Warning: I probably shouldn't have listened to Pantera's Vulgar Display of Power before this particular date. Not exactly something that inspires romantic feelings (damn iTunes shuffle!).
The Architect was my first set-up date. A friend of mine was looking at some pictures of us while he was at work and his cubicle mate fixated on me (I was probably holding a wine glass, pool cue or banana - what can I say, we like suggestive pictures). My friend, being theasshole helpful person he is, mentioned I was single and looking and offered to set the two of us up.
Actual text from email:
"So my co-worker (Redacted) - you know, the one who looks like Johnny Marr? He wants to go out with you. I told him you like tall skinny guys so you should do it. If it helps, I once overheard his ex-girlfriend say he was packin'. Ok, this is wrong, just do it please."
Ahhhh, I love my friends so damn much and who knew they were dick brokers? I vaguely remembered seeing the Architect before and was pretty sure he was hot and around my age (bonus!) so I had to do it. We spent a few days texting back and forth and had weird things in common. We both like xkcd, paella and have a secret like of Barry Manilow (yeah I admitted it, fuck you haters!). The only thing that had me nervous is this guy came from money and wasn't fucking around - he set up our first date at Farralon. Oh shit son, dress code! This was way out of my league but dammit, I'm a grown-ass woman! I needed to learn to dress up and stop slouching so I bought a simple black dress, heels and wore some of the god-awful sparkly jewelry my grandmother gets me (good thing I was too lazy to sell that stuff forbooze food).
Because I'm such a "bro", I have no aptitude for the feminine arts - it took me two hours to do my hair and makeup. Since I was too excited about the date and kept burning myself with the straightening iron (fucking torture devices!), I decided to put on some music - a little Sade to set the mood. Too bad I forgot I had my computer on shuffle. It all started with Pantera and was downhill from there. Before I go on I need to bring up that I grew up on Classic Rock and Hair Metal, so it's not my fault that I have a ton of it on my iTunes. Unfortunately, listening to this music takes me back to being a 19 year-old party chick - not conducive to going to a swank restaurant. Instead of being smart enough to change it, I rocked out all the way downtown baby! Wearing a black cocktail dress and heels on Muni while singing "Runnin' With the Deviilllllll" does not a classy woman make. And the when "Everybody Wants Some!!" came on, forget it - there aren't enough fist pumps in the world for that fucking song (right Tone)?
With my now wild hair, sweater off the shoulder and party swagger I looked more like I was on a rampage for sex than going on a first date (damn you 1980's Van Halen, damn you)! Luckily I came to my senses a block from the restaurant and tried to smooth my hair down and not look like I stole someone's clothes. I walked in the restaurant with my head held high, attempting to exude class....and promptly slipped and fell on my ass. I thought about blaming the restaurant, but it was my damn cheap shoes that couldn't handle nice flooring. I'm pretty sure I flashed the hostess but she didn't seem to mind (well, it is SF). By the time I arrived at our table the very tall and sexy Architect was trying very hard not to laugh his ass off. Damnit, I finally meet a guy I can actually picture having sex with and he's already wondering if I'm drunk (that normally doesn't happen until later). I tried my hardest to play the sexy, intelligent, elusive card while he played the "I'm looking for the one" card. It worked....until it suddenly didn't. The redneck mountain-girl in me just pops out at the strangest times and I found myself asking way too many questions about the food, silverware and history of the restaurant. I went from acting like a Bond girl to Cletus the Slack Jawed Yokel in 10 seconds.
The Architect was my first set-up date. A friend of mine was looking at some pictures of us while he was at work and his cubicle mate fixated on me (I was probably holding a wine glass, pool cue or banana - what can I say, we like suggestive pictures). My friend, being the
Actual text from email:
"So my co-worker (Redacted) - you know, the one who looks like Johnny Marr? He wants to go out with you. I told him you like tall skinny guys so you should do it. If it helps, I once overheard his ex-girlfriend say he was packin'. Ok, this is wrong, just do it please."
Ahhhh, I love my friends so damn much and who knew they were dick brokers? I vaguely remembered seeing the Architect before and was pretty sure he was hot and around my age (bonus!) so I had to do it. We spent a few days texting back and forth and had weird things in common. We both like xkcd, paella and have a secret like of Barry Manilow (yeah I admitted it, fuck you haters!). The only thing that had me nervous is this guy came from money and wasn't fucking around - he set up our first date at Farralon. Oh shit son, dress code! This was way out of my league but dammit, I'm a grown-ass woman! I needed to learn to dress up and stop slouching so I bought a simple black dress, heels and wore some of the god-awful sparkly jewelry my grandmother gets me (good thing I was too lazy to sell that stuff for
Because I'm such a "bro", I have no aptitude for the feminine arts - it took me two hours to do my hair and makeup. Since I was too excited about the date and kept burning myself with the straightening iron (fucking torture devices!), I decided to put on some music - a little Sade to set the mood. Too bad I forgot I had my computer on shuffle. It all started with Pantera and was downhill from there. Before I go on I need to bring up that I grew up on Classic Rock and Hair Metal, so it's not my fault that I have a ton of it on my iTunes. Unfortunately, listening to this music takes me back to being a 19 year-old party chick - not conducive to going to a swank restaurant. Instead of being smart enough to change it, I rocked out all the way downtown baby! Wearing a black cocktail dress and heels on Muni while singing "Runnin' With the Deviilllllll" does not a classy woman make. And the when "Everybody Wants Some!!" came on, forget it - there aren't enough fist pumps in the world for that fucking song (right Tone)?
With my now wild hair, sweater off the shoulder and party swagger I looked more like I was on a rampage for sex than going on a first date (damn you 1980's Van Halen, damn you)! Luckily I came to my senses a block from the restaurant and tried to smooth my hair down and not look like I stole someone's clothes. I walked in the restaurant with my head held high, attempting to exude class....and promptly slipped and fell on my ass. I thought about blaming the restaurant, but it was my damn cheap shoes that couldn't handle nice flooring. I'm pretty sure I flashed the hostess but she didn't seem to mind (well, it is SF). By the time I arrived at our table the very tall and sexy Architect was trying very hard not to laugh his ass off. Damnit, I finally meet a guy I can actually picture having sex with and he's already wondering if I'm drunk (that normally doesn't happen until later). I tried my hardest to play the sexy, intelligent, elusive card while he played the "I'm looking for the one" card. It worked....until it suddenly didn't. The redneck mountain-girl in me just pops out at the strangest times and I found myself asking way too many questions about the food, silverware and history of the restaurant. I went from acting like a Bond girl to Cletus the Slack Jawed Yokel in 10 seconds.
From This....
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The fall should have been a sign. Our texting banter and few things we had in common simply didn't hold up in person. Unfortunately, aside from being awkward I also was letting my bias of people who come from money show. I knew I was losing him so I jumped to my standby - humor...except I forgot I have a twisted sense of humor. Something told me my favorite "worm in the apple" joke was NOT going to work here. The whole night was turning into a disaster until, for reasons unbeknownst to me (possibility of sex?), I blurted out that I was writing a dating blog. That seemed to intrigue him and gave us something to talk about that didn't involve a discussion on class warfare. Dating horror stories became our bonding moment and thus saved the evening.
I got a ride home and a sweet kiss (along with that "you're a great girl..." speech). Honestly, I liked this one...a lot but sometimes it doesn't matter how much you like them. If they are looking for something (someone) serious or someone who is just not you, then all the class and push-up bras in the world aren't going to change their mind. I chalk this up as a Fail! because I broke almost every rule in my book. But maybe, just maybe I have a new reader for the blog. (We'll always have Barry).
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