Well, it’s Tuesday night here at Velvet in Dupont and we’re moving right along in “The Year of First Dates.” As I told the Queen of Quantity tonight at the gym, “If he gets a second date, it means someone else doesn’t get a first.”
I went out with the next victim tonight. My first clue something was amiss was the fact that he called last night to firm up plans and left a voicemail. Then he called again within the hour to leave almost exactly the same message over again, with painstaking details about when I could call him and on which phone numbers, until my voicemail cut him off. I wasn’t ignoring him, I left my phone on the charger while taking the doggies for a long walk. When I got home I saw his two missed calls, and he also had sent an email. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, something about if you see the email first then check the phone, anyway. I got the feeling he’s been stood up a lot, or had a lot of dating foul-ups because he was really on my ass to set up this date. Poor guy.
I spent today driving around Pennsylvania for work and learned why everyone I saw there is so obese. They actually had an 800 lb. butter sculpture in both the shapes of Ben Franklin and the Liberty Bell on display tonight at some fair. In a text exchange with Sixes and Sevens where I relayed this breaking news, she told me to stay and take a picture.
Velvet: I would, but unfortunately I have a date with another stalker-in-training tonight.
Sixes & Sevens: If he follows you home, come to my house instead.
Velvet: Historically I never find out that they are stalkers until it is too late.
So I met the date at Union Station and we journeyed into a restaurant and ate dinner at the bar. Other than our love of the Simpsons, we didn’t have a lot in common. We had a positively riveting conversation about how softshell crabs get soft – are they soft in the ocean or are they somehow treated to become soft. It was my job to google that. He’s another “D.C.” guy – can’t tell me anything about his work because it’s highly classified, and what he did tell me (which I forgot) was allegedly “too much” anyway. Okay. I shall take his word on it.
Anyway, he’s named UncomfortableLaugh3 because, you guessed it, at the end of every sentence he tosses in the uncomfortable laugh as his punctuation, heh heh heh. Even in sentences that are not funny, heh heh heh. They got the laugh, heh heh heh. Nice guy but not my type, heh heh heh. And I just checked my email and he’s sent something about the softshell crabs and asking me out for Saturday heh heh heh. But, the rule applies: If I give him a second date, that’s one less person who gets a first date heh heh heh. Oh, I never know what to say in these uncomfortable situations, heh heh heh. I could delay him for a while, or I could be direct and just say I had a nice time, but I don’t think we’re a match, heh heh heh.
While you’re mulling that over, and preparing to advise me what to do, let’s continue in the vein of uncomfortable emails. However, this time it is an email of the variety I don’t care to answer. HandUpTheBack2, if you recall, had texted as I left the bar Saturday night saying something about “And now?” I didn’t answer, because I was grossed out and I ended up on the phone with Sherlock. HandUpTheBack2 texted again in the morning about did he get a second chance. I didn’t respond to that either. Then he sent an email saying that he guessed we weren’t “on” for that night, and it was too bad because it could have been a lot of fun. I wrote back and said, “I think I would feel differently if you weren’t so affectionate with your hands last night. Good luck to you.” He responded again that he wanted another chance, but I filed him away and grayed out his line on my spreadsheet and moved him to the “DATED” section. Yes. I really have a spreadsheet. It’s a fruitful dating season. I have to do my best in the game, and coming prepared with the stats on the players helps, especially when I have three fucking men with the same fucking name. Fuck!
The Sherlock update is that he texted me on Sunday afternoon when I was napping, and then called and texted again a few hours later. I called him back when I woke up and he said he was in a bar and could he call me back. What I said was, “Sure.” But what I thought was, “Fuck that, you tried to get in touch with me three times, and me calling you is like a commodity these days since I barely do it, and you want to call me back?” So we hung up and I sort of knew this would happen – he walked right outside and called me back. I wondered if he was on a date, or just trying to make me think he was. In any case, he had a question about computers that I answered and we chatted briefly. He said he called earlier because he was hoping he could see me, that he missed me. That’s twice now, because as I went down for my nappy time I thought, “It sure would be nice to have Sherlock here now.” Then I slapped myself several times and punched myself in the face for even thinking it.
I texted Sherlock later that night and said (vaguely) that there was a Motorcycle Show at the convention center this weekend and maybe we could try going to that and see how it goes. He responded and said he would love it. Then I hopped in the shower and by the time I got out I had two texts and an email that he had found the info online and purchased tickets. That is so Sherlock. I’m sure he was thinking, “If I FIND the event online and actually BUY the tickets, she can’t back out.” Not like I can’t give him his $13 back, but still.
Date #4 of the Year of First Dates happens tomorrow night.