the reality of dating

I think if you gathered every gay man on the planet up and asked him what his ideal dude would be, he'd have roughly the same answer.  Now, that isn't a thought that is 100% certain, nor is it a fact that you could sit down and write a thesis on; just an opinion.  It is my own, it is that of my friends, and it is what seems to fit the mold.  What kind of guy do I like?  A man.  A man's man.

That's about as pure and simple as it gets.

Now I don't want to alienate anyone with this blog, but as I begin what will presumably be a long and arduous process of dating, I begin to also understand the complexities that comes from it.  I.E., how fucking picky I really am and how big of a nightmare this is going to probably become.  I know you can't expect to find "love" while you're dreading the mere prospect of it, but what else am I supposed to do?  I've been on my share of bad dates.  I've had my fair share of crummy circumstances.  And as I sit and reminisce on them, I thought it'd be fun to take you along on a couple of my historically bad dates.  Three to be precise.

I'll start with the most tame, and also the most recent.  It was a couple weeks ago and one that I only told a few people about.  I suppose it wasn't technically a date as it was more of a "hey, let's hang out" type of thing.  And in hindsight this story isn't as particularly funny as I thought it was but I already started writing it and now I can't stop.  We'll call him Ted.  Ted and I started talking about a year ago through a chatting service on our phones, and at first I thought he was a nice guy and fairly good looking.  Then he said he didn't want to keep texting, he wanted to talk to me on the phone.  When I asked why, it was because he wanted to make sure I didn't have, and I quote "a gay-ass pussy voice."

Wow!  Charm the pants right off of me!

So he got a quick block because I didn't feel I needed to keep talking to someone like that, even if all I had to do was prove my voice wasn't gay-ass or pussy-esque.

It's NOT like that.

I mean come on... it's not like that... right?

Flash forward a year and I am talking to Ted again but not realizing it's him.  THIS time, thanks in large part to one of my "multiples" pictures from earlier this summer where I look exceptionally brawny, he says we should hang out to get to know each other.  Not a date though.  I aquiesce to his request and go to dinner with him.  All I can say is that first impressions really are correct, because he was every bit as much of an asshole as I remembered.  Rude, condescending, crass, racist, sexist, homophobic (yeah, really.)  I'm sure I'm not the shining example of a perfect guy but this one... wow.  I told @markstyleme that if that is what a man's man is, then count me out.  Anyway, that was that one.  Moving along.

When I was still in high school and hiding my "secret identity" from my parents, I went on a date with a guy that lived in Milwaukee.  His name was Ryan.  We met on hotornot.com (hahaha... true story) and decided to meet for coffee on some random week night.  The date was ok, nothing great.  There was also no kiss because I was too scared to do anything like that by ANY means.  So a few days later Ryan decides to come back and go on ANOTHER date, this one having him tag along to the spring musical at my high school on a Saturday. We went, had a decent enough time, but I started noticing something about his breath.

Namely how bad it was.

I had to drive him back to the mall after the show because that was where he had parked his car, and then he pulled the moves.  Lots of kissing.  Kissing that gave way to just how awful his breath was.  After a little while he pulled away and asked when we could go out again and I said point blank that we couldn't.  He had this sort of hurt look on his face and asked if we could make out a little more.  I remember looking at the clock in the Jeep and thinking "I have to get to Sara's house for dinner" because that was the plan, but I let him kiss me anyway.  He spent a lot of time on my neck.  A few minutes later he slid something behind my ear and got out of the car in the rain and ran to his.  I reached behind my ear and pulled out a rolled up $10 bill.

What the FUCK?!

I remember being a little angry, and then laughing about it.  I told everyone at Sara's about it and then we used the $10 to buy supplies for spaghetti.  It was at the grocery store that everyone pointed out to me the HUGE hickey he left on my neck; the worst part was that I was taking a senior trip two days later to New York City with a bunch of classmates.  His new nickname was created that night; Poo-Poo Breath Ryan.  Oddly enough he would wind up being a close friend of another friend of mine.  That's also the inside-scoop on the "$10" story that sometimes still circulates with select individuals and myself.

Now we come to the worst date.  Or weirdest.  Or both, I don't know.

I think his name was Kyle.  It may have been Zach, but we'll go with Kyle.  This was in the summer fo 2006.  Randomly on Myspace (you heard me right) one day, I got a message from this guy named Kyle.  A faint memory placed him at a club called The West I had gone to when I was 18 (the West was the only place I could get into because they had a dry section for 18+.)  So he and I got to talking and I remembered him more and more, namely that there had always been an attraction.  Dim lights, thumping music, you know how it goes.

So we agree to go on a date.  It was August and I told him that I just didn't want to do anything outside because it was muggier than shit and (honestly) I was growing my hair out and it looked frightening when not in an air-controlled environment.  And I of course wanted to look my best for the date.  He thought it was a good idea and agreed he wouldn't plan for anything that involved the outdoors.

Our meeting place was at Barnes&Noble and immediately I thought to myself when I saw him "well... pictures did too much justice."  There was just something off about him... the way you would see the runt of a litter and know it hadn't been the award winning sperm but maybe the 8th runner up.  We said our hellos and he told me he wanted to take me to Stuc's for dinner, which is a pizza place in Appleton.  I had never been there before so I said sure and offered to drive since he had come down from Green Bay.  As we are walking to the car, I smell something funny but I'm not sure what it is.  We get to the Jeep and climb in and immediately I realize "oh shit, this guy isn't wearing deodorant."  If he was, he should have put on an extra swipe of Ladies Speed-Stick because he still stunk to high heaven.

I rolled the windows down a crack and sped to the restaurant, where we quickly got a seat and I was able to lean away from him as much as I could.  It takes a lot to get to me but it was the most offensive smell I've ever encountered in such close proximity.  We get our sodas and keep talking and admittedly, the conversation is good.  He gestures a lot with his hands and I'm watching them because I notice there is something else somehow askew.  Finally he pauses to breathe and looks out the window, resting his hands on the table top.   And I see it.

Three of his fingers don't have nails.  They don't have nails AT ALL.  Not like "Oooh, ouch, you bit your nails down too far."  THEY DIDN'T EXIST!  His thumb had a sliver of a nail on it, like it was the far edge of a nail, and that was it.  I was absolutely horrified, lol, and I remember kind of panicking and looking around the room to see if everyone else was seeing this.  Of course no one was there to witness the deformity so I kept my mouth shut and finished the meal when it came.

Eventually dinner was over and we continued the date, which coincidentally involved playing mini-golf... outside... in the sweltering humidity like I said I wanted to avoid.  But by that point he had no points in my book and didn't look to be attaining any either.  After that he wanted to watch a movie at my house and I was too nice to say "not a shot in hell ya mutant!" so we went back to my parents and watched Spider-Man 2 in my bedroom.  After the movie was over I drove him all the way back across town to Barnes&Noble and would only agree to a farewell hug.  As the days after went on, we kept talking and I thought that maybe I had been too harsh in my judgement.

Wait, I mean... did I say judgmental?  Like anyone would EVER think that of me.

About a week later I got out of work one sunny afternoon and got in the Jeep and smelled something absolutely and revoltingly rank.  I looked in the backseat, seeing nothing.  So I drove home with the windows down, not sure what it was.  When I got home I looked again and almost threw up in my mouth; his left-over pizza from the restaurant was still in the car, and there were maggots on it.  I immediately threw it away and washed my hands several times, recoiling in heebie-jeebies from the sight.  Eventually I checked my computer to see that he had sent me a survey on MySpace that he had already filled out so helpfully.  Only one thing in that entire survey caught my eye:

Tell me one thing most people don't know about you: I was born with eleven fingers and twelve toes.

I said FUCK IT and never talked to him again; and that's the vain nature of me being me!  At 20 years old it was, at least.

So in the end I like that every bad date led to a great memory.  Maybe at the time it was nothing more than a case of me rolling my eyes and mostly acting like a bitch, but they were stories that I told over and over to people because they always got a good laugh.  I'm sure there have been several other bad dates.  I know there have been, actually, but right now they aren't really coming to me like I thought they would.  I suppose bad dates should stay in the past, yes?  Expect for 'ol fingernails there.  That one I'll NEVER forget.

But with the bad comes sweet, and like Jason Lee said in Vanilla Sky, "the sweet, can never be as sweet, without the sour."  I'm still not all about "love" yet.  As much as I'd like to find that perfect man and get swept off my feet, I'm too focused on myself right now to have room for anyone else.  I realize as I say that how conceited it makes me sound but I don't mean it that way at all.  With the end of the year looming, along with the reality of how far I have to go to finish not only the 26 Things but also the movie that accompanies them, where do I have the time for a budding relationship?  I figured if I could make it through a solid year without dating anyone I'd be ready when the year was up.

One of the 26 Things was not "#(insert-number-here) Re-entering the Stratosphere; fall in love again."  I would never be so bold as to think I could PLAN on falling in love, let alone have it on my list.  After all, I've been in love so it wouldn't really count as something I had never done before.  Still, I'll entertain the thought and keep my eyes set on the goal of New Years Day and this year being completed like a long-in-gestation homework assignment.  Only it's one that I gave myself... and really, is there any better kind?

Until then I'm happy and single and enjoying the memory of shitty dates and somewhat looking forward to the new memories of more shitty ones.  Like that prick Ted.  I'm sure "the one" is out there, but for now he's happy in his own world and I in mine.  Which makes it sound like he'd be unhappy in mine, lol, but we can't win all the time!  Look for another post on the 10th; it's a retrospective for my one year anniversary of the blog (c: