The Blind Blind Date Continues
As unfortunate, yet funny, my blind blind date story is, last night's insanity was not as funny.
I went out for drinks with some old coworkers, one of whom (Erin) was in town for the week (she brought three friends) at Charlie's Kitchen. As the conversation went on, one of them asked where I went to school. I told him, then he asked if I knew this guy, and described him as blind, etc. I said, "Yeah. I went on a date with him." My friends shouted, "He's the Blind Blind Date!" Then the guy who asked if I went to 'Deis said, "You broke his heart! He was totally in love with you!"
That was the last straw. I think I stood up and said, rather loudly, "Are you kidding me?! I went on one fucking date with the guy, and it wasn't a very good date! How the hell could I have broken his heart?"
Unbelievable. Throughout the rest of the night I let them in on what happened from my perspective. Ugh.
I hope my bad dating karma ends soon.
I've rarely gone on real dates. The only blind one I've been on was T O R T U R E. Oh my God, I thought I was going to have to push him in front of a train and make a run for it. Ugh.
Anyway, I made a date with this guy Adam shortly after. He suggested we go to Marche (an "upscale" cafeteria style restaurant in the Prudential Center). He called a couple of hours before our date to confirm, and I asked for directions to the restuarant. He said, "Funny, ask the blind guy for directions." I thought he just meant he had a lousy sense of direction. We decided to meet at the top of the escalator...I told him what I was wearing, and he said, "I'll be the tall guy in the black wool overcoat with the white cane." I said, "Oh, you weren't kidding about being blind."
More later, I'm off to a meeting.
I grew up in a small university town. My friends and I all have a nickname for frat boys. They are "dirty white hats". This is because all frat boys at UNH wear dirty white baseball caps, and all idiots who failed to get into a frat but manage to be complete morons despite the lack of social reinforcement... also wear dirty white baseball caps. These are "dirty white hats". They are to be avoided.
So anyway, he shows up wearing a dirty white hat. And a plaid shirt. And Dockers. Now, before you start telling me that maybe he was a very nice person and I didn't give him a chance - he had NOTHING to say for the whole date. The whoooooole date. He sat there, and occasionally said something about how I looked nice. I told him funny stories, which he laughed at, but he had NOTHING to say. I started drawing unflattering cartoons of him on my napkin toward the end. It was painful. And yet he still wanted to pay for dinner (I wouldn't let him) and even wanted us to go out again! What? Insanity.
When you get back from your meeting I totally want the scoop on this Marché adventure...
I was nervous about the date, so I got to the Pru early and did a lot of window shopping. As I realized time to meet was coming up, I started walking towards the escalator and saw a rather large man in a black overcoat walking in front of me. I kept my distance, and before he stopped, he picked a big ole wedgie out of his butt. At that point I thought. That guy is TOTALLY my date. I could leave now, and not have to go through the agony, or I could be me and go through with it.
"Hi, I'm Miriam. You must be Adam."
From there, we went to Marche. It's set up so that there are food stations where you order and carry it back to your table. Adam asked that I hold his hand and describe things to him. I was appalled. I'm no prude, as several of you know, but I'm not cool with holding a stranger's hand on a first date. When I'm drunk, no problem, but not sober on a first date. I did it, 'cause what could I say? "Sorry dude, use your cane?!" Not my style.
I think I would've enjoyed the date more if he'd been a looker, but he was far from it. Bummer.
We ate dinner, talked a while, and the whole time I was trying to figure out how to end it. Unfortunately, I'm a little too nice.
He paid for dinner; I offered to help, but he said no.
He then asked if I'd seen the view from the top of the Pru. "No. But isn't it closed since 9/11?" "Yes, but that's not where we're going." "Okay."
We headed to the elevators, stepped in, along with another couple, and he inched pretty close to me as I tried to step away. Ugh. This was getting ridiculous. I'm all about guys being gentleman when it's appropriate, and he had crossed that line towards inappropriate several times already.
The elevator climbed 50+ floors in a matter of seconds, and I was green by the time it got to Top of the Hub. Let the motion sickness begin.
We were seated at a window near the piano. He ordered a sidecar. I ordered a cammomile tea. We shared some kind of chocolate dessert. Again, he paid and I offered but was told no.
The elevator ride down was no better. I think I turned greener.
He insisted that we share a cab back to Somerville, and also asked that I hold his hand crossing the street to the cab stand. Annoyed and wanting to vomit, I didn't have the energy to deny his request.
In the cab he tried to get close to me, and I tried to give him reasons why I wasn't interested in dating him. Guess I wasn't convincing. Eventually, when he asked if I would come over to watch a movie with him, I think I even agreed. At that point I was about to vomit and just wanted to get away from him.
As the cab came to a stop at the bottom of my hill, I patted his arm, said, "Thanks for a lovely time," and ran up to my place where I stripped off my shirt and laid down with cool towels draped over me in hopes that the nausea would subside.
He left me a message the next day asking me out. I returned the call two days later and said I wasn't interested. He hung up on me.
The day after that he wrote me a pretty appalling email. I can post that later. All in all, it was not a good experience.
x
________________
<i>The Boot Knife of Mild Reason </i>
Miriam I admire your compassion (and passion).
Should you ever be in Africa, I shall make you one of my brides.
Selah.
When he said, "We'll have two boys; the first will be named after my father, the second we'll name after yours." That made me wonder what kind of first date it was. When I said, "Actually, in my religion, we don't name children after living relatives." He started to tell me why my religion was backward. For several minutes.
He was another winner. I think I broke his heart, too.
I've never dated a Kenyan but I've kissed a Ghanaian. And the closest I've ever gotten to someone wanting me to paint them nude was my first college boyfriend, who wanted me to "spend some time with a hand mirror, getting to know my vagina". And we have another winner!
My Dad used to tell me not to let men pay for stuff because it "sets expectations, and you might not want to have to deal with what those expectations might be." I still think it's great advice, almost 20 years after I first heard it. Yes, my father was paranoid once puberty hit me.