Four Dates, One Man

First dates hardly even count.  My friend and I have joked that when you're internet dating, you should really just meet on a street corner, introduce yourself, and exchange business cards so you can contact each other if you're interested.  Within ten seconds of meeting we know if there is a potential connection, and we could all save a lot of time by keeping the first interaction to a minimum.

Second dates are made to seal the attraction.  If two people aren't picturing each other naked, it's best to cut the two date loss of time and move along.

Third dates are for getting naked.  Often it ends there.

By the time two people agree to a fourth date, things are moving along.  The fourth date doesn't imply a relationship, but it allows the right to claim "I've been dating someone," which is a pretty big deal in my world.  Four dates in, hot topics have already been covered: religion, past relationships, drug use, whether or not you want a family...  Two people know they like each other, so potential dealbreakers are laid on the table.  The only thing left to do with four dates under your belt is to try to answer the question, with each subsequent interaction, "Do I want a relationship with this person?"

On that account, I am still undecided.  It's only been four dates for crying out loud!  But I'm interested enough to give it an honest shot and see where this apartment building romance goes.

For the first time since May 2011, I deactivated my OkCupid account.






 

Photographer

Photographer and I slept together for about six weeks, and he grew on me.  While we never technically went on a second "date," we would spend the night at each other's homes and developed a nice level of intimacy.  I felt comfortable with him, and I think he felt the same about me.  We both led our own lives and went about our routines independently.  We did not invite the other out on Saturday nights, but we knew that we'd be there for each other when we were drunk at 1 am and wanted company.  He cared enough about me to drive me home the next morning but not enough to make breakfast together.  I couldn't tell if our arrangement relieved or disappointed us.  We both deserved more, but did we want it from each other?

Above all, I loved that he was drama-free.  He didn't care if I dated other people, didn't bombard me with text messages, didn't smother me.  He has a friendly relationship with his child's mother and pays his child support without complaining.  When I think about what I want in a partner, this essential quality comes to mind.

So when I sent him a Facebook message tonight letting him know that I met someone else who I'm going to pursue, I started crying.  I was certain it was fine to end our non-relationship booty calls over social media, but I was shocked at how much it upset me.  I'm sure he was a little disappointed, but shedding tears?  Highly doubtful.

True to his character, he was understanding and avoided drama.

"Oh no worries at all. Thanks for letting me know. We should absolutely keep in touch! Don't be a stranger if I see you around."

It made me miss him more.  Great guy, just not the one for me.
 

The First Date

The man who I met on Superbowl Sunday showed up to our first date wearing flannel, bearded, AND sporting a brand new nasal fracture that he acquired while overzealously celebrating the Seahawks' victory.  And you know what?  I didn't even care.  It was a damn. good. time.

Conversation was easy from the beginning, and I wasn't awkwardly looking at the time on my phone or planning my escape route.  He was smart, funny, outdoorsy, and creative, and while I've never cared much about the educational background of my dates, having a degree from an Ivy League college certainly doesn't hurt.

I couldn't believe how well the date was going, and I thanked God for giving me the drunken courage to ask strangers ridiculous questions about sports games.  Then in the middle of the date, he asked me where I lived in the neighborhood.

"On 13th, in between Republican and Harrison."

His eyes popped open.  "What building?"

That was when we discovered that my best first date EVER in Seattle has lived one floor below me in my building ever since I moved here in 2011.

That's right.  Three years, sixty two first dates, and hundreds of hours wasted on boring-as-fuck men culminated in a fantastic date with my downstairs neighbor who I met at a bar.  I don't believe in fate, but WOW does the world work in mysterious ways. 

"Pinky swear," he said as he offered his little finger, "that whatever happens we'll still be cool if we see each other in the building." 

We pinky shook.

The decision to walk me home was easy, and going up the hill to our apartments he stopped in the sidewalk, held my hand, and kissed me.   It was the first date I've always wanted in Seattle: the chemistry, the conversation, the passion, the possibility that something might actually develop, that I could stop blogging and be content in a meaningful relationship for the first time in so long.

We ended up in his apartment making out, talking, watching Olympics, and making out some more.  Then I walked upstairs- fifteen seconds- to my own bed and fell asleep.

And they lived happily ever after???
 

Still Seattle, Still Awkward

Meanwhile, in OkCupidland, the men are still totally weird and socially inept.  I walked past my date who I just went out with 2 weeks ago (Bar Sue has the best gin and tonic ever!!!) and would have said hello if he hadn't gone out of his way to avoid all eye contact and pretend that he was completely fascinated by the scenery in the opposite direction. 

Okay, you hated the date with me.  I get it.  Now want to be an adult and say "hi" since we live in the same neighborhood and might run into each other occasionally? 

Then even better, I got a message from a man who I went out with in June.  I'd had what I would describe as an above average time- no clear sparks but I would have gone out again had he asked.  I never heard from him again, that is, until this week, when I got the following message:

"I super wanted to make out with your sexy self ages ago, then we lost contact. What happened?"

 

I responded by stating exactly what happened:

 

"I sent you a text message saying I had a fun time, then I never heard from you again so I assumed you weren't interested. Should I have interpreted the lack of followup as you wanting to make out with me? 

Anyways, I'd be down to hang out again if you want."

He never responded and promptly disabled his OkCupid account.

Will the man who I met on Superbowl Sunday put an end to this madness?  First date tomorrow!

 

Meeting People the Old-Fashioned Way

If there is one thing that I'm decent at with dating, it would be meeting men off the internet.  When I break down my dating statistics, I count that at least 20 of the 61 men I've gone out with in the last 3 years were met offline.  That's almost 33% of my first dates, or a date not from a website every 2 months.  Not too shabby for a city with a social scene characterized by the infamous "Seattle Freeze."

So yesterday, when all of Seattle was gathered within a 30 foot radius of any given television screen, I devised a sophisticated, 3-step plan:  1) Drink alcohol.  2) Watch football.  3) Meet men.

I strategically positioned myself at the bar next to two men around my age, both of whom appeared to be straight and one of whom was attractive.  Neither one of them paid much attention to me for the first half of the game, but I was on a mission and I was not going to give up.  During the halftime show, the cute one looked bored and was playing on his phone.  It was now or never.  I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a question about the game?"

"Sure!"  he said.

"I didn't understand that first thing that happened at the beginning of the game, when the ball went backwards and the Seahawks scored a two point touchdown." 

You can laugh all you want, but that won't change the fact that it started a conversation.

"It's called a 'safety'," he began, then launched into an incomprehensible explanation of rules of a sport that I didn't care about before January 2014.

"Thanks, that was really helpful!  I got it now." 

"No problem," he said with a smile, and as he put his hand on my shoulder I knew I was in.

The game went on.  We talked during the commercial breaks and high-fived each other with every awesome Seattle play.  Then it ended, as all football games do, and it was time to make it or break it.  Would he ask for my number?  I was hopeful.

"Well it was really nice meeting you," I said.  Do you come here often?  I'll probably see you around."

"Yeah, I live just a few blocks away.  I do come here a lot, but if you want, maybe we could exchange numbers and see each other again."

Did you think I sounded like a total idiot asking about a "two point touchdown"?  Mmmmhmmm.  Well how do you like them apples?!?

An hour later I was celebrating with the masses in the Pike/Pine corridor, dodging fireworks in the street, hugging passengers hanging out of car windows, and screaming Sea-HAWKS as though I had been following this team my entire life, when I received a text message:

"This is C____.  Was great meeting you.  What a night!  Cheers!!"