So, I went on a date last week. I have been holding out on you, I know but as Janet says, what have you done for me lately? This date by all accounts, should have gone well. This dude drew comics and was into graphic novels, and he said he liked gin and karaoke. All of these things pointed that we should have had a very successful date. Maybe one of many dates. Repeat business is something that I appreciate. So, I skipped out on a dinner party thrown at my home (housemate is awesome cook) and met up with this guy at a sexy little bar near my house.
The first sign that something wasn’t right was when he casually mentioned that he didn’t own an iPod because he didn’t listen to that much music. Um, what? I have had my headphones attached to my body every single day since I was 12 years old. I listen to music I fall asleep, I listen to music to wake up, I make all major life decisions over a carefully selected soundtrack and if you are a dude and you have ever received a mix tape from me, you better believe I wanted to bone you in a major way. So music is kind of, sort of important to me.
But, whatever. I had another martini and soldiered on. This lack of musical interest reared its ugly head again when we switched venues to my preferred karaoke bar and as the entire bar sang along to some drunk girl butchering a Pat Benatar song, I looked over at him to share the magic and he had a completely blank expression on his face. As in, he had never heard this Pat Benatar song. He had never stood, heartache to heartache. No promises & no demands. Who was this person?
But still, one more martini and I continued. This date was like watching a mediocre movie. You laughed a few times, sometimes you cared, but mostly: you just want it to get better and rather than walk out, you stick with it.
It didn’t get bad till the make-out started (are we heading onto full blown sex blog territory now? I guess so.) and as we like to say, I couldn’t hang. No specifics, but when you end the night in a silent car ride through the city where previously you could not shut the fuck up, you know you’re not even getting a courtesy “Let’s just be friends” email the next day. Not that I would be sending one either; our disinterest became mutual and palpable.
And what can I say? My heart just wasn’t in it. And what does my heart have to do with it? Well, everything. People who don’t have casual sex think that it’s all about getting off and going home and that nothing else matters and that there is this huge disconnect between your head and your groin and sometimes that’s what it is, but sometimes, a lot of the times, that’s not what it’s about. I mean, for us cerebral, secretly huge romantic sluts, anyway.
And so..the great drought of my 26th year continues! I’m curious to see how much more embarrassment this year will bring me.
