I hesitate to publish this post because I don't want to run into the same dilemma as the writer behind the awesome blog Searching for Prince Charmingstein. And yet - here I am - posting anyway. So, here goes . . .
I competed in the dating olympics over labor day weekend. With four dates in three days - I had an awful lot of dinner, coffee, and small talk. I would say the gold medal goes to Bachelor #3 who we will call George. Though not impressive on the phone, he had a good showing in person and performed an excellent routine. The silver medal (which really should have been a tie for bronze) will go to John (Bachelor #1) - an overall good guy but lacking in the personality department. The bronze medal will go to Paul (Bachelor #2) - a great talker on the phone - and an incessant talker in person. This leaves us with Ringo (Bachelor #4)- who really shouldn't have made it past the trials, but I suppose everyone deserves a shot at representation. I think this is also why there were only three bachelors in The Dating Game, but I digress.
Here's a brief summary of the contestants. For the full story, scroll down to the **
John is an IT professional who looks good on paper (well - the web) but should likely stay there. He was a tad on the shy/dull side and was probably best represented in a photo of what I'd assume is a Halloween costume. He may not have the personality of a 1940s mob boss, but he's got the look down pretty well.
Paul is an aspiring attorney who had a life/career change after a divorce. His potential success in the courtroom will likely be the result of talking for so long that the judge and jury forget the opposition's arguments. He might also cause a diversion by asking the defendant to identify and justify his favorite food.
George is a former engineer whose main physical trait is that he's a Jesus model. No - seriously - he posed for those paintings . . . A bit soft spoken, he has a good heart and is a true intellectual. He's a recent convert - so he certainly fulfills the requirement of not living at home with his mom.
And then there's Ringo. An attorney who believes Obama is a Marxist, what Ringo lacks in tact, he makes up for in height. He claims to be a pure capitalist and will gladly tell you about the failings of socialist government, the demoralization of school children caused by a 'strict interpretation' of the separation of church and state, and the many reasons that the theory of evolution is bogus. If you want to date a pompous asshat - he's your guy.
**
My date with Paul started out in a somewhat bizarre fashion. I got my hair done Saturday morning and was running rather late to meet him near my friend's house a mile or so away from the ball park. We chose to walk instead of taking the bus and had some nice banter along the way. Once we got to the game, though, it went downhill. By the time we made it to our seats, it was probably about 1:30 and I hadn't eaten anything of substance yet that day. He kept asking inane questions like my favorite food and my favorite color - clearly talking just to talk. There was a rain delay in the 7th inning, so we were at Wrigley for six hours. We walked back to my friend's place and stopped at a Starbucks not far away. I was relying on my friend to text me so I could meet her and get the hell out - but that never happened. That probably didn't bode well for John as it colored my opinion of the day and the date. Additionally, he plans on living at his parents house while he studies for the bar - figuring he'll rarely be home anyway so it doesn't matter. In case you missed it - that one's a deal breaker.
On Sunday, George and I went to brunch at a nice place in the city - a date that almost didn't happen because I was exhausted and angry from the previous days events. I'm really glad that it did work out, as we had great conversation and he was the only guy I didn't have an overwhelming desire to run from at any point during our date. The best part about George is that he's a dead ringer for Jesus. I wasn't sure how I felt about the scruffy look, but it ended up working out for him. We talked about his conversion to Judaism, his views and hopes for the education system, and the ever-entertaining antics of an organization that lacks - well - organization. The primary reason our date ended was that my car was parked in a two hour zone and I didn't want to get a ticket. Date number two is already scheduled and looks promising.
Monday afternoon, I met Ringo for lunch at a pancake house. I'm pretty sure if was doomed from the beginning, but I felt he deserved a fair chance. After taking our seats, we started talking about iPhones and a sense of ineptitude from users. Though he is an attorney, he apparently assists with computers at his father's law firm and faults the users for not being able to effectively diagnose their issues. My opinion on the matter is that I'm paid rather specifically to do the troubleshooting for the users, so I don't really care if they're able to help themselves. I ordered my coffee (praying caffeine would have the same effects as alcohol) and Ringo (always tolerant of other people's thoughts and feelings) stated that he didn't understand why people would drink coffee. Especially if you were just going to add all that cream and sugar to it - why not just have a soda (ok - he probably said pop - but I refuse to concede that part of my good California upbringing). I explained that I (and likely others) in fact like the taste of coffee - but sometimes want a different flavor, so I add things at will. Now, of course, I think of the analogy of putting salt, pepper, and spices on food - but that didn't occur to me at the time. He also said that he didn't like chocolate - particularly dark chocolate. That comment was below the belt, so I think we started to talk about something else at that point - I sort of blocked parts out - but I mentioned that we ought to leave because it was a busy day and someone would probably want our table. He seemed not to care, but agreed. As we (he) went to the counter to pay, the cashier asked how everything was. Now any decent human being knows that the appropriate answer to that is either wonderful, good, or ok. It's like when someone asks "How are you?" That person doesn't want to know about your dog's latest ailment or your mother's worsening asthma - they're just going for 'good' or 'fine'. Ringo, however, said that the potato pancakes were sort of over done and that the applesauce was runny (or something similar) but the spinach crepes were great. I attempted to communicate my horror and apology to the cashier simply through my eyes, but I'm not sure she got the message.
As I'm a glutton for punishment and we were in the midst of a conversation that deserved finishing, we went to a coffee shop to continue the horror. I know a lot of you are going to blame me for the rest of the date, and that's fine, but if you know me at all, you know I can't leave a good debate without some level of closure. I don't remember the order of events, but the conversation turned to politics - a dangerous topic on a first date. This is where Ringo earned his nickname "Obama is a Marxist guy". He droned on about how Obama is a Marxist (hence the nickname), socialized medicine and government were doomed to fail, how the separation of church and state had been taken too literally and lead to the demoralization of American culture. Of course that lead to conversation about school vouchers and how evolution shouldn't be taught in school because it was an erroneous theory. He cited the many studies that show that Darwin's theories were bunk and made some comment about a bird that migrated to a different island, thereby proving that evolution was as made up as Santa (he didn't actually use that analogy, but still . . . ). No first date could be complete without talking about distributing condoms and schools while preaching abstinence. At one point, he looked at me and said I had a funny look on my face. I told him "Yes, that's because I disagree with everything you've said in the last five minutes". I went on to explain that he had absolutely no room to talk unless he had actually applied for Medicaid at any point in time, lived in an area with a combination of good schools and crappy neighborhoods, and had ever been denied insurance coverage. So, you know, a typical first date. We left it with "See you around". You know what, Ringo - I hope you find someone who is as pompous as you are - she will be significantly crazier than I have ever been - and that's saying something.
I went on my second date with John later that evening, figuring that the attire for miniature golf was slightly different than what I'd worn to my previous dates. We played a round of mini golf - stopped keeping score after the second hole - and made idle chitchat about our combined suckiness at the game. We then went to a pub for dinner where we made more idle chitchat. We went marginally deeper, talking a bit about family and such. I would say the most memorable story of that encounter (which actually happened on the first date a week earlier) was how he managed to end up in Ohio when trying to get home from New Trier. I will mention - I was not involved in this - the story took place when he was in high school - more than ten years earlier. For those of you in a different geographic location - the distance between his home and New Trier high school is about ten miles (at most). He apparently got onto the highway (not a good move) and kept driving, hoping to eventually reach his destination. How he managed to cross the Indiana state line (or drive for more than thirty minutes) without thinking that something might have been amiss is beyond me. He did manage to prove, however, that I do not have the worst sense of direction in the world. All in all, it was a nice time, but my John was nowhere near as interesting as the John for whom his pseudonym refers to. Then again, I'm no Yoko Ono.
In summary - there was one definite yes (which lead to a second date), one definite no (which didn't) and two Eh - at least they're decent guys. Tonight (attempting to top my dating record), I am going to a speed dating event, where I'm hoping I don't run into any of the Olympians.
Until next time, this is your dating diva, signing off.
