Sophomore Slump
Well, kids, I went out on a follow-up date with old Earnesto about a week and a half ago, but I've been too busy to write about it. So here it is, in all its banality:
The Second Date is always bad. I don't know what it is about the second date, but you start to notice all the bad things about the person you were too excited to notice on the first date, but the "getting to know you" awkwardness still abounds.
Earnie and I met for drinks at a bar in his neighborhood. I made sure to tell him I'd be in his 'hood anyway, so that he would have to do the ask-back. I hate doing the ask-back, but my desperation requires that I'm always the one coming up with elaborate arguments for why a guy should go home with me.
We didn't meet until 10:00 on a Saturday night, so naturally I already had a few in me by the time I met him (I mean, who can wait until ten fucking o'clock?) We drank a bottle of wine and chatted about super dull topics like what states we'd lived in. One of my conversational tics involves constantly asking people to rank everything, like "What's your favorite brand of moist towelette?" or "What are your top three interstate driving experiences." But any time I indulged in this behavior, he looked perplexed. He would turn the question over in his head and say, "Hmm. Well, I suppose that the interstate is a formative site in the American identity." Disclaimer: I'm exaggerating. But he was so gosh darn serious about everything, I didn't know what to do. I liked it, but I didn't know how to engage with it.
Anyway, the evening wore on, we drank more, we went back to his apartment, we had the awkward pre-smooch yammer. I despise pre-smooch yammer. This is where you sit in a darkened room, usually on a couch or something, and talk about really really stupid shit and work up the courage to speak the truth like our good friend Kissy von Tonguenstein. All so you can get to what the whole date was really about: hot make out session. The nervous chatter went on for an agonizing twenty minutes until we started the actual smooching. Shortly thereafter, I was naked and in his bed, where I had the audacity to assume we would be having sex. "Do you have any condoms?" I asked. He became confused and disoriented. "Oh...Right. I guess? Um..."
I mean, was it wrong of me to assume that once he'd stripped off all my clothes and climbed on top of me that we'd be having sex? Am I a monster? I looked at him expectantly, so he went to get condoms. And I mean went. He had to go across the apartment and dig into a closet to get out a discrete box and then dig through the discrete box. Apparently, he keeps his family planning as far away from the bed as possible. Who does that? And why? He seemed so tentative about everything thereafter. When I talked to a friend about this, she brought up the possibility that he has feelings and hang-ups too, and that men are capable of profound emotional responses to sex. My theory is that he just thought I was too fat.
Anyway, now I'm playing the waiting game to see if he ever calls me. And, in the words of Homer Simpson: The waiting game sucks. Let's play hungry hungry hippos.
The Second Date is always bad. I don't know what it is about the second date, but you start to notice all the bad things about the person you were too excited to notice on the first date, but the "getting to know you" awkwardness still abounds.
Earnie and I met for drinks at a bar in his neighborhood. I made sure to tell him I'd be in his 'hood anyway, so that he would have to do the ask-back. I hate doing the ask-back, but my desperation requires that I'm always the one coming up with elaborate arguments for why a guy should go home with me.
We didn't meet until 10:00 on a Saturday night, so naturally I already had a few in me by the time I met him (I mean, who can wait until ten fucking o'clock?) We drank a bottle of wine and chatted about super dull topics like what states we'd lived in. One of my conversational tics involves constantly asking people to rank everything, like "What's your favorite brand of moist towelette?" or "What are your top three interstate driving experiences." But any time I indulged in this behavior, he looked perplexed. He would turn the question over in his head and say, "Hmm. Well, I suppose that the interstate is a formative site in the American identity." Disclaimer: I'm exaggerating. But he was so gosh darn serious about everything, I didn't know what to do. I liked it, but I didn't know how to engage with it.
Anyway, the evening wore on, we drank more, we went back to his apartment, we had the awkward pre-smooch yammer. I despise pre-smooch yammer. This is where you sit in a darkened room, usually on a couch or something, and talk about really really stupid shit and work up the courage to speak the truth like our good friend Kissy von Tonguenstein. All so you can get to what the whole date was really about: hot make out session. The nervous chatter went on for an agonizing twenty minutes until we started the actual smooching. Shortly thereafter, I was naked and in his bed, where I had the audacity to assume we would be having sex. "Do you have any condoms?" I asked. He became confused and disoriented. "Oh...Right. I guess? Um..."
I mean, was it wrong of me to assume that once he'd stripped off all my clothes and climbed on top of me that we'd be having sex? Am I a monster? I looked at him expectantly, so he went to get condoms. And I mean went. He had to go across the apartment and dig into a closet to get out a discrete box and then dig through the discrete box. Apparently, he keeps his family planning as far away from the bed as possible. Who does that? And why? He seemed so tentative about everything thereafter. When I talked to a friend about this, she brought up the possibility that he has feelings and hang-ups too, and that men are capable of profound emotional responses to sex. My theory is that he just thought I was too fat.
Anyway, now I'm playing the waiting game to see if he ever calls me. And, in the words of Homer Simpson: The waiting game sucks. Let's play hungry hungry hippos.
posted by Crash Tester P at 11:15 PM
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