Standards Met!

All that was on my mind for the 1.5 hours that I sat in a bar with my date last night was that I would have sex with him if he asked me to.

He had been in jail before, had a history of drug addiction (now clean), was an atrocious speller, lives in a sober house with three roommates, and makes about $25,000 a year.  A slough of dealbreakers for most women, but my readers know me well.  He was fun, and I was interested.

I have two standards that a man must meet to move on to another date:

1)  I have to want to have sex with them.
2)  I have to enjoy spending time with them when we don't have sex.

For the majority of dates, my minimal standards at not being met.  But this man was different.

He asked me if I'd ever consider being a stripper.  "I mean, it's not on my list of things to do, but I can't say I'd definitely never do it."

"So what are things you would never do?"

That is a tough question.  I don't like absolutes, and I'm down for most anything.

I paused for a solid twenty seconds.  "I'd never do heroin.  Probably wouldn't do meth either."

He didn't pause at all:  "Well would you do a heroin or meth user?"

Hot.

He reassured me that he'd never actually done heroin or meth, not that it mattered at this point.  It was the first time I'd felt any sort of connection from an OkCupid date, and I was not going to be picky about silly things like IV drug use.

I was, however, very concerned about his beard.  Could I ever kiss him?  Why men take a gorgeous face and cover it with facial hair, I will never understand.  Beards have been solid dealbreakers for me in the past, but having just signed a contract binding me to Seattle and its dating scene for two more years, I realize I have little choice in the matter.  Men in Seattle have beards.  I want to date men.  Until I leave this city, I have no choice but to adapt.










 

Fifty. First. Dates.

The man who became my 50th first date should have been my 38th.  He asked me out on OkCupid around the same time that the man I was dating last winter ended things because I "talk too much."  I agreed to meet up in February, and then he changed his mind:

"After I re-read our messages and mentally processed that you blog about dating in Seattle. I got to thinking, someone who blogs about about dating is probably not looking for something long term; which I am. I've been doing this online thing for about 8 months and I've noticed a lot girls (maybe guys too) don't take online dating seriously. I know that's painting you in broad brushstrokes, which is totally f'ed up. But over the last couple months my instincts have served me well."

Okay, no problem.  I knew he was wrong.  I AM looking for something long-term, but I wasn't going to argue.  We went our separate internet ways.

Then last week, I got another message from him:

"Oh, I remember you! I bounced on a date with you because you write a blog about Seattle dating... How's the blog coming?"

The blog is still going, and I am still dating.  "Did I miss my shot?", he asked. Nope, I give plenty of chances.  I agreed to meet up.

He was no dating virgin either.  In the last year he'd been on over twenty first dates, but we had different methods to the madness.  I search for chemistry, while he preferred to move slowly and see if a relationship naturally develops.  I think they are both reasonable approaches.  Relationships mean different things to different people and there is more than one way to build a future with someone, but one thing I have learned about myself is that if I don't want to take my clothes off on the second date, there is a problem.

We spent most of the date exchanging stories and sharing our disappointments.  "You know what's horrible?," he said.  "I don't even get excited about these any more.  When I first started I would get all nervous before meeting a girl and now it's just another thing to do.  I'm here with you now, I've got another one of these on Thursday, and I don't really care."

Fifty first dates.  Let's say that each date lasted approximately 1.5 hours.  That is 75 hours, over three days of my life, that I will never get back.  And what do I have to show for it?  A blog.

#50 and I had nothing in common besides crappy love lives, but he was still easily in the top ten first dates I've had in the last two years.  He could hold a conversation, he was funny, he was attractive, and I think he will ultimately find someone who fits him well. 

I gave him this website address, so he will read me publicly thanking him for a non-shitty Monday evening.  It wasn't a love match, but I have had far worse encounters.  I know he has too.

On to #51.

Latest OkCupid message:

Shalom. I've been scrolling people throughout the day, and yours stuck out as most interesting and attractive. It would be a treat to be able to correspond with you, possibly someday meet. I take things slow, but have a strong feeling we'd connect rather quickly. I think it would be great to see if I'm right. I'm as harmless as they come. Be well.

It is taking me all I have not to respond with all the reasons that he has horrible intuition about the "strong feeling we'd connect rather quickly."

To start, the message begins with an ancient Hebrew salutation that NO ONE USES any more except for people outside of Israel who don't speak Hebrew.

Then his username starts with the word "geek."

The first sentence of his profile references a "new found zest for life."  Blah.

He says that he could never live without his iphone.

He is 37 and says he is looking to date women ages 21-35.  Fuck that !  You can't date a woman your own age?

I'm gonna go sit by myself in a bar now.
 

Am I Undateable???

Is the question going through my head over the last week.  The man from speed dating never responded to my email and I sent out several OkCupid messages without hearing back. 

True statement: In the last 12 months I have slept with six men.

True statement: In the last 12 months I have held hands with one man. 

And so the insecurities that plague all single women in their thirties set in.  I need to lose weight.  I should be less slutty.  I should be more slutty.  I need to be more outgoing/quiet/artistic/scientific/geeky/chic/athletic.  I should get a PhD.  And an MD.  I'm only fluent in two languages- why don't I speak a third?...  No man is ever going to love me!!!

Then I calm the fuck down and remind myself of two things: 

1)  I am awesome.

2)  With one unfortunate exception, my exboyfriends are awesome.  And so is the man from New York who was only man in the last year to hold my hand.

It has been two years since I was in a relationship, but finding a partner takes time when the standard is awesomeness.