I WANT MY BABY BACK
(or at least a second date)
Benjamin Kissell
"Welcome to the home of the babyback ribs, I'll be your waitress this evening
and please do remember, 'tipping is not a city in China'."
I should have known better than to say 'yes' when he asked me out - my best friend had called dibs on the tall, auburn-haired 'boy-next-door' several weeks prior. I should have known it was 'too good to be true' when a guy relatively close to my age, with a job [sad that I have to state this ] asked me out.
I should have put two and two together when I was told he spent a lot of time on Grindr [I'm one of the five gays who isn't on there].
And I really should have taken the fact that he was besties with every. single. one. of the bar-hopping, drink-toting, skanky guys in-town I avoid like the plague. [Hi out there if you're one of the local gays reading this, I didn't mean you, I mean every other guy in your circle of friends.]
In short ... bitch should have just said "no".
His name was Dan, and being the fool that I am I accepted his friend-request on facebook and ... mortal sin that it was, said yes when he asked on a date.
True, part of the acceptance lay in the fact that the boy was cute as pie [and probably easier than kindergarten math] on top of my being date-less for nigh unto 5 months ...
Trust me, I am NOT nice when I've been attention starved.
Hell, I'm not all that funny, either.
..................................................
I hemmed and hawed for three days, mulling over the implications of a first date - would he think I was too much? too forward? too loud? too gay? too old? too sexual? not sexual enough? etc etc etc - and the best-possible locations for it (throwing the what to wear dilemma to the back of my mind).
We both worked in shopping centers about a mile from one another and, through texts, agreed to meet at the Chili's up the hill for a first date; and we would go "Dutch". [For those of you born after 1990, that means you both pay your way. Thank you Women's Lib! Who pays is one of the most annoying questions in gay dating ... at least in my experience; it ranks right up there with how to tip the cute waiter and slip him your phone number without your date noticing.]
"Oh gawdd, what the flaming fuckball hell should I wear, Nate?! I don't have anything I look good in!" I practically wailed into the phone a mere 45 minutes before I was due to step out of my car at the restaurant.
Ignoring the shameless ploy for empty appeasing plattitudes, he sighed. "Just wear something flattering and simple." Pausing for emphasis, "but not something which draws attention to your crotch."
Tossing sweaters, aging Hollister/Hot Topic/Abercrombie & Fitch/Banana Republic/American Eagle tees [why yes, I deftly ignore the 'dress your age' decree] and shredded jeans into heaps on my bedroom floor, I plop down in my computer chair.
"Everything I own is either too young for me or too sexual ... or shit I wear to work."
"Well, yes, it probably is." [ouch] "But, there has to be something you can wear in there. What about your new brown cardigan?"
Ooh, I hadn't thought about that. I loves me some pseudo-preppy clothing. There's something about the frat boy meets geek chic look that has always felt right ... unfortunately, hipsters [and I does NOT loves me some hipsters] have ruined the joy in so much of what I wear. Assclaps.
Maybe if I layer the cardigan over a simple brown button-up collar and pair them with my flattering [and despite Nate's advice rather ... uhm, 'flattering' below the waistline] pinstripe jeans and oh-so-loved Calvin Klein dress shoes. Not too too, not too hipster-douchey, not too much.
Between Nate texting me off the ledge and my doing the too-tight-jeans-shimmy I soon found myself wedged into my decidedly perfect first date outfit and ready for the fireworks to start.
..................................................
Okay, aside from the physical chemistry there are no fireworks.
A lackluster dinner [who the fuck's idea was it to come to Chili's? Can you name a restaurant that screams SEXY less? Aside from Waffle House, I can't] melded with lukewarm conversation.
Between his slow-to-build (so fucking slow-I-could-go-out-and-build-an-actual-mansion) stories and my Jerry Lewis-like nervous attempts to fill in the blanks [bullets are fired with less force than my quips] and not be super-obvious about undressing him with my eyes [and avoiding the actual act of undressing him with my hands at the dinnertable] conversation was stilted. Yet, sadly, I counted this as a success. He reached across the table and held my hand momentarily - and yes, I squealed on the inside.
Beside a chaste cheek kiss at our cars as the wind blew, we both played it cool as we made tentative plans for a second date.
Tossing my jacket and cardigan in the passenger seat, I drove over to give a blow-by-blow to Nate at work and figure out how best to proceed - eventually deciding [Nate's guiding hand] not to be overly eager and to leave the ball in his court.
..................................................
He hadn't called me back a week later.
Another four days after that he texted me - explaining he'd been "camping" with his family [yeah, mmhmm. My friends on Grindr swore that day in/day out he was a mere 3 miles away the whole time - friends, they'll look this shit up for you] and soon asked if I wanted to skip ahead of our next date and, instead, just hook-up.
On the one hand, do I seem so cheap that I'll toss out an adequate date for some quick sex? On the other, he is pretty damn cute [and easy, don't forget easy]. On one hand I'm pushing 30 and I really should be aiming for looking for depth and a relationship. On the other, he is pretty damn cute [and let's not forget, easier than twist-off lid.]
And on one hand, I'm better than that. *sigh*
Instead, I listened to that quiet, nagging voice [*cough* Nate's *cough*], said 'No' and deleted him from facebook and my cell.
Who'd have guessed it - I learned something.
Recent Comments