Dec. 22, 2003: A raw evening

My dinner with Alan did indeed happen, but, compared with the charge I felt after my audition with Joe, it was a dud. Not bad, mind you, just blah. As James would put it, there was a decided lack of click, and I drove home in a cloud of ambivalence.

I arrived at the restaurant a couple minutes late, and it didn't look like it was open. Neither of us had visited the restaurant, located in a neighborhood where we'd each lived in the past, in years, and it easily could have shut down in the meantime. As I approached the entrance, I saw Alan down the block by the door, and called out, "I guess it's not open anymore, huh?"

I appraised him quickly as I walked up—jeans, untucked red and white checked flannel shirt over a colored t-shirt, and, as described, an almost bald head. I'd been hoping he'd have more of a buzz than a shaved head. So he wasn't my usual physical type. That's not to say his looks wouldn't grow on me. He wasn't unattractive by any means, and I'm sure plenty of women would have found him very good-looking immediately; I'd just need to get accustomed to the look, but I don't doubt that I could, especially with that body and smile.

Alan shook my hand when I reached him, and suggested we walk down the street to find another restaurant. We ended up at a new place I've never heard of, kind of Nuevo Mexican or maybe Cuban. Either way, a little too sophisticated for me, your basic enchiladas-and-burritos type. And it was probably a mistake to say, "I can't remember the last time I ate at a place I knew nothing about. I usually do a little online research in advance." Doesn't make me seem very spontaneous or easy-going, does it?

Finding a suitable dish on the menu challenged me—what kind of restaurant doesn't have a chicken dish? I decided to push the envelope and try a pork dish. When I eat out, I generally stick to poultry, cow, or a few select sea creatures as the source of my meal. Pig doesn't really do anything for me, unless it's cured, so I haven't eaten pork in years. But I figured, "How bad could it be? It's the other white meat, after all." That was a mistake.

The spicy stuffing distracted me at first, but the consistency of the pork reminded me of chewing on something only partially defrosted. Struck me as odd but I carried on bravely, with the dim light precluding me from noticing the startling salmon hue of the meat. Once I realized how undercooked it was, peering down at my plate like a student dissecting a frog with a fork and knife, I felt kind of sick, almost like—oh, I don't know—I'd been eating raw flesh. I didn't want to seem picky, though, so I tried to force down a few more bites, but I left a lot on my plate, still oinking in my mind. I remained so hungry I even resorted to eating the fried plantain that protruded from the swirl of potato, initially fooling me into thinking I'd scored some bacon, the good pig.

Conversation was a bit of an uphill struggle at times, perhaps in part because the restaurant was rather loud, and we didn't seem to be hearing each other all that clearly. I asked him to repeat himself repeatedly, and I could tell he misunderstood me several times, to the point that I eventually stopped clarifying. Although he told me at one point that I’m really funny, I felt like a good portion of my jokes fell flat with him—maybe he just couldn't hear them.

When we could hear each other, we talked about his various roommates since he's been in Chicago, his job, his username (certified pharmacology technician—cpht123), football. When I switched from sangria on the first round of drinks to chardonnay on the second, he immediately concluded I don't drink beer. He said it was unusual for a woman who likes sports not to drink beer. So we talked a little about why I don't really drink beer much. I guess it's a good thing I don't, or I'd be totally butch.

Basically, the evening was boring, which surprised me after our phone conversations. He opened up a little and talked more easily as time passed, but I wouldn't say we connected much. As we were parting ways after an hour and a half, standing about a yard from each other by my car, he said he'd had a great time and would definitely call me before the holidays. "Really?" I thought. "A great time? How?" Nonetheless, I agreed and said "Absolutely!" about getting together again. We hugged like two guys, right down to the back pats, and he walked back toward his car. Then, like an ass, I called out after him, "You mean the Christmas holidays, right?" I meant it as a joke and nothing more, but, in hindsight, boy, could that be misinterpreted. And it did seem like he didn't necessarily get my sense of humor, so God knows what he thought of that little addendum to the evening.

My audition with Alan puts a new little twist on my thank-you rule. He did pay, and I'd say my share of the bill was at least $30. If he hadn't picked up the check, I probably wouldn't email him again. Because he did, I feel like etiquette requires me to send a follow-up thank-you email. I wonder if he'll actually call, though.

See, here's the difference between me and, I think, a lot of guys. The conversation wasn't great and I couldn't be much more ambivalent about him, but I'd give him another chance if he asked. He could have been nervous or shy or just had an off-night, and he mentioned he was getting over a cold. From my way of thinking, you can't rule someone out so quickly, but maybe that's a sign of desperation on my part.

But I think he might already have found someone, at least temporarily. He mentioned seeing the latest Hugh Grant movie. "Well, I hope you saw that on a date and not on your own," I replied, and he seemed to indicate that it was on a date. Plus, when I went online to review his profile yesterday, the profile was unavailable. On the other hand, he admitted he'd almost canceled our dinner (because of a cold—who knew guys were such wimps?); if he'd met someone, wouldn't he have gone ahead and cancelled? Unless he figured he might as well give it a try, just to see if there was instant spark or something. Either way, why would he say he'd call me, specifically saying "before the holidays" if he had no interest? So annoying.

Regardless, it probably wasn't a good sign, anyway, that on the drive home I was thinking, "Maybe Joe will call tonight." He didn't, BTW. I don't know what the hell happened there. One day, he's calling me to get together again, saying he's looking in the Reader and coming off as eager. The next, he's slinking away with the lame excuse of a cold, and I don't hear from him since. Considering I had no contact with him between the call asking me out and the call canceling, I'm left rather bewildered. I'm just glad I'm not feeling the urge to email him. I'm done chasing these guys. For now, anyway.

Tim from Match wrote again last night. He asked about my weekend and told me about his. He noticed I'd updated my profile and even identified my karaoke photo as being taken at Marigold Bowl. I thought about telling him why I've made changes, but he doesn't need to know about the different reindeer games I play with my profile. And, of course, the guy's whose lengthy profile prompted me to go back to my old profile style has yet to reply to my email. Anyway, I responded to Tim and included my phone number. He's headed out of town on Wednesday but suggested meeting after he returns next Sunday.

Over in Yahoo, I have one new email, but it doesn't even invite a response:

"I hope this Christmas you will get the chance to feel like a child again and be aware of the spiritual message of this hollyday. And may your Christmas tree be packed with beauty, lights and presents and may The Santa be giving. Sorin"

Then he followed up with another email:

"I would love to send u a picture but first I need your mail addres.For a special lady my email is costelsorin@hotmail.com.Talk to u soon!Sorin"

I don't think so, Sorin. The guy doesn't even have a profile.

Three Icebreakers, too. Captainsanctuary is 46, 5'10", and lives with roommates. I'd think that would make it difficult to find sanctuary. Krez59 is 44, lives in Gurnee, and also lives with roommates. He describes himself as "more active than sedimentary." No one likes a rock, after all. The final Icebreaker, leinonmysoul, sounds like he might be worth pursuing, but he's only 29 (Matt soured me on that age), doesn't post a photo, and only sent an Icebreaker. And he wants kids.

One email in MM, from Dominic986. He's 5'9"-5'10", rarely drinks, and lives in Hobart, Indiana. He answers the short-answer questions by saying he doesn't subscribe to the service and giving his own email address. And his message was a bit incoherent:

"It's great that you have traveled this big ball inwhich we live. That's the only thing I regret, one day I'll learn as you did to cut this ball and chain which people describe as a job and see some of the world. HAVE FUN!"

That's it for now. I hope that's it for the week, or at least until Christmas. I think I've earned a break, and traffic should be slow this week. I'll probably have some downtime to shop but sending out new emails this close to the holidays would reek of loneliness and desperation.

Ewww! Taking a quick spin on Match, I came across tallfitfun4U's profile again. He's been active in the past 24 hours, so it doesn't look like he's responding to the email I sent yesterday. Just as well because he added a photo of himself in painter's jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. I like that his primary photo is now of his dog, but the muscle T is hard to swallow. Ah, well—it's all moot now.