Day 28 came and went without a bang of any sort - just as I suspected.
A special thanks to S, who in my time of need felt compelled to constantly remind me that he is ready and willing to offer his services, and would, naturally, be the best I've ever had. It's nice to have such good friends.
Really, boys, one offer of your services per week is enough for me to get the point.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
The Window
After receiving the news that JP does not have his own 28 day rule and had imported an "old friend" from Brussels to meet him in Vienna last week I was feeling pretty down. And what does any girl do when she's down? Well, she calls some guy she knows is interested in her but that she honestly has no intention of ever really being with to accept a longstanding dinner invitation thereby giving the illusion that she's over the ex.
JP called with the news Thursday night. I'm more likely to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop than to ever figure out why he would call and tell me something like that so we'll leave it at that. Fortunately for me, I had to be in Pasadena all day on Friday for work and decided to take H up on an old dinner invite. I called H mid-morning and found out he was free that evening. Perfect.
We met in Old Town Pasadena for a pre-dinner beer at De Lacey's - a great older restaurant and bar if you're ever in the area. H managed to suck down two screwdrivers as I nursed a pint and wondered what I was doing out with the guy when I could be sitting in traffic on the 101. Still, we were there and might as well make the best of it, right?
H insisted on giving me the tour of the bars of Pasadena. Two pints later I was feeling a bit of a buzz and H was getting more interesting - although not that interesting.
Then it happened, somewhere between a Newcastle and a Red Tail Ale, there was a moment where the tide could have turned in H's favor. Something came over me - a feeling of just wanting him to shut up and of wanting to be kissed by anyone. It's just the sort of combination that leads to a rare window of opportunity for an otherwise unlikely candidate. I gave H my best shut up and kiss me look and waited.
Let me interject here and say that every guy who goes out alone with a girl has such a window of opportunity where if he could just see what was going on in her mind, or sense that she wanted him to shut up and take action, he would have a shot. Unfortunately, 99.9% of the time men miss the moment, the window shuts and the man is left peering in. Then the poor guy ends up relegated to "friend" status and usually never even knew the window had opened and shut. And once the window shuts, it is unlikely to open again. Yeah, we're fickle like that.
For H on Friday night in some bar in Pasadena, the window opened briefly. Fortunately for me, H was on about his 7th screwdriver and wouldn't have recognized a window in a glass building. And so the moment passed and I came to the sobering realization that I had basically opened a window for a guy I would not normally open it for. With that I ordered a glass of water, found my way to my car, and headed home feeling as if I had narrowly escaped a potentially bad situation. In reality, H is a nice guy who never knew what had transpired and probably never will.
In this tale there is a message for the men out there teetering on the verge of friendship and something more: If you get the object of your desire to go out with you and she's had a drink or two and is staring intently at you as you tell her all about your first car and the time you and your buddies drove it to Vegas, recognize the look, shut your mouth, and climb in the window. Note: more than two minutes of silence by a woman is always a clear indicator of a window.
And remember, it's much tougher to get out than it is to get in.
JP called with the news Thursday night. I'm more likely to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop than to ever figure out why he would call and tell me something like that so we'll leave it at that. Fortunately for me, I had to be in Pasadena all day on Friday for work and decided to take H up on an old dinner invite. I called H mid-morning and found out he was free that evening. Perfect.
We met in Old Town Pasadena for a pre-dinner beer at De Lacey's - a great older restaurant and bar if you're ever in the area. H managed to suck down two screwdrivers as I nursed a pint and wondered what I was doing out with the guy when I could be sitting in traffic on the 101. Still, we were there and might as well make the best of it, right?
H insisted on giving me the tour of the bars of Pasadena. Two pints later I was feeling a bit of a buzz and H was getting more interesting - although not that interesting.
Then it happened, somewhere between a Newcastle and a Red Tail Ale, there was a moment where the tide could have turned in H's favor. Something came over me - a feeling of just wanting him to shut up and of wanting to be kissed by anyone. It's just the sort of combination that leads to a rare window of opportunity for an otherwise unlikely candidate. I gave H my best shut up and kiss me look and waited.
Let me interject here and say that every guy who goes out alone with a girl has such a window of opportunity where if he could just see what was going on in her mind, or sense that she wanted him to shut up and take action, he would have a shot. Unfortunately, 99.9% of the time men miss the moment, the window shuts and the man is left peering in. Then the poor guy ends up relegated to "friend" status and usually never even knew the window had opened and shut. And once the window shuts, it is unlikely to open again. Yeah, we're fickle like that.
For H on Friday night in some bar in Pasadena, the window opened briefly. Fortunately for me, H was on about his 7th screwdriver and wouldn't have recognized a window in a glass building. And so the moment passed and I came to the sobering realization that I had basically opened a window for a guy I would not normally open it for. With that I ordered a glass of water, found my way to my car, and headed home feeling as if I had narrowly escaped a potentially bad situation. In reality, H is a nice guy who never knew what had transpired and probably never will.
In this tale there is a message for the men out there teetering on the verge of friendship and something more: If you get the object of your desire to go out with you and she's had a drink or two and is staring intently at you as you tell her all about your first car and the time you and your buddies drove it to Vegas, recognize the look, shut your mouth, and climb in the window. Note: more than two minutes of silence by a woman is always a clear indicator of a window.
And remember, it's much tougher to get out than it is to get in.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
10 Things...
With only five days to go before liberation I reluctantly decided to click on a link to "Ten things every single girl must own" this morning in hopes of finding some reason for my state of singlehood - perhaps I am missing something important?
According to msn.com, the 10 things I must have at the ready are as follows:
Let's dissect this:
1. A fabulous photo of myself. - The author says to keep the picture at eye level on your refrigerator so he can see how hot you can be as he grabs for that beer. But what happens when he turns around and sees the real you? I say put a bad photo up and he'll think you are much better in person. Besides, if you are not a model or recent high school graduate, there is no reason you should have a fabulous photo of yourself on hand. If you are spending your time worrying about having a nice photo you are probably too vain in the first place. How about an ugly photo of yourself to show what you'll look like in the morning? Or better yet, how about just smiling and being charming?
2. A pretty pair of heels. - I have to agree, nice heels do make a girl feel sexy. Then again, you can't walk far in them and they make your feet hurt. And if you are at all athletic you're likely to get achilles tendonitis. How about some gym shoes to keep your arse in shape?
3. An Eminem CD. - Why on earth would a single, white bread American woman have or need this? It's hardly mood music. The last thing I want to hear when someone comes over is some white trash rapper yelling obscenities about his mother. Try something classic like Marvin Gaye, Al Green or even Van Morrison.
4. A great pickup line…and a way to blow 'em off. - Agreed. My great pick-up line usually involves livestock. Funny thing is, so does my blow off line...
5. A six-pack of good bottled beer. Just one six-pack? How about a 12 pack and a bottle of Don Julio for good measure? If you're going to listen to Eminem you'll need to be wasted. Better yet, a nice bottle of red wine so you can see how he handles a corkscrew.
6. Bathroom reading. Huh? Are you serious? You want a date coming over and spending enough time in your bathroom to read? Gentlemen: Please drop your load before you come to my house - I'm on septic and the fan is really loud. Besides, I would much prefer a date with good aim to one that plans to read in the bathroom.
7. A business card. The author specifies not a professional card, rather a personal business card with your info on it because napkins with numbers are so passe. I once met a guy in Atlanta with a personal card that said "The guy you met" then had his real name and digits. I thought it was cute and clever. Turns out he was gay and needed a date to a work function. If a guy wants your number, or you his, you'll hang onto it no matter what it's on. Besides, with the advent of cell phones everyone just programs you in and starts the stalking phase immediately.
8. Earplugs. I presume this is in case of sleepovers. Yes, there is nothing I like better in a man than having him come over to drink beer, listen to Eminem, crap in my bathroom, then snore the night away as I rub my feet because I wore my pretty heels. If a man is sleeping over and he snores you just need to be sure he wears you out so you fall asleep first. Or keep those hells on in bed and kick him with one every time he snores.
9. A straight male friend on your speed dial. I agree, every girl should have straight male friends. You just have to realize that 99.9% of the time the main reason they are your friends is because they hope to nail you one day, or they have already nailed you and hope to do it again. Once you both recognize that basic truth you can become great friends but don't try to pretend otherwise.
10. A condom. Only one?
I am clearly going about things in the wrong manner. Next time I meet a guy I am going to hand him by business card and invite him over for a beer. He'll show up to find a fabluous picture of me on the hearth, great bathroom reading, the soundtrack to 8 Mile playing in the back ground, me in pretty heels with earplugs hung by a cord around my neck, condom in hand, on the phone with my only straight male friend asking for advice on what to do next.
Maybe I'll even change my pick up line to "I'm the real Shady."
According to msn.com, the 10 things I must have at the ready are as follows:
1. A fabulous photo of yourself
2. A pretty pair of heels
3. An Eminem CD
4. A great pickup line…and a way to blow 'em off
5. A six-pack of good bottled beer
6. Bathroom reading
7. A business card
8. Earplugs
9. A straight male friend on your speed-dial
10. A condom
Let's dissect this:
1. A fabulous photo of myself. - The author says to keep the picture at eye level on your refrigerator so he can see how hot you can be as he grabs for that beer. But what happens when he turns around and sees the real you? I say put a bad photo up and he'll think you are much better in person. Besides, if you are not a model or recent high school graduate, there is no reason you should have a fabulous photo of yourself on hand. If you are spending your time worrying about having a nice photo you are probably too vain in the first place. How about an ugly photo of yourself to show what you'll look like in the morning? Or better yet, how about just smiling and being charming?
2. A pretty pair of heels. - I have to agree, nice heels do make a girl feel sexy. Then again, you can't walk far in them and they make your feet hurt. And if you are at all athletic you're likely to get achilles tendonitis. How about some gym shoes to keep your arse in shape?
3. An Eminem CD. - Why on earth would a single, white bread American woman have or need this? It's hardly mood music. The last thing I want to hear when someone comes over is some white trash rapper yelling obscenities about his mother. Try something classic like Marvin Gaye, Al Green or even Van Morrison.
4. A great pickup line…and a way to blow 'em off. - Agreed. My great pick-up line usually involves livestock. Funny thing is, so does my blow off line...
5. A six-pack of good bottled beer. Just one six-pack? How about a 12 pack and a bottle of Don Julio for good measure? If you're going to listen to Eminem you'll need to be wasted. Better yet, a nice bottle of red wine so you can see how he handles a corkscrew.
6. Bathroom reading. Huh? Are you serious? You want a date coming over and spending enough time in your bathroom to read? Gentlemen: Please drop your load before you come to my house - I'm on septic and the fan is really loud. Besides, I would much prefer a date with good aim to one that plans to read in the bathroom.
7. A business card. The author specifies not a professional card, rather a personal business card with your info on it because napkins with numbers are so passe. I once met a guy in Atlanta with a personal card that said "The guy you met" then had his real name and digits. I thought it was cute and clever. Turns out he was gay and needed a date to a work function. If a guy wants your number, or you his, you'll hang onto it no matter what it's on. Besides, with the advent of cell phones everyone just programs you in and starts the stalking phase immediately.
8. Earplugs. I presume this is in case of sleepovers. Yes, there is nothing I like better in a man than having him come over to drink beer, listen to Eminem, crap in my bathroom, then snore the night away as I rub my feet because I wore my pretty heels. If a man is sleeping over and he snores you just need to be sure he wears you out so you fall asleep first. Or keep those hells on in bed and kick him with one every time he snores.
9. A straight male friend on your speed dial. I agree, every girl should have straight male friends. You just have to realize that 99.9% of the time the main reason they are your friends is because they hope to nail you one day, or they have already nailed you and hope to do it again. Once you both recognize that basic truth you can become great friends but don't try to pretend otherwise.
10. A condom. Only one?
I am clearly going about things in the wrong manner. Next time I meet a guy I am going to hand him by business card and invite him over for a beer. He'll show up to find a fabluous picture of me on the hearth, great bathroom reading, the soundtrack to 8 Mile playing in the back ground, me in pretty heels with earplugs hung by a cord around my neck, condom in hand, on the phone with my only straight male friend asking for advice on what to do next.
Maybe I'll even change my pick up line to "I'm the real Shady."
Monday, June 20, 2005
17-18 Recap
Day 17 - Friday
After a wild night out to celebrate JO's birthday on Thursday which culminated in my drunk dialing JP at midnight, I spent all day Friday in the office doing trial prep for a terrible case that I cannot believe is going to trial in two weeks. All I have to say is: rubber gloves. Who can stand in front of a jury and argue the merits of rubber gloves sales with a straight face? Add to that the fact that the parties are an annoying Malaysian millionaire who whines a lot and a brash German salesman who cusses a lot and you have the perfect mix for infuriating a downtown Los Angeles jury. I can't wait.
After spending eight hours contemplating that mess I decided to go home and vegetate for the night. I was just getting into relaxation mode with my popcorn and the remote when S called to invite me to a BBQ and concert for the night. I declined and, about half an hour later he called back ecstatic that his girlfriend, T, would actually be joining him out in public for the night. Their relationship is (was) a complicated one in which he caters to her every whim and she refuses to put out but happily plans the purchase of a home together in between looking at wedding dresses. Of course, in seven months S still hasn't met any of her family or friends and they are rarely seen in public together. Still, they feign love and have each been living on the fantasy of what the other should be without acknowledging who the other really is. The fantasy all came crashing down somewhere on Poli Street in Ventura on Saturday night after T complained of being tired and wanting to go home while S was hoping for his quarterly lights-out lay. All the while I was home watching tv and shaving my dog. Turns out I had the better night after all
Day 18 - Saturday
S called Saturday morning to recount the events of the previous night. It was deja vu as S and T have broken up at least 17 times in the six months I've known him. Still, I listened as he claimed he was done and that was it, no more calls, nothing, nada, cut off!!! Sensing his need to have a break-up binge, I offered to pick him up to drive up to Montecito for a hash run that afternoon.
The run awesome - a perfect day in Montecito - sunny, the Channel Islands looking close enough to swim to, lush mountains, a great trail, good people, oh, and then there was the beer, of course. I came in from the run to find S on his cell phone - leaving one of those "last word" messages for T. You know the kind where you call someone to tell them you really are done with them?
Reminds me of the way back when I had split from my fiance (yes, I was once engaged). Let's just say it wasn't a good break up - when you dump someone who really loves you they don't like it and say some mean stuff. I knew I was the bad one and let him have about 80 last words before his need to tell me he was done subsided. Then, about six months after we had split and not spoken I came home to find a box on my doorstep. Inside the box were all the letters I ever wrote the guy (I lived in China for 9 months and wrote every day), pictures, miscellaneous crap that was somehow tied to me, and a long note about how he was finally getting closure and moving on. I pulled out the letters - a great journal of my time in China - and tossed the rest of the stuff. I was happy he had closure and made no reply. About a week later he called me to inquire whether I had gotten the box and what I thought. I guess the only thing that had gotten closure was the box.
So I had to snicker to myself after the run when S was getting closure. That was around 6:30. We all headed for burgers and beers after the run. About an hour and a half into social hour there, S snuck off into a corner to leave yet another last word message for T. Apparantly he and T had been exchanging last word voice mails all day. After a few beers, S and I proceeded to have a lengthy discussion about his feelings for me on our way home. Note to single men out there: wait at least 72 hours after breaking up with someone you planned a future with before proclaiming your love to a friend you've told you love the other girl - at the very least it improves your chances of being flashed. Better yet, just play the depression card and say being flashed will make you feel better.
Oh, and MM - sorry about the drunk dial sexuality inquisition. Blame SC - she is the evil one.
After a wild night out to celebrate JO's birthday on Thursday which culminated in my drunk dialing JP at midnight, I spent all day Friday in the office doing trial prep for a terrible case that I cannot believe is going to trial in two weeks. All I have to say is: rubber gloves. Who can stand in front of a jury and argue the merits of rubber gloves sales with a straight face? Add to that the fact that the parties are an annoying Malaysian millionaire who whines a lot and a brash German salesman who cusses a lot and you have the perfect mix for infuriating a downtown Los Angeles jury. I can't wait.
After spending eight hours contemplating that mess I decided to go home and vegetate for the night. I was just getting into relaxation mode with my popcorn and the remote when S called to invite me to a BBQ and concert for the night. I declined and, about half an hour later he called back ecstatic that his girlfriend, T, would actually be joining him out in public for the night. Their relationship is (was) a complicated one in which he caters to her every whim and she refuses to put out but happily plans the purchase of a home together in between looking at wedding dresses. Of course, in seven months S still hasn't met any of her family or friends and they are rarely seen in public together. Still, they feign love and have each been living on the fantasy of what the other should be without acknowledging who the other really is. The fantasy all came crashing down somewhere on Poli Street in Ventura on Saturday night after T complained of being tired and wanting to go home while S was hoping for his quarterly lights-out lay. All the while I was home watching tv and shaving my dog. Turns out I had the better night after all
Day 18 - Saturday
S called Saturday morning to recount the events of the previous night. It was deja vu as S and T have broken up at least 17 times in the six months I've known him. Still, I listened as he claimed he was done and that was it, no more calls, nothing, nada, cut off!!! Sensing his need to have a break-up binge, I offered to pick him up to drive up to Montecito for a hash run that afternoon.
The run awesome - a perfect day in Montecito - sunny, the Channel Islands looking close enough to swim to, lush mountains, a great trail, good people, oh, and then there was the beer, of course. I came in from the run to find S on his cell phone - leaving one of those "last word" messages for T. You know the kind where you call someone to tell them you really are done with them?
Reminds me of the way back when I had split from my fiance (yes, I was once engaged). Let's just say it wasn't a good break up - when you dump someone who really loves you they don't like it and say some mean stuff. I knew I was the bad one and let him have about 80 last words before his need to tell me he was done subsided. Then, about six months after we had split and not spoken I came home to find a box on my doorstep. Inside the box were all the letters I ever wrote the guy (I lived in China for 9 months and wrote every day), pictures, miscellaneous crap that was somehow tied to me, and a long note about how he was finally getting closure and moving on. I pulled out the letters - a great journal of my time in China - and tossed the rest of the stuff. I was happy he had closure and made no reply. About a week later he called me to inquire whether I had gotten the box and what I thought. I guess the only thing that had gotten closure was the box.
So I had to snicker to myself after the run when S was getting closure. That was around 6:30. We all headed for burgers and beers after the run. About an hour and a half into social hour there, S snuck off into a corner to leave yet another last word message for T. Apparantly he and T had been exchanging last word voice mails all day. After a few beers, S and I proceeded to have a lengthy discussion about his feelings for me on our way home. Note to single men out there: wait at least 72 hours after breaking up with someone you planned a future with before proclaiming your love to a friend you've told you love the other girl - at the very least it improves your chances of being flashed. Better yet, just play the depression card and say being flashed will make you feel better.
Oh, and MM - sorry about the drunk dial sexuality inquisition. Blame SC - she is the evil one.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
To the Batmobile!!!
Seeing all the hype about the new Batman movie, Batman Begins, reminded me of a date I had a few years back with someone who should not have left the bat cave...
As with many of my tales, this one dates back to my internet dating days. N was a candidate from eHarmony. In case you don't know, eHarmony is an online service created by psychologists. Yes, that should have been my first hint - but I was 30 and you know how delicate that age is for women. Anyhow, eHarmony requires you to take an extensive personality test and then then uses it to match you up. Then they send you personality matches and you choose whether you are interested in them or not. It's not the browsing style of the yahoo or match.com personals - it's more like being set up by a shrink that you've never met. Brilliant.
N was an early-30's divorcee whose hobbies included amusement parks, K'Nex, Roller Coaster Tycoon, and avoiding meat products. He worked as a computer tech and ran his own website that critiques on-line dating services, which he used as an excuse to sign up for all of them. We spoke on the phone a time or two then decided to meet for lunch at the now-defunct Mamma Mia's downtown. N wanted to meet in the parking lot so we could walk in together, and presumably, so I could check out his car - which he said I would "know when I saw".
I arrived on time and stood in the parking lot by my truck. A black VW Beetle approached. As it got closer I realized it was N and I saw that he was at the helm of a Fahrfegnugen-enhanced Batmobile complete with the Batman logo airbrushed in bright yellow on either side. I'm not talking a little Batman sticker here or there, I'm talking about paying a professional body shop at least a thousand dollars to put two square feet of yellow bat insignia on the sides of your turbo Beetle.
He pulled up and put the window down and inside I saw a Batman murse (man purse for the culturaly unaware) and custom yellow piping on the black leather seats and interior. Funny thing was, I didn't see Bruce Wayne, I saw N. As he found a parking spot I stifled a snicker and tried to come up with something positive to say about the car. But really, all I could think was what would compel a 34 year old man who is not paid by Marvel to:
1. Purchase a Beetle (total chick car in my book);
2. Put a yellow silhouette of a bat on the sides; and
3. Carry a child's Batman murse?
I can almost understand getting a tattoo of a cartoon character when you're 22 and drunk in Mississippi and your friends tell you it's cool. That's an hour long process. But to make an appointment, find an artist, send your car away for a day or two, and pay big bucks to have a trademark on your vehicle is inexplicable.
N eventually emerged from the Batmobile looking disappointingly mortal. I was hoping for at least a cape. He wasn't even wearing black. I tried to converse about the car - to figure out why? When? How? Then I remembered that I had found him on an internet site run by professional shrinks and that I ought not upset him so I settled for one of those "wow, that's unique" ambiguities reserved for bad dye jobs and men in capri pants.
Still, I was 30 and in that place so I tried to make the best of the date and we headed to lunch. As we perused the menu he confessed that he did not eat meat. I am always curious about why people make such decisions and he admitted that he had never eaten meat in his life because he grew up under the firm hand of the Church of Latter Day Saints. This piqued my interest but he said he was no longer a member of the LDS. Then I asked why not try meat now? He said he just never had and really didn't feel like it. With that he ordered the tortellini and I the ravioli. After some more strained conversation - it was tough for me - he drove the batmobile, grew up in a cult, owned and played with Legos, and kept telling me what a great date he was - dinner arrived and we were able to focus on the food.
About two bites in I noticed N's face pursing up as he chewed. I asked if the food was okay. He said it tasted different and I could tell he was trying to determine why. He dissected a tortellini and we determined the brownish filling must be mushroom. Looked like carnage to me but I played along and said, yes, definitely mushroom. He ate about half his plate with the Inspector Clouseauish look of a man who just can't put his finger on something. Then he asked if I would taste a piece. I popped a tortellini and my thoughts about the mystery meat were confirmed - it was definitely beef. I told him I thought it must be meat tortellini. His eyes grew wide and teared up, complexion turned green, I think I heard a slight gurgle, and then he gagged, choked, and chugged a glass of water and pushed the plate away. I just stared waiting for the world to end or something. After all, what happens to someone who has never had meat in 34 years of existence? Sadly enough, nothing happened and I ended up sitting through ice cream with him. We ralized we were not a match, parted way amicably, and never spoke again.
So this week I had to smile as I heard about the movie and pictured him happily zipping around in all the glory of the batmobile, sipping a banana smoothie, and pulling his Fandango receipts from his Batman murse. Hopefully he's found his Robin.
As with many of my tales, this one dates back to my internet dating days. N was a candidate from eHarmony. In case you don't know, eHarmony is an online service created by psychologists. Yes, that should have been my first hint - but I was 30 and you know how delicate that age is for women. Anyhow, eHarmony requires you to take an extensive personality test and then then uses it to match you up. Then they send you personality matches and you choose whether you are interested in them or not. It's not the browsing style of the yahoo or match.com personals - it's more like being set up by a shrink that you've never met. Brilliant.
N was an early-30's divorcee whose hobbies included amusement parks, K'Nex, Roller Coaster Tycoon, and avoiding meat products. He worked as a computer tech and ran his own website that critiques on-line dating services, which he used as an excuse to sign up for all of them. We spoke on the phone a time or two then decided to meet for lunch at the now-defunct Mamma Mia's downtown. N wanted to meet in the parking lot so we could walk in together, and presumably, so I could check out his car - which he said I would "know when I saw".
I arrived on time and stood in the parking lot by my truck. A black VW Beetle approached. As it got closer I realized it was N and I saw that he was at the helm of a Fahrfegnugen-enhanced Batmobile complete with the Batman logo airbrushed in bright yellow on either side. I'm not talking a little Batman sticker here or there, I'm talking about paying a professional body shop at least a thousand dollars to put two square feet of yellow bat insignia on the sides of your turbo Beetle.
He pulled up and put the window down and inside I saw a Batman murse (man purse for the culturaly unaware) and custom yellow piping on the black leather seats and interior. Funny thing was, I didn't see Bruce Wayne, I saw N. As he found a parking spot I stifled a snicker and tried to come up with something positive to say about the car. But really, all I could think was what would compel a 34 year old man who is not paid by Marvel to:
1. Purchase a Beetle (total chick car in my book);
2. Put a yellow silhouette of a bat on the sides; and
3. Carry a child's Batman murse?
I can almost understand getting a tattoo of a cartoon character when you're 22 and drunk in Mississippi and your friends tell you it's cool. That's an hour long process. But to make an appointment, find an artist, send your car away for a day or two, and pay big bucks to have a trademark on your vehicle is inexplicable.
N eventually emerged from the Batmobile looking disappointingly mortal. I was hoping for at least a cape. He wasn't even wearing black. I tried to converse about the car - to figure out why? When? How? Then I remembered that I had found him on an internet site run by professional shrinks and that I ought not upset him so I settled for one of those "wow, that's unique" ambiguities reserved for bad dye jobs and men in capri pants.
Still, I was 30 and in that place so I tried to make the best of the date and we headed to lunch. As we perused the menu he confessed that he did not eat meat. I am always curious about why people make such decisions and he admitted that he had never eaten meat in his life because he grew up under the firm hand of the Church of Latter Day Saints. This piqued my interest but he said he was no longer a member of the LDS. Then I asked why not try meat now? He said he just never had and really didn't feel like it. With that he ordered the tortellini and I the ravioli. After some more strained conversation - it was tough for me - he drove the batmobile, grew up in a cult, owned and played with Legos, and kept telling me what a great date he was - dinner arrived and we were able to focus on the food.
About two bites in I noticed N's face pursing up as he chewed. I asked if the food was okay. He said it tasted different and I could tell he was trying to determine why. He dissected a tortellini and we determined the brownish filling must be mushroom. Looked like carnage to me but I played along and said, yes, definitely mushroom. He ate about half his plate with the Inspector Clouseauish look of a man who just can't put his finger on something. Then he asked if I would taste a piece. I popped a tortellini and my thoughts about the mystery meat were confirmed - it was definitely beef. I told him I thought it must be meat tortellini. His eyes grew wide and teared up, complexion turned green, I think I heard a slight gurgle, and then he gagged, choked, and chugged a glass of water and pushed the plate away. I just stared waiting for the world to end or something. After all, what happens to someone who has never had meat in 34 years of existence? Sadly enough, nothing happened and I ended up sitting through ice cream with him. We ralized we were not a match, parted way amicably, and never spoke again.
So this week I had to smile as I heard about the movie and pictured him happily zipping around in all the glory of the batmobile, sipping a banana smoothie, and pulling his Fandango receipts from his Batman murse. Hopefully he's found his Robin.
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