I find it sad that the sole stimulus for my own dating is due to a blog, because truthfully it’s the only thing at the moment pushing me out the door and into the arms of a single man.
That being said, last Saturday night I took another one for my online followers and met Bocher #2.
Prior to our date we exchanged the acceptable three message quota. I hotlisted, he messaged, and the fun began. His first email consisted of the typical reply to my despondent ‘about me’ section, which reads:
So, here's the deal, I gave this site a second chance, considering the first didn't go so well, but am sad to say that second chances just don't appear to be my thing. About me: I'm in graduate school pursuing an MFA in nonfiction writing. When I'm not writing or attempting to write witty essays, I'm either at the gym or with friends and family. I like to keep busy, and at the moment am doing an excellent job of doing so. I'd love to meet someone who respects me, gets me, and wants to want me. I've come to the conclusion that nice girls finish last, but hope that someday, someone will prove me wrong.
He responded with an, ‘I hope you haven’t given up yet. I’d love to chat, please respond if your time isn’t up.
It wasn’t the wittiest email I’ve received (one Bocher whose last name was Dore, commented that if we were to ever get married I might not want to take his last name), but physical attraction to the man who wore a baseball cap in two of his four pictures and looked more handsome than cute, more preppy than bad-boy, convinced me to write back, plus he was 30, thus fitting my age range of 27-around
34.(any single man over the age of 34 in desire of a 25 year old woman leads me to believe that he might be a paskudnyak (nasty fellow)).
Messages bounced back and forth. In one he mentioned that he’d moved to the area from Los Angeles in order to ‘start a career in international affairs,’ but in the proceeding one he revealed that he had lived in NYC the last year. The two didn’t quite equate, but I took it in stride and when he wrote, ‘I could show you at least one place that I like and that is easy going- the Brickskeller’ I replied coyly, ‘ So, are you asking me out on a date?’ He said yes. I gave him my number… He called…yadda yadda yadda.
After learning that I do not eat meat (I didn’t mention that I don’t drink beer) we decided to meet for Sushi at Sushi Ko , a restaurant in D.C. which he often frequented. The day of the date he texted me and said that we should probably ride together because parking ‘can be difficult.’ I assumed he was saying that he would like to meet at his place and ride together, which was a usual ‘no-go’ in my book of ‘what to do on the first date.’ No where in this ‘book’ did it say, ‘have him pick you up at your house,’ or ‘ride together to save fuel;’ instead, it read, ‘never have him pick you up at your place on the first date, he could be a stalker or a serial killer, and hence knowing your address could be bad,’ and ‘never ride together, one word, AWKWARD.’
But, I agreed to meet him at his apartment in Chevy Chase so he could drive us to the restaurant.
I arrived a little late and as I attempted to parallel park in a tiny space with my Honda Civic, I called to let him know that I was having trouble finding parking. He asked me if I was the car sticking all the way out onto the street, and I laughed, told him, yep, ‘I can’t parallel park, can’t really drive.’
Within seconds he appeared, looking very much like his pictures; handsome in a nice black wool coat, black dress pants and a stripped button down. He was also tall,
5’11.(check and check)
He told me to follow him and I could take his parking spot when we left. As he walked over to a number of cars, I wondered which was his. A man’s car says a lot about him. If he opened the door to the Lincoln town car on his right, I might assume it was his Bubbeh’s (grandmother), if he opened the car door to his left, a Volkswagen Beetle, I might have assumed that he felt comfortable in small spaces. Luckily, he opened the door of the khaki Jeep Wrangler, which said to me, ‘rugged, like a mountain man.’
On the way to the restaurant we bullshitted about our days. He told me that he was moving in a week because he couldn’t stand his upstairs neighbors loud foot stomping at 6 in the morning, and I concurred with his reasoning.
Once we arrived, I remembered that I’d been to the restaurant on another Jdate, and there was plenty of parking, plenty.
He’d made a reservation, but due to the small size of the restaurant, we still had to wait awhile to be seated. We sat in the corner and I learned that he’d gone to the University of California in San Diego and was in a fraternity, which led to us discussing fraternity life. I’d been in a sorority for 2 years at Auburn University, hated it, dropped out, and all in all wasn’t impressed by the experience. He understood, but had met some great guys in his and didn’t hate or love his fratastic years.
Finally, we were seated upstairs and he asked if I liked Saki. Considering, I’d been farshinkert (sloshed) on my first date with Bocher #1, and we all know how that ended, I decided to say yes, but only wanted a glass of wine.
I wasn’t quite sure what he did during the day (a.k.a. his job/ career), so, I decided to ask what a job in international affairs entailed.
He laughed and said,
‘Well, that’s what I’d like to eventually do, but due to the job market, when I got here no one was really hiring. So, when I passed by a shop with a ‘we’re hiring’ sign, I applied and got the job.’
‘And that job would be?’ I asked.
‘I work part time at the Fed ex Kinkos store.’
Now, I know I shouldn’t have judged because I work part time at Gymboree Play and Learn, making practically bupkis,(nothing) but I did, because two broke people does not equal a whole lot of gelt (money ); instead, two broke people equals a lot of dollar bills and no hundreds.
I continued to listen and gave him the benefit of the doubt. The economy sucks, at least he had a job at all, plus if I ever moved he could get me free boxes.
We gabbed about our aspirations, his ‘too work for an embassy or any form of international affairs, mine to ‘write something of substance, gain fame and fortune with a witty nonfiction book.’
Somehow the conversation steered towards expensive D.C. living, which led him to say:
‘I know it’s a faux pas to talk about an ex on a first date, but, last year when we lived together in NYC living was insanely expensive.’
I love it when people start off a sentence with statements such as ‘not to offend you or anything, but,’ or ‘I know it’s a faux pas but,…’ If you don’t want to offend me or you know it’s a faux pas then don’t say it, because you and I both know that what you are about to say is going to definitely offend me.
He then continued to talk about his ex-girlfriend for a good five minutes, and with the information I’d previously been given I concluded that they’d probably been broken up for about six months, hence there was no way he was over her, considering they lived together, and he most likely was simply looking for some toches (booty).
After the meal of one smoked salmon roll, one yellow tail nigiri, and one tuna nigiri, we walked to his car and he asked about us getting together again when he returned from his thanksgiving in Connecticut.
I said I’d like that and when he dropped me off at my car, I gave him a hearty hug, because I usually don’t kiss on the first date (unless I have been boozing) and he said he’d call me soon.
Besides for preventing a possible stalker situation, driving alone on the first date, allows you to review the dialogue, actions and intentions of the Bocher. Yes, he was a neshomeleh (sweet heart), opening my car door, telling me to tell him if I needed his coat if I were to get too chilly, but, unfortunately, all I could focus on was the faux pas, the ex.
I guess his thoughts were dissimilar to mine, because the next day I received a text from him which read:
‘Hi Dorie. Thanks again for coming out last night. I really enjoyed your company. I look forward to getting together again soon. Have a good Thanksgiving.’
I wrote back:
‘Yes, me too and thank you again for dinner. Hope you have fun in Ct and eat lots of turkey. You can tell me how it tastes when you return.’
Today, as I reviewed the texts, I noticed a red ‘x’ next to this outgoing message.
He never got the message.
Maybe, we won’t be going on that second date.