that also had multiple exits in case this event took a turn for the tragic. I also made three rules for myself to abide by to make sure I put my best foot forward:
1. Don't get drunk. I am mouthy, loud and demand attention at all time when I am drunk. I did not want that to happen.
2. Don't talk about my previous relationship. What happened in my past is between the two of us and those that need to know already know. I certainly do not need to go airing my dirty laundry anymore than I already do here on the Follies.
3. Don't make an ass of myself. See Rule 1.
I showed up at designated location a few minutes early, hoping to calm my nerves a little bit. A friend of mine happens to be a server at this bar and she stopped over to say hello. I told her that I was meeting a blind date, it was my first first date and that I was as nervous as Hell. She promptly responded by bringing me a double of Jameson with a double of Jameson chaser to calm my nerves. I threw them back, took a quick shake and saw my match.com date walk in the door. He found me, went for the hug and I deflected for a handshake, not wanting him to smell the whiskey I undoubtedly reeked of by now. My friend returned and took our drink order. She knows what I like and this bar has a great rotation of craft brews, so I told her to surprise me. She brought me a delicious breakfast stout out of Grand Rapids, MI that happens to have an ABV of 7.2%. It was delicious. So delicious that I had three. Goodbye, Rule #1.
Shortly into the meet and greet with Guinea Pig, the whole concept of match.com comes up. I, as a direct result of violating Rule #1, started in on my tirade of how depressing the site has been in respect to unanswered inquiries and ignored winks. This quickly turned into our profiles and he flat out asked me, "So, you have yourself listed as Divorced, what's that all about?"
More Crickets...and rapid fire chugging of 7.2% beer.
I give Guinea Pig the standard line of, "We realized we married too young and were better off as friends than spouses." Note: This is more than the standard line, it's the truth. He kept poking and prodding and I tap danced around direct answers better a presidential candidate in a primary election (Here's lookin at you, Mitt.) Goodbye, Rule #2.
Once we got past that awkwardness I realized I was actually having a really great time. In hindsight, I realized the great time was fueled entirely by the Jameson and the fact that I was regaling Guinea Pig (and everyone within earshot) with some of my favorite stories, follies and tales. In the moment, I did not have that hangover-induced clarity, so naturally I suggest that we ditch the current locale and head out to karaoke.
To keep it short, after performing You're So Vain, It's the End of the World As We Know It, My Kind of Town, Can't Get Enough of Your Love Babe, and carrying the female vocals on a duet of Meatloaf's classic Paradise By the Dashboard Light –– it's safe to say Goodbye, Rule #3.
Despite the fact that I broke the three rules I set for myself, Guinea Pig still took an interest in me. Unfortunately, I really was not feeling the same way. The following Friday I had plans to have my very dear friend, The Grappler, over for dinner and a quiet night. Around 4 o'clock he texted me that he had a terrible work week and was bringing a fifth of rum over for himself. I was originally planning on waiting for my guest to arrive, but knowing that the Grappler was going to be hitting it hard, I was encouraged to uncork a bottle of Cabernet a few hours earlier than scheduled. By the time the Grappler arrived I was already on my second bottle and invited my friend, The Nutcracker over for dinner as well. Note: Nutcracker stems from the fact that he's an amazing dancer and the first (of hopefully many) performances that I saw him in was Tchaikovsky's best-known work.
After an amazing meal, half of fifth of Bacardi gone and the cork popped on the third bottle of vino, I started regaling my guests with my First First Date story, (see Rule #1 on what happens when I imbibe) and they both immediately tell me that I am probably being too quick to judge AND that they want to meet him. Since wine makes me make great decisions, I text him to see if he's free that night and we make plans to meet up at a local joint with some good dancing. I tell him we will be there in half and hour, but I failed to tell that I was operating under wine time.
An hour and a half later we set off and he's waiting outside, watching me skip down the street with the Grappler on one arm and the Nutcracker on the other. I certainly know how to make an entrance. Shortly thereafter, my girl Frances showed up and I spent the night pin-balling around from Frances, The Nutcracker, Guinea Pig. Note: The Grappler was gone at this point, I last saw him boarding a party bus to destinations unknown. The night ended with me pulling a trademark (and hereditary) move and just leaving to head home without telling anyone, leaving The Nutcracker and Guinea Pig to fend for themselves over a late night round of foosball.
Amazingly enough, this behavior was still yet not enough to diminish the Guinea Pig's interest. And his tolerance for my shenanigans was still not enough to make me any more interested. He is still texting me and ask about getting together at times, which presents me with a whole new realm of dating unknowns that I am absolutely clueless about –– tactfully letting someone down. I think doing it via text message is pretty heartless, but do two nights of me being a drunken fool really warrant a phone conversation of, "Thanks but no thanks?"
So I am now taking suggestions on how to delicately cut this one loose. Because if I don't figure out something soon, I will just be sending him a link to the Follies.