S: Ground Control to Major Tom

Ladies and gentlemen, we have achieved date liftoff.

I wasn’t rocketed into outer space or anything, but I didn’t lose my lunch on the launch pad either.

It was touch and go there for a while though. I’m not gonna lie. I spent the entire day working myself into a bit of a knot over the whole thing. I don’t know how I managed to make myself so nervous about it, but I’m adding “can freak herself out over nothing” to the list of skills on my resume. Anyway, I kept wondering if there was a way to get out of it, but no, there is a challenge at stake. And I refuse to be the first to throw $10 into the pot. I’m cheap like that.

(Date score: -5 for making me feel ooky)

At last the time had come. I know that if I’m not going to start things off on the right foot, I should at least start them off on the left foot, but instead, I decided to start them off on the wrong foot. Therefore, I left my house late. Because really, why should I leave enough time to get through rush hour traffic or conquer the trials and tribulations of parking? That’s what people who are good at dates do.

This meant that even before he had a chance to be impressed by me, I had to send January a text telling him I was running late. Of course, I am quite accustomed to tardiness. I have a tendency to be slightly behind schedule because I really don’t like being the first one anywhere. But I don’t like making people wait an inordinate amount of time for me, and the clock was creeping ever toward the 15-minute mark. Much like the traffic was creeping toward the…whatever it was that was making the traffic creep. Which was probably nothing. But, fine, whatever. Anyway, this kind of delay would only give him time to change his mind and leave, right? And now we’re right back to $10 in the pot.

(Date score: -3 because I’m already messing it up)

It gets better. Here’s the fun part. In a coincidental pre-date ice-breaker, we sent “I’m running a bit late” texts to each other at exactly the same time. And THEN, we sent “did we just send ‘I’m late’ messages at the same time?” messages to each other at…the…same…time. Yoiks! How cute is that?! Several degrees of cute, I tell ya’. And then at that point, he jinxed me and I’m pretty sure I still owe him a Coke. More cuteness.

(Date score: +9 for amusing anecdotal coincidence and common ground)

Bleep blooping (that’s my DVR noise) forward…I finally scored a decent parking spot and made my way to the booze house. (Oooh…they should call it that.) And much to my chagrin, I had arrived first. Seriously, I don’t know why, but I really don’t like being the first one there. I am destined never to claim land for my country or have the best seat at a new Star Wars release, that much I know.

(Date score: -5 because I so did not want to be first)

I had had just enough time to look sufficiently like I was waiting for someone and not like I was at a bar by myself like some kind of loser spinster when he arrived. It was probably a good thing that he wasn’t there first, because I don’t think I would have recognized him. That and I was standing right there by the door so he didn’t have an opportunity to run before I spotted him.

(Date score: +3 because it’s good I was first after all)

We sat at the nearest open table and a server arrived immediately to take our order. And then…stop the tape…the dreaded question was uttered. It was like she was saying it in slow motion as I listened to the sound of my pulse racing and my inner monologue freaking out and being no help what-so-ever. “Wooould yooooou liiiiiiike tooooo paaaaay caaaaash ooooor staaaaart aaaaaa taaaaaaab?”

And there it was. Out in the world. Like the diaphragm that just fell out of your purse in the school cafeteria and can’t be ignored.

(Date score: -15 for weird diaphragm-y moment)

I fully admit to not handling this well at all. Even in retrospect I cringe at how this went down and kind of want to write a check for the next 11 months so I don’t have to go through this again. I just don’t know if I’ll ever get past this pretense. But I have to learn, right?

So, o.k., let’s learn. Here’s how it happened. You be the judge of my mishandling.

The server had been speaking mostly to me. I think mainly because I was very confident in my drink selection and knew (because of previous discussions) that January wanted what I was having, so I…in my overly assertive and independent way…ordered for both of us. Bad move, Sheilsies. This meant her next question, the question, was then directed at me.

But I wasn’t ready! I hadn’t decided what to do in this situation yet. I don’t know when I was thinking I would decide but it was not at this moment. I needed liquor first. So, what did I do? I did what any other socially stunted 30-something spinster would do, I looked at January to see what he would do. Hesitation. That was his plan. Hesitate. Gauge my reaction. I responded in kind with more hesitation. It was like a little hesitation showdown. You could almost see a tumbleweed roll past. And then he pulled out his card and said to start a tab.

Done. Decided. I let him pay.

And I must admit, I feel kinda wrong for that. But my male BFF, with whom I conferred beforehand, said I should not. He said that it is universally understood that if January requested the meeting he should pay. Although, if this is the case, I don’t know why he hesitated. Was it because he too was unsure if we were on a “date?” Was he still thinking he might have an opportunity to cut and run if he did it right then? Did he not understand the question? Was he afraid he had forgotten his wallet? Did he think we were ordering an actual Tab? Well, whatever the reason, he manned up. And that was good.

(Date score: +13 for doing the socially correct thing)

After this awkwardness had passed, which it did quickly, we had a nice evening of conversation. I mean, it was fine. Nothing to write a blog about (like that would stop me), but good. There were moments of pause when I’m sure we were both thinking, “Umm…umm…umm…What should we talk about now?” You know that pause. But for the most part, there was no weirdness. We even bonded over a love of food seasonings. Which had the same degree of cute as the texting-at-the-same-time incident. But in the end, it was only o.k.

(Date score: +5 for decent conversation and food seasoning validation)

He did, at some point, order us an appetizer, which I did not request (having already saddled myself with the guilt of letting him buy the drinks), but helped choose and eat. And it’s good that he did, because it gave me an opportunity to do what I did next. I took advantage of that moment to bring up that I had dinner plans to get to after a bit, so I couldn’t eat too much. Or stay too long.

(Date score: +1 for food, because…well…it’s food, and the opportunity to skip out)

Yes, that was my very pansy way of making sure the date had an end. But you have to cut me some slack. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work with a “let’s grab a drink” kind of date. I mean, with a meal there is a specific end. Even with coffee, you go when you finish your coffee. But with drinks, you don’t know. You don’t have an out. You can’t just leave after you’ve had your drink. They bring you more. When does it end?

Because this quandary was haunting me, I actually attempted to set up a bail out dinner on the way to the date. That’s how “fail” I am at this. I attempted a bail out. (It’s like I’m the Goldman Sachs of dating or something.) But my friend was unresponsive and I had no out.

So…I lied. It was a really good and not blatant lie, so that makes it o.k., right? I was vague about who I was having dinner with, but very specific about the place. We even had a conversation about it. He totally bought it. Or, at least he pretended to. Maybe he needed an out too.

(Date score: -11 for me being a liar)

And that was it. A couple of drinks, an appetizer and then he made sure I left in time to get to my “dinner engagement.” He was polite enough not to keep me too long for my made up plans so that I could escape the date gracefully. AND, thank goodness he didn’t ask for another date while we were there. I think he maybe thought he should, but didn’t quite have the courage or couldn’t read the situation well enough to do so. Or, most likely, was sick of my crap and buying beer for me and was glad to be done with the whole ordeal. But this was good because I still have no idea how I would have responded. Most likely I would have moved in with him.

My final verdict is that I have no interest in him but he’s a decent guy to hang out with. I’d have a drink with him in a non-date setting and could even see fixing him up with the right girlfriend, should one present herself. So, my original assessment stands: Not interested, but a datable guy overall.

(Date score: +7 for being a datable guy and lucky enough to not be stuck with me)

He did email me the next day to say he realized he had never checked his watch or thought about a cigarette the entire time and we should do it again. I responded that it was fun and I’m always glad to keep someone from smoking (which is a HUGE deal breaker for me…but I bet I'll blog about that some other time) and I appreciated the drinks. And then I totally ignored the “we should do it again.”

Because, you know what? I don’t just live with cats, I am a cat. A ‘fraidy-cat.

(Final date score tally: -1 which means nothing because I forgot to set the curve)

So, that’s it. January has gone out of radar sight. Now, here’s hoping I can find 11 more gluttons for punishment.