Marathon Guy and I may not be able to recall the particulars of why our initial sparks died out, but it seems all of my girlfriends do. When relaying the story of my recycled find I received the consistent response that I had been to blame for things ending the first time. They touched on the same reasons I remembered, although R may have captured it best: “I didn’t want to say anything at the time, but I think you were the one that screwed that up.”
Uh, thanks gal pals. Perhaps the time to have told me this was last year? When I was still dating Marathon Guy?!
All right, so maybe I was to blame (and maybe I wasn’t), but what was with the overwhelming support Marathon Guy seemed to have within my circle? Almost everyone was in support of reviving this particular interest, having only good things to say about him despite us having only gone on two dates and talked for at most a few weeks. I can only assume they loved the stories I told about him, because of course they hadn’t met him. And let’s touch on that for a minute. I tell a good story, but it’s entirely colored by how I feel about someone, as I’m sure everyone’s stories are. They liked him because I liked him.
It’s funny, how we ask our pals to weigh in on guys or relationships, when at best they’re only getting one side of the story. A side very possibly crafted to place the storyteller and/or the guy in the best possible light, often by omitting very relevant, if unflattering, details.
Really I should wait until they can form their own opinions, by directly interacting with that person. Which is exactly what Marathon Guy said to me on our (second round) first date. He wasn’t referring to my friend’s opinions about him of course; it was about not wanting to read the blog. I had told him about it during our extended, drunken chatting, but he said he didn’t even want to read it, that he preferred to get to know me for real, the old-fashioned way. It was sweet.
As was the date, an unintentional recreation of our original first date in which we played bar trivia. Only this time we ate dinner as trivia had unfortunately been canceled. It felt... like the start of something that had somewhere to go.
Fingers crossed that I don’t mess this one up. Again.
No Trees Were Harmed in the
Making of this Love Connection
Sunday, November 7, 2010
So I wasn’t ready to meet someone brand new. But what if I re-met someone I’d known before? Maybe someone I’d only chatted with but hadn’t actually met... someone I’d liked but perhaps the timing had been off... someone who had decent potential but had been overlooked back in my finicky dating days.
Surely in all the men I’d dated there would have to be someone who fit that bill? Turns out there was.
Marathon Guy. Without rehashing all the details, there was a theory that my decline in interest was directly related to the resurfacing of a previous crush around the same time I had met Marathon Guy. I also seem to recall going through a very high maintenance dating mode surrounding text messaging.
It couldn’t hurt to see what he was up to, I mean in the entire year since we’d dated I had only run into him once (earlier this summer, Maifest). At the very least it might make for a good blog post.
So I sent him an email. I told him I had run across an old email (which I had, in my sent box where I was looking for his email address) and that I had remembered he was planning to train for the triathlon or marathon or both. Since it was just past the Chicago tri, I wondered if he’d done it, and how it went? I threw in the obligatory “not sure you remember me” as well as a statement about him not needing to respond given the randomness of the email.
But he wrote me right back! Email chatting ensued that same night and into the next day, and a mere 3 emails later he asked if I was seeing anyone. Since I wasn’t I was happy to send him my number (initially he apologized for losing it in a phone transfer but after I told him I’d deleted his he owned up to having done the same) as well as text him while I enjoyed my usual pizza/wine Friday night with friends.
I think you know what happens next. Marathon Guy shows up at the bar I’m at, ironically with one of the marathon runners I had run with the year before. He hits it off with her, chatting about FOID cards and the different gang signs from the shady neighborhoods they grew up in, but more importantly he hits it off with me. We can’t quite remember why things didn’t work out between us before.
We stay way too late at the bar, and after walking me home we stay up even later talking at my place. We also make out. And it is good.
We hadn’t really made out before, and it’s unfortunate, because it might have been the factor that tipped the scales. I had an early morning planned so I dropped him off on my way out for a run, pretty pleased with the progress I’d made in the last 48-hours. I am nothing if not resourceful.
Surely in all the men I’d dated there would have to be someone who fit that bill? Turns out there was.
Marathon Guy. Without rehashing all the details, there was a theory that my decline in interest was directly related to the resurfacing of a previous crush around the same time I had met Marathon Guy. I also seem to recall going through a very high maintenance dating mode surrounding text messaging.
It couldn’t hurt to see what he was up to, I mean in the entire year since we’d dated I had only run into him once (earlier this summer, Maifest). At the very least it might make for a good blog post.
So I sent him an email. I told him I had run across an old email (which I had, in my sent box where I was looking for his email address) and that I had remembered he was planning to train for the triathlon or marathon or both. Since it was just past the Chicago tri, I wondered if he’d done it, and how it went? I threw in the obligatory “not sure you remember me” as well as a statement about him not needing to respond given the randomness of the email.
But he wrote me right back! Email chatting ensued that same night and into the next day, and a mere 3 emails later he asked if I was seeing anyone. Since I wasn’t I was happy to send him my number (initially he apologized for losing it in a phone transfer but after I told him I’d deleted his he owned up to having done the same) as well as text him while I enjoyed my usual pizza/wine Friday night with friends.
I think you know what happens next. Marathon Guy shows up at the bar I’m at, ironically with one of the marathon runners I had run with the year before. He hits it off with her, chatting about FOID cards and the different gang signs from the shady neighborhoods they grew up in, but more importantly he hits it off with me. We can’t quite remember why things didn’t work out between us before.
We stay way too late at the bar, and after walking me home we stay up even later talking at my place. We also make out. And it is good.
We hadn’t really made out before, and it’s unfortunate, because it might have been the factor that tipped the scales. I had an early morning planned so I dropped him off on my way out for a run, pretty pleased with the progress I’d made in the last 48-hours. I am nothing if not resourceful.
Failed First Dates: Batter Up.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I didn’t waste any time moping over Summer Boy but instead revamped the text on my OK Cupid profile and prepped myself for the weeding through of undesirable prospects that inevitably comes with online dating.
It hasn't been too bad, though. I’ve been contacted by some seemingly decent men and am thinking about reaching out to some even better seeming men myself. I even agreed to go on a date!
It was to one of the last Cubs games, which is a bit of a stretch given how long they can run, but as all of my gals kept reminding me, how bad could it be? I’d just be sitting there drinking beer and eating hot dogs.
Except my date doesn’t drink.
Oh of course he insisted it didn’t bother him when other people drank, and indeed he seemed fine while I drank a few beers during the game, but I was pretty sure this one fact alone would be a deal breaker for me. The truth is, alcohol is part of my regular social scene, and it would make me very uncomfortable dating someone who didn't drink. I would feel like an alcoholic. All the time.
That’s the reason I used when I said I didn’t think it would work out between us, but I could have chosen one of many, as it turns out.
Like say, introducing me to family. On the first date. Turns out his brother was at the game, too, and he came over to join us mid-way through the game. He’s a police officer at the station right by my house! And a cuter version of my date, I might add.
Or inviting me to his cousin’s wedding for which he was a groomsman. I politely declined, not because it was “serious” as he suggested, but because it’s weird to invite a stranger to a family wedding. Plus, I don’t think it would be any fun for me to show up at that kind of event not knowing anyone (including him, even). Don't get me wrong, I'm great with a crowd of strangers, but it's not the right venue.
Or displaying a startling lack of knowledge about the career one says they are pursuing. After a few years in landscaping-type sales my date was trying to get into the Sheriff’s program for a leg up into getting into IT work for the Justice industry. “IT” he says, “you know, computers and stuff”.
Okay, that last one was a bit mean. But as someone who actually works in IT and can explain the “stuff”, it was hard to continue that conversation without making him seem like an idiot.
Truthfully I think I just wasn’t ready yet to meet someone new. This guy wasn’t Summer Boy, but pissed as I was at that jackass I couldn’t help but make comparisons.
There’s such a thin line between wanting to feel wanted and actually wanting to meet someone new. At least I had toed up to the plate.
It hasn't been too bad, though. I’ve been contacted by some seemingly decent men and am thinking about reaching out to some even better seeming men myself. I even agreed to go on a date!
It was to one of the last Cubs games, which is a bit of a stretch given how long they can run, but as all of my gals kept reminding me, how bad could it be? I’d just be sitting there drinking beer and eating hot dogs.
Except my date doesn’t drink.
Oh of course he insisted it didn’t bother him when other people drank, and indeed he seemed fine while I drank a few beers during the game, but I was pretty sure this one fact alone would be a deal breaker for me. The truth is, alcohol is part of my regular social scene, and it would make me very uncomfortable dating someone who didn't drink. I would feel like an alcoholic. All the time.
That’s the reason I used when I said I didn’t think it would work out between us, but I could have chosen one of many, as it turns out.
Like say, introducing me to family. On the first date. Turns out his brother was at the game, too, and he came over to join us mid-way through the game. He’s a police officer at the station right by my house! And a cuter version of my date, I might add.
Or inviting me to his cousin’s wedding for which he was a groomsman. I politely declined, not because it was “serious” as he suggested, but because it’s weird to invite a stranger to a family wedding. Plus, I don’t think it would be any fun for me to show up at that kind of event not knowing anyone (including him, even). Don't get me wrong, I'm great with a crowd of strangers, but it's not the right venue.
Or displaying a startling lack of knowledge about the career one says they are pursuing. After a few years in landscaping-type sales my date was trying to get into the Sheriff’s program for a leg up into getting into IT work for the Justice industry. “IT” he says, “you know, computers and stuff”.
Okay, that last one was a bit mean. But as someone who actually works in IT and can explain the “stuff”, it was hard to continue that conversation without making him seem like an idiot.
Truthfully I think I just wasn’t ready yet to meet someone new. This guy wasn’t Summer Boy, but pissed as I was at that jackass I couldn’t help but make comparisons.
There’s such a thin line between wanting to feel wanted and actually wanting to meet someone new. At least I had toed up to the plate.
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