Pacific Inn Pub

Once again, the best thing about my date was the bar we went to.  It was a solid dive in Fremont that I would highly recommend.  The menu says they have Sunday breakfast for $6.75!!!  I always try and get something positive out of my dates, and the bar was it.

#70 showed up in- you guessed it- flannel!  I already was disinterested, then he opened his mouth.

"So you work at a community health center?  That must be so hardcore!"

I stared him down, knowing exactly what he meant but being so pissed off that I wanted to put him on the spot.

"What do you mean by 'hardcore'?"

He dug himself deeper.  "I mean, don't get me wrong, I think the work you do is amazing!  It's just, you must see a lot of mental illness and stuff.  I mean, I think mental illness is a huge issue that needs to be addressed.  It's something I care a lot about on a personal level- I mean, not PERSONAL, but it's something I'm passionate about.  There's a huge need for mental health care, which is causing so many of the healthcare disparities..."

Just shut the fuck up.  I checked out immediately and spent the next two hours of my life wondering how I am ever going to connect with a man in this city, the American bastion of liberalism, where everyone claims to be progressive but thinks anyone who makes less than $30,000 is exotic.  Ironically, I went out with this man specifically because he mentioned "social justice" in his profile.  I really couldn't care any less about a man's theories on poverty and service on boards of non-profits.  Can he talk with a person from a different background without feeling like he's dangerous and edgy?  That's what I want to know.

I finished my beer and he ordered another, turning a 60 minute date into 120.  I need to start being bitchier, I thought, or stop wearing makeup to these things.  He walked me to my car and said "Thanks for the great conversation!"  I wanted to cry.

71 is inevitable, looming on the horizon like a rainy, Seattle winter.

Again, What's Important

I caught my brother and his fiancé up to speed on my dating life over lunch last week and emphasized, "Can you please not tell our parents about this?"

"There is NO WAY I would tell Mom and Dad," my brother said, "mostly because I don't want to have to deal with all the questions they would ask."

So let me explain again, because I have new readers, how Crazy Chinatown Man made it through my dating filter after admitting to being on an antipsychotic during our first date THAT HE DOESN'T REMEMBER and then binge-drinking and drugging his way through our next six, 15 months later. 

There is a method to the madness.  I AM looking for something serious, and a man needs to have a few key values for that to happen.

1)  Community.  And by community, I don't mean White thirty-somethings who live in Seattle and get together for vegan, gluten-free potlucks.  I have always been attracted to men who navigate cultural and socioeconomic differences with ease.  Can he speak another language?  Does he have friends from different backgrounds?  If I were to take him to my workplace, would he notice that most of my coworkers are women of color who had their first child before graduating high school, or would he notice that most of my coworkers are intelligent, passionate, kind, and fucking rockstars?

2)  Social justice.  There is nothing that makes me want to exit a date more than when I tell a man what I do for a living and his response is, "Wow, that's really admirable."  Caring and advocating for the most vulnerable people in our society should be normal, and if he thinks that is something that deserves extra respect or admiration, we will never connect.

3)  Fun.  This is, clearly, a recurring theme in my blog.  But life is stressful, yo!  Last week, I had to walk into a room and tell a 12 year old boy and his father that the mass on the child's shoulder is bone cancer and, P.S., he doesn't have health insurance and needs some.  The three of us cried in the room together and then I sobbed alone at my desk for a good ten minutes more before needing to move on to another patient.  That night I went home, got stoned, drank 2 glasses of wine, and popped some Xanax.  Life can be so sad!  People lose jobs, lose parents, get sick, have accidents...  I need a partner who can have a good time and weather those moments with me.

There are some things that are notably absent from my dating criteria: 

Education level, salary, career, religion, ability to be monogamous, past marital status, parental status.  Criminal records.  Drug use.  While I spend every summer weekend in the mountains, outdoorsy isn't part of my criteria.  Neither is travel experience, although I have lived abroad several times.  It's not that I don't pay attention to these or that they don't matter, but they don't make or break my ability to love someone, and none are dealbreakers.

Crazy Chinatown Man made the cut, as did three men who I fell in love with over the years and a few others along the way.  Know anyone else, Seattle?  I'm headed out on my 70th first date next week, might as well make it 71.

New Game

Let's play a game called "What drugs do men take before writing me OkCupid messages?"

"Hi! My name is Nick. You are really beautiful! Can we get together to see if we have a connection? Lets do something fun together. We should go for a walk, movie, coffee or something fun. You can call/txt me anytime 206 8-- 3-9-. Do you have a contact # I can have? Sorry if I was rude in any way. I like your pics and profile. When are you available to hang out? Do you drive? I look forward to hopefully meeting you some time. Hope your having an awesome day. Call/txt or message me :) "

I vote a winning combination of Adderall and cocaine.





 

New Batteries

Crazy Chinatown Man and I last saw each other ten days ago.  He'd spent the night on a Sunday, and I had to rouse him from his Xanax-and-alcohol-induced-slumber so I could make it to work on time.  Three days later I hadn't heard from him, so I sent him a text.

He responded less enthusiastically than in previous weeks.  Messages continued over several days, but I detected a distant tone.  I was confused.  He seemed uninterested, yet he gave me just enough response to keep me coming back for more.  At one point I was ready to give up and call it a wrap, but he followed up a seemingly apathetic text with "you suck cock pretty nicely," and I realized that, at least on some level, he was engaging.

I asked him to hang out on a Friday.  He said he was sick.  Then he sent a message the next day saying he was headed to Portland.

"Are you back yet?", I wrote on a Monday.  The answer was no, without any follow-up about when he might return or if he wanted to see me again.

I was agitated.  I felt that seven dates in, with bodily fluids exchanged, I deserved more clarity.  I ruminated about what I should write to him to make it clear I needed straightforwardness.

"I want to convey," I told my friend M, "that I had a fun time and am interested in seeing him again in ANY context- dating or friendship- but also that I deserve honesty and that I kind of think he's a dick for not just leveling with me about what's going on."

"That's way too complicated," she advised.  "Keep it simple and don't seem crazy."

With the help of a 22-year-old representative for the male species named Sam who we roped in at a bar, we composed and recomposed the perfect message:

"Hey, I just wanted to check in with you because it seems like you've lost interest.  I've had a great time with you I've had a fun time hanging out with you but if you don't see this going anywhere, that's cool want to keep seeing me please let me know."

"Hey J______, thanks for the good dates times these last couple of weeks.  I've noticed a lack of communication recently which leads me to believe you're Haven't heard from you in about a week, just wondering if you'd like to go out again.  Just let me know."

"Hey, it seems like you've lost interest.  If that's the case, can you let me know so I can go back to masturbating about Matt Damon Charlie Sheen?"

I didn't send any of them.  They all seemed bitter and needy, while I was neither.  Somehow, with one simple text, I needed to seem casual, flirtatious, and easygoing, with no neuroses about dating whatsoever. 

I repeat: no neuroses.  I'm not neurotic.  I would never sit down and plan out multiple versions of a possible text message because that would be crazy.  Right?!?

M and I switched locations and consulted a legitimate dating expert: our friend's boyfriend, the bartender at Rione XIII.  If there is anyone who knows the ins and outs of cross-gender communication, it would be someone who liquors people up for a living.  He thought about it for a moment and then delivered:

"So is this going somewhere, or do I need to buy new batteries?"

I typed it in and hit "send."  I wasn't nervous at all.  In so few words, everything I wanted was communicated.

He responded an hour later.

"New batteries may be in order.  I'm down here still because I got that job offer in Salem and am taking it.  I'm happy about that, but these sorts of texts are sad!"

It was just what I needed to hear, and I sighed relief with the clarity.  I told him I was happy for him and that I'd had a really, really nice time.

"I did too :-)"

Will I ever see him again?  I don't know.  I told him I would like to say goodbye when he comes back to Seattle to move out, and he said he would like that too.  But part of me wants to keep those happy moments in my memory, unchanged, with no associated regret of what might have been.  I want to remember him crooning a cheesy love ballad at karaoke in Bush Gardens, teaching me the importance of castling in chess, staring out the window of my apartment imagining the city of Seattle covered in stalactites and stalagmites... 

I want to remember how he held my hand before we ever kissed and how we had sex the first time, completely sober.