A Single Gal’s Friday

blox pix woman vacuuming

It’s Friday about 1 p.m. and I’m cleaning the house in between giving myself both a manicure and a pedicure (the clear polish I’m using signals low anticipation of my date tonight). The mani-pedi specifics determine the level of interest I’m feeling for a pending first date.

Clear polish indicates the lowest level of excitement (unless I’m in a clear polish phase). A salon mani indicates a relatively high level of interest and a salon mani-pedi combo is the equivalent of …well, let’s just say my hormones are geared up. Men, don’t worry, this post isn’t all about manicures.

Sit down and have some of Jose Andrés’ gazpacho while we analyze Friday’s timeline.

Let’s back up from the mani-pedi/house cleaning frenzy to the day’s beginning:

6:00 a.m.: I make coffee and read the Times on my iPad. I’m distracted from the latest Administration fiasco by wondering whether Mr. D, the guy I’m supposed to meet that evening, will confirm our date or fade away. Our last communication was 3 days ago so I’m not sure of the status. As you may recall, I’ve been burned before.

9:20 a.m.: Showered and dressed, I’m packing up my stuff for the gym when my phone beeps that I have an email. Yes, it’s Mr. D, confirming our 5 p.m. date and saying he’s looking forward to meeting me. E-mail has been our primary form of communication. We haven’t spoken on the phone though we have exchanged cell numbers. I no longer require a pre-date phone call and, as it turns out, it wouldn’t have made a difference in the outcome.

9:45 a.m.: Working out – it’s cardio day and I’m taking a little break from swimming to give my arms a rest so I pound away on the low impact cardio machine while listening to tunes on RockMyRun.

10:45 a.m.: Run errands, none of them relevant to the dating life. No meet cutes to report but a yummy taste of fresh bread from the local bread store.

11:30 a.m.: Back home for a lunch of that gazpacho.

Let’s return to the cleaning/home nail salon activities. Here’s the deal with cleaning my house before a first date. Although I have never brought someone to my home at the end of a first date/meeting, lately I’ve been cleaning my house “just in case.” Just in case I meet someone who stirs up so much mutual chemistry that we must end our evening at my house. So I vacuum, clean the bathrooms, hide any evidence of my blog, and turn on my bedroom’s ambient lighting (eclectic electric lamps and candles). Somehow this exercise, even though I know it’s likely futile, makes me feel better – like there’s a possibility of romance and sex and who knows what else.

The reality is, since my divorce, first dates haven’t led to this outcome…but one never knows and I think I may be at a place (and at an age), where the pluses of such an encounter might just outweigh the potential minuses.

3:00 p.m.: I shower, reapply my makeup, and totally change my planned outfit for this evening – opting for black jeggings and a silky top (more casual than my original choice of a black skirt/blouse combo).

Mr. D suggested I choose our meeting place. I picked a laid back bar/restaurant. I try to mix up first date locations for the wait staff’s sake as well as my own. I base the choice of a casual or more formal venue on my sense of what might work best with a particular man (of course I have to like the place too).

4:45 p.m.: It’s raining like crazy as I drive to our date – slight butterflies, but mostly trying to maintain hope that this, my 100th give-or-take first date, will be a good one.

5:00 p.m.: I pull into the parking lot – right on time. Before I open the door, Mr. D calls me on my Google Voice number. Our first conversation – and it’s to tell me he’ll be 15 minutes late since he forgot his phone and had to return home to get it. Sigh. I tell him I’ll meet him inside. At least he doesn’t have a thick accent from his home state of New Jersey.

5:15 p.m.: It’s still pouring rain and I’m sitting in the last booth by the bar. I’m drinking a happy hour white wine, checking my phone for any updates from Mr. D, and looking at every single male who walks in the door. There’s a man who looks 80. That better may not be him! Phew, he keeps walking.

5:30 pm.: Okay, he’s now officially 30 minutes late and I’m trying to be calm. The waitress, sensing my frustration, tells me that rain and flooding are impacting traffic. I take another sip of pinot grigio, respond to a text from my brother, and note that there’s absolutely no one of interest sitting at the bar.

5:36 p.m.: I see a man enter the front door. He’s unattractive, definitely not 6′, walks rather stiffly, and appears to be wearing a “company” work shirt.  Oh, good, he’s leaving…wait, he’s taking out his cell phone to make a call. Yep, my phone is ringing. I tell Mr. D where I am (he apparently doesn’t text as I had sent him a text with my whereabouts) and he lumbers over to the booth.

Sigh. I would never have guessed that the man before me is the same one I’ve been communicating with on OurTime. Ladies, and gentlemen, I’m sure you have faced this situation before. You try to hide your utter disappointment at the disconnect between someone’s profile photos and the flesh and bone person in front of you. You have two choices: make the best of the situation or be a total bitch/dick, make an excuse and leave immediately. I try to make the best of it and stay for at least 30 minutes. I can talk to most anyone for 30-45 minutes. I draw on my journalism training and ask questions.

Mr. D is at least a nice man and makes an effort to get to know me. I stay for almost an hour (remember I waited 30+ minutes for him) but decline a second drink or any food. Side note: I’ve learned to not order food in these situations. Inevitably, the conversation stalls and you still have to eat/wait for the bill, etc. Mr. D plans on having another beer. He refuses my offer to pay for my wine and stands up to shake my hand (!) as I prepare to leave. Our height disparity is clear. “You’re tall!” he says. Yes, I think, as I remember that his profile promises a man who’s a full 2 inches taller than me.

6:45 p.m.: Home. Eating a sandwich made with bread from the bread store, and glad I don’t have to eat with Mr. D.

8:30 p.m. Looks like a Netflix night. It’s the premiere of The Incredible Jessica James and I’m loving the opening scene with actress Jessica Williams being brutally honest with a first Tinder date. Nothing like a funny movie to help soothe your disappointed heart.

9:30 p.m. My phone beeps with an email from Mr. D. (He definitely doesn’t text.) He writes that he enjoyed meeting me and hopes to see me again. I’ll email him tomorrow to say: I enjoyed meeting you too but, sorry, I don’t think we’re a match. At this moment, I’m more interested in what happens to Jessica.

Until next week, happy dating or not dating.

XXXOOO

Nadia

The Letdown

Blog post couple running

I’m in a bit of a letdown mode right now after a much-anticipated first date that fizzled.

Have a slice of chocolate cake with me. Nutrition can be damned today since I need some chocodorphins (endorphins created by chocolate).

It’s not that the date was terrible but the meeting revealed a lack of truth in advertising.

I matched with Mr. J on Tinder. He had zero profile information but a nice face. In one of his pictures, he sat in front of a microphone. It appeared he was a newscaster or radio personality. This was one reason I didn’t feel it was essential to talk to him on the phone before meeting. I assumed he did not have a voice like Truman Capote though there are some annoying “radio voices” out there.

He started our conversation with “Hi.” I had little to go on so I asked him whether he was a radio newscaster or played one on TV. The texting took off from there and didn’t stop until we met 24 hours later. It turns out he is in radio though not in my hometown so I had not heard him on air.

We acquired a brief sense of each other: marital history, Pandora stations we listen to, and what we like to do in our free time. I also learned that this was his first day on Tinder. Many men say, “I just joined.” But I believed Mr. J. He’d been divorced awhile and done online dating but hadn’t joined what he thought was a hook-up APP. I assured him it didn’t have to be and when he asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing on Tinder?” I pointed out that my profile specified I was not looking for a hookup.

We flirted, one of my favorite aspects of dating. And, there were no dick pix! Plus Mr. J was polite. After the first few texts, he said he was about to sit down to dinner with his son and asked if he could text me later. I almost fainted. Most men just stop mid-text with no warning and no (or a sorry) explanation if they resumed the chat.

After Mr. J’s dinner, he jumped back online and we texted and flirted until my fingers started to cramp up. The interlude ended with a plan to meet for a drink the next evening.

Before we said good night, Mr. J said he felt butterflies as a result of our virtual encounter. I acknowledged having them too. You know the kind of butterflies – good ones that mean you’re excited about someone.

The next day I was an energizer bunny. I decided to take advantage of that electrical buzz that comes from an anticipated first date and clean my house from top to bottom. That’s what awesome texting chemistry can do for you.

I didn’t have time to get a mani-pedi but I dressed carefully and — even though I’m a half-inch taller than Mr. J — decided to wear heels.

I got to the restaurant bar first. I only had a 10-minute drive; he had 60 minutes. I ordered a glass of wine, which did wonders for my first date nerves. There was a cute younger guy sitting at the bar alone but I deliberately did not make eye contact since I was waiting for someone.

Mr. J arrived. Oh. A quick once-over revealed a very unfit, overweight man. Nice face but not my physical type. Hopes dashed. This is a deal breaker for me. I’m fine with a little belly and I don’t seek perfection but when a man has truly let himself go, I just can’t be attracted.

I spend a considerable time working out at the gym, swimming, walking, and eating healthy (aside from the occasional chocolate cake lapse-see above) so I need someone who’s on that same page and whose appearance reflects that.

So, like so many of life’s disappointments, you just have to muddle through. We had a nice hour-long chat but there was no flirting. When I returned from a restroom break, Mr. J said he should probably head back home.

Later that evening, he texted me to say he arrived safely. Then he wrote, “I have this feeling you did not feel a spark.” “Sadly, that is true,” I replied. “I wish it were otherwise because I think you’re a great guy.” He thanked me and wished me luck. Polite to the end!

The next morning I was a used up energizer bunny – woefully in need of a charge. That’s what the rollercoaster dating life can do to you. I made a sign and put it on my desk:

Blog pix Ask for recent full body pix

 

 

It’s been a couple of days and I’m back to my upbeat self – helped by a couple of irons in the fire.

Until next week, happy dating or not dating. Or, as a new friend says, “happy solo honoring time.”

XXXOOO

Nadia