Just because I've stopped writing about my dates doesn't mean I've stopped dating. #106 but who's counting?
I'm working on my book this morning - you know, cleaning it up for the public so they don't end up with this massive brain-dump of a blog that you've been subjected to for the past few years. But as I work through the manuscript this morning, I decided to do some arithmetic.
I started writing this blog two years ago with date #51. I was crazy about him. And after that - 54 dates later - here we are. Fifty-four first dates, and of those I've had a total of six men who I thought (on the first date) might be a potential for a real match.
For women who want to find "the one" and don't like dating, I'm sorry for the bad news. It looks like one out of every 10 has potential, and then the two of you have to sort out if you have your timing right.
Not good or bad, just noteworthy.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Date #101 - Last, But Certainly Not Least
His Age: 46
His City: San Francisco
Setting: “Writers With Drinks” at the Make-Out Room, Doc’s Clock, and The Beast & The Hare -- Mission district, San Francisco.
Can we have a little appreciation and acknowledgement for what I just accomplished, people? I completed what seemed to be impossible – 101 first dates. And this one was definitely worthy of my time and attention.
Our date was set for my favorite event, “Writers With Drinks” at the Make-Out Room. You might consider it a test date. If a man can’t hang here, he probably isn’t going to be able to hang with me. The writers are irreverent, bold, edgy, and usually read their books on sex, BDSM, or lesbianism, and sometimes on lesbian BDSM sex, in the case of this evening.
On 22nd street, in front of the old marquee, I stalled to read his texts to see he was already inside, had covered my admission into the club, and had secured two seats. A minute later, a new text: “You’ll be able to spot me easily – I’m the one with the jitters.” Learning this new information began to calm my trembling hands and wobbly legs. How could this be? How could I be so nervous? I just had to remind myself, I’ve done this before (100 times already).
I spotted him holding our two coveted barstools – cute! He quickly bought me a drink, and for the first few minutes he was unnaturally quiet – it was nerves. Sweet. We both relaxed pretty quickly and started exchanging stories before the show started. I found him smart, insightful, interesting and really funny. We both laughed at the same things when often other people didn’t – always a good sign.
He looks like Hugh Laurie, my go-to crush. He is so my type I considered not even attempting a date – chemistry is like crack, after all. My saving grace is he doesn’t sound or act like Hugh or, more importantly, his character, Dr. Gregory House. Having his very own personality gave me a shot at being myself instead of some odd and contorted version of something that might resemble me.
His formative years were spent in New Jersey, which gives him an accent. It’s slight, until he gets animated in storytelling, at which point it fills out. Then he talks about this mother and I wonder if I’m not sitting in her kitchen in Hoboken.
As the show wrapped up, I made quick introductions to old friends of mine, one of which was the bar owner. And I got to say “hi” to the world’s most adorable MC, Charlie Jane, also a highlight. And as everyone poured out of the club, we realized we weren’t done with each other - not quite yet.
Our next stop, Doc’s Clock. A woman looking much like Susan Sarandon’s twin sister with a little bit of Shelly Long thrown in for good measure asked what she could get us to drink to start us on what turned out to be the storytelling portion of the evening.
As we’d stumble onto taboo topics I’d get tentative and back off. Finally, he told me to knock it off – to trust him. That maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t judge me for what I wasn’t saying. So I went for it, often. We had all kinds of treacherous first-date conversations that should have killed any potential for a second date, and it all turned out just fine.
I feel safe with him. We talk, look into each other’s eyes, and kiss, then talk, look at each other, and kiss some more. We repeat this cycle several times. I love my life. Eventually, I look at my phone to check the time. It’s 1:30 AM. In horror, I realize the parking garage I used closed at midnight. BART stopped running at midnight as well.
“Can you drive me to my friend Melissa’s house? She has four children I’ll probably wake them all up. She won’t mind.” I say.
“I could, but I’d rather you stay with me. Don’t worry – we won’t have sex. I just want more time with you.”
What’s a girl to do?
In the morning, he told me I looked pretty without makeup. No one had ever said that to me. In that moment, it felt like one of the best compliments I’d ever gotten.
He was kind enough to lend me his red Converse sneakers, because I couldn’t bear putting on my knee-high, 6-inch-heel stripper boots for the “Walk of Shame,” which we renamed the “Walk of Pride,” on a Sunday morning. So in my short black dress, black tights and borrowed red Converse, I fit right into the Mission on a late Sunday morning.
After a tasty breakfast of chicken and waffles, he walked me to my car, kissed me goodbye and we parted ways.
Broken Rule #1: We discussed taboo topics I would normally save for much, much later: Things like I lead workshops about relationships and sex; I teach dating classes; he’s first date 101; I dance on a pole at the Power Exchange.
Broken Rule #2: I stayed the night at his house – on the first date (yes, I did). Hey – I was stuck! Don’t judge, and if you do, judge how pretty I look in the morning without any makeup.
P.S. An equally if not more successful second date has already taken place. I see a very nice little friendship here.
His City: San Francisco
Setting: “Writers With Drinks” at the Make-Out Room, Doc’s Clock, and The Beast & The Hare -- Mission district, San Francisco.
Can we have a little appreciation and acknowledgement for what I just accomplished, people? I completed what seemed to be impossible – 101 first dates. And this one was definitely worthy of my time and attention.
Our date was set for my favorite event, “Writers With Drinks” at the Make-Out Room. You might consider it a test date. If a man can’t hang here, he probably isn’t going to be able to hang with me. The writers are irreverent, bold, edgy, and usually read their books on sex, BDSM, or lesbianism, and sometimes on lesbian BDSM sex, in the case of this evening.
On 22nd street, in front of the old marquee, I stalled to read his texts to see he was already inside, had covered my admission into the club, and had secured two seats. A minute later, a new text: “You’ll be able to spot me easily – I’m the one with the jitters.” Learning this new information began to calm my trembling hands and wobbly legs. How could this be? How could I be so nervous? I just had to remind myself, I’ve done this before (100 times already).
I spotted him holding our two coveted barstools – cute! He quickly bought me a drink, and for the first few minutes he was unnaturally quiet – it was nerves. Sweet. We both relaxed pretty quickly and started exchanging stories before the show started. I found him smart, insightful, interesting and really funny. We both laughed at the same things when often other people didn’t – always a good sign.
He looks like Hugh Laurie, my go-to crush. He is so my type I considered not even attempting a date – chemistry is like crack, after all. My saving grace is he doesn’t sound or act like Hugh or, more importantly, his character, Dr. Gregory House. Having his very own personality gave me a shot at being myself instead of some odd and contorted version of something that might resemble me.
His formative years were spent in New Jersey, which gives him an accent. It’s slight, until he gets animated in storytelling, at which point it fills out. Then he talks about this mother and I wonder if I’m not sitting in her kitchen in Hoboken.
As the show wrapped up, I made quick introductions to old friends of mine, one of which was the bar owner. And I got to say “hi” to the world’s most adorable MC, Charlie Jane, also a highlight. And as everyone poured out of the club, we realized we weren’t done with each other - not quite yet.
Our next stop, Doc’s Clock. A woman looking much like Susan Sarandon’s twin sister with a little bit of Shelly Long thrown in for good measure asked what she could get us to drink to start us on what turned out to be the storytelling portion of the evening.
As we’d stumble onto taboo topics I’d get tentative and back off. Finally, he told me to knock it off – to trust him. That maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t judge me for what I wasn’t saying. So I went for it, often. We had all kinds of treacherous first-date conversations that should have killed any potential for a second date, and it all turned out just fine.
I feel safe with him. We talk, look into each other’s eyes, and kiss, then talk, look at each other, and kiss some more. We repeat this cycle several times. I love my life. Eventually, I look at my phone to check the time. It’s 1:30 AM. In horror, I realize the parking garage I used closed at midnight. BART stopped running at midnight as well.
“Can you drive me to my friend Melissa’s house? She has four children I’ll probably wake them all up. She won’t mind.” I say.
“I could, but I’d rather you stay with me. Don’t worry – we won’t have sex. I just want more time with you.”
What’s a girl to do?
In the morning, he told me I looked pretty without makeup. No one had ever said that to me. In that moment, it felt like one of the best compliments I’d ever gotten.
He was kind enough to lend me his red Converse sneakers, because I couldn’t bear putting on my knee-high, 6-inch-heel stripper boots for the “Walk of Shame,” which we renamed the “Walk of Pride,” on a Sunday morning. So in my short black dress, black tights and borrowed red Converse, I fit right into the Mission on a late Sunday morning.
After a tasty breakfast of chicken and waffles, he walked me to my car, kissed me goodbye and we parted ways.
Broken Rule #1: We discussed taboo topics I would normally save for much, much later: Things like I lead workshops about relationships and sex; I teach dating classes; he’s first date 101; I dance on a pole at the Power Exchange.
Broken Rule #2: I stayed the night at his house – on the first date (yes, I did). Hey – I was stuck! Don’t judge, and if you do, judge how pretty I look in the morning without any makeup.
P.S. An equally if not more successful second date has already taken place. I see a very nice little friendship here.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
My Uterus Rule
22-year-old boy-man writes:
"Hi, would you be interested in taking my virginity? If you are and want to see a picture of me then reply back I will send my pic over on here. I am a college student at UC Berkeley and I am a good looking white guy but am a virgin when it comes to sex and want to get some more experience. I am messaging you because I am seeking out a woman who will be more understanding. You are really beautiful btw"
I write: "Okay, thank you so much - how completely sweet! I have this rule, though. I call it the "uterus rule" and it goes like this: If you are young enough to come out of my uterus, you don't get to put anything of yours in it.
Sorry. I am sure there are many women out there who would love that chance to connect with you. You may do better in a bar, though.
Happy hunting.
Wendy"
(What he doesn't know is that in my family, he could almost be my grandson.)
"Hi, would you be interested in taking my virginity? If you are and want to see a picture of me then reply back I will send my pic over on here. I am a college student at UC Berkeley and I am a good looking white guy but am a virgin when it comes to sex and want to get some more experience. I am messaging you because I am seeking out a woman who will be more understanding. You are really beautiful btw"
I write: "Okay, thank you so much - how completely sweet! I have this rule, though. I call it the "uterus rule" and it goes like this: If you are young enough to come out of my uterus, you don't get to put anything of yours in it.
Sorry. I am sure there are many women out there who would love that chance to connect with you. You may do better in a bar, though.
Happy hunting.
Wendy"
(What he doesn't know is that in my family, he could almost be my grandson.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Wendy
- San Francisco, CA, United States
- Who am I? I am a retired dater. I sifted through the thousands of "matches" online; met strangers for coffee, a drink or a meal when really, mostly I wanted to be napping.
On the good dates, I loved the adventure and the thrill of not knowing how it would all turn out. The daydream of a possible shared future with this human.
On the bad dates, I was willing to take one for the team – for you - for your enlightenment and entertainment.
Through my trials and tribulations, self-expression and willingness to reveal raw human experiences and vulnerabilities, this blog was created.