Saggy Nick, Shallow Ann

On impulse, I violated one of my own rules about not dating someone older than my Big Brother, and met Nick for a drink. Seems as though when people email me about Scrabble (I mention it in my profile because I can beat almost anyone at it and that's... well... important for people to know, right??) it opens a soft place in my heart and I get irrational. Anyway, the two hour date went fine. We actually had quite a bit in common, including places we've lived, our careers, passion for volleyball, etc. The conversation flowed easily, was balanced, and there were lots of laughs.

So this is why I hate myself:

1. He looks old, and I have a problem with it.

Who am I to judge a book by its cover? But alas... Nick is 38 and looks it. Has slightly weathered skin (aka, "saggy"), pronounced smile lines, graying hair, and wore stone washed jeans. Truthfully not a bad looking guy for nearly being 40, and a little fashion help would go a long way. But as I sat across from him, my immature ego was literally saying I am waaaaaay too young for him. My smile lines only show up when I'm really tired! I pull out the few grays hairs that I can find! And though my Raggedy Fashion could use some polishing of it's own, I certainly know enough not to role my jeans anymore. Yes I am resisting "looking" older, and walking arm in arm with a saggy 38 year old won't help my facade. Damn Ann. Don't have to worry about drowning in this pool of shallowness.

2. He asked me out on a second date, and I said "Yes".

To make matters worse, I didn't have the courage to say to him at the end of our pleasant date that I wasn't interested in him romantically. I cowarded out, and sheepishly said I would join him in a movie sometime soon. Maybe I am hoping once I venture out on date #2, that magically he will look younger and more appetizing. Or that I will recover from my obvious ageism and give a good guy a chance.

I think this is one of those things men hate about women. Sorry gentlemen. I lamed out.

Vegas Victor

It's been a quiet few weeks on the online dating front. And by quiet I mean boring. Definitely my busy schedule's fault, though I suppose some ebbs and flows in your enthusiasm for meeting people in cyberspace are only natural. Because of either fatigue or "growing wise", I have been more critical about the selections Match sends me, and just wasn't feeling the inspiration to put myself out there. That's not the winning attitude of a dating sales funnel manager! Snap out of it Raggedy Ann, before your yarn hair falls out and you are discarded as last year's toy. (Correction - last generation's toy).

So like I said - it had been a quiet... until last night. I had a high school relapse, and entertained a four hour phone conversation that put me to sleep just a smidge before sunrise. Enter Victor. On paper - or computer screen - Victor's profile is a lot like mine. Athlete, psychology and biology major, buddhist, unsure about wanting kids, and he's very tall. The only drawback I saw was that he lived in Vegas, but several fascinating emails convinced me it was worth getting to know him over the distance. And thankfully he hates Vegas. Job brought him there but he doesn't plan on staying. So any worries of a closet-substance-abusing-gambling-addict are at bay. For now.

The four hour conversation was absolutely FASCINATING. While there definitely was a slight professorial feel to it (he did most of the talking) - the topics were right up my alley. Health, energy, immune system, intuition, psychology, nutrition, exercise, philosophy. Victor is very educated and masterfully articulate. Hearing him talk about subjects that I have dedicated pieces of my life to was... well... invigorating. It was like taking a deep breath and exhaling in to total relaxation. To put it in a hippy California kinda way, it felt like we were on the same vibe.

Whether or not this ever amounts to anything more than this one half-a-work-day phone call, Victor was a sweet reminder of what it feels like to truly connect with another person. Remotely. Do I sound stoned? Maybe I am. I'd like to roll the dice on this one and see what fortune brings.

Avoid First Dates When Hung Over

Matt is a 6'3" lawyer. Very witty writing voice, comes from a fantastic Italian family, lives nearby… I am excited for this date. Apparently not excited enough to push away those final few tequila shots the night before though. Nope, like a college freshmen I get plastered Saturday night. Our date is Sunday at 2pm. When I wake up Sunday I am still mostly drunk, and with impaired judgment feel optimistic I can fly through this date with my best charm.

Not quite.

Strike one:
Aside from at least twice losing my train of thought mid-story, I also unintentionally insult him. “Yeah, I tend to get along better with people who weren’t born and raised in California”, I tell him. “Oh, why is that?” he asks. “I don’t mean to generalize and there certainly are exceptions to the rule, but California seems to be a bit more hedonistic. It’s an active and healthy lifestyle, which I love, but I don’t always find people with a lot of discipline and family values. So… where did you say you grew up again?” You know the answer. Cali-all-the-way-baby. Ouch.

Strike two:
We are talking about the movies nominated for the Academy Awards. He hasn’t seen “Doubt” yet and I proceed to tell him all about it. At which point he says, “Guess I don’t need to see that one any more”. Normally I may have caught on to something like that. Don’t they have a name for people who spoil movies for others? Yes they do – lame ass. That was me. The discussion about “Doubt” was an interesting and appropriate bridge in to religion. His profile says he is Catholic (which I didn’t hold against him). Once we both opened up about our perspectives on religion though, I would say he was Catholic and is now much more liberal. Thank God.

The final pitch…
Matt thankfully was determined to make it a good date. After our coffee, we waltz over to a store nearby, wandering around to find him a bottle of wine for a work party he’s attending later. On the walk he asks, “Are you sure you’re only 6’1”?” Ugh. Yes world, that is my height totally barefoot. He asks if I have ever dated someone shorter than me. Of course I have. I can’t get a feel as to whether this is a BIG GLARING FLASHING RED LIGHT hint that he isn’t interested, or if it was a fair question.

A week later, we are setting up a second lunch date. So for now, it looks as though I have avoided the strike out. Hope to redeem myself and make a better impression – he definitely made a positive impression on me. And I will stitch myself a mental note that this Raggedy Ann should never again show up hung-over for a first date. (Why didn’t my Mother ever teach me that?!)