I've dated! Please help me before I do it again.

This whole “dating” thing: who came up with this crazy scheme? What sadistic prig managed to hunker down and spit out a social scenario where a palpitating heart, various sweaty body parts (some parts, of course, normally bleed water when one’s nervous, but you know something is amiss when the spleen starts showing signs of a hydrated diffidence) and the latent ability to completely appear like a tongue-tied fool whose greatest accomplishment thus far in life is to splutter the ever-hopeful entreaty, “Duhhhh, I had a nice time tonight. Wanna do it again?” are the norm? I’ll throttle him! (Or her. I have this sneaky suspicion that it was a woman who engineered this horrible juxtaposition of a lack of self-confidence and romantic yearnings. Not for any specific reason, understand, but because I have an even sneakier suspicion that I’m a closet misogynist. I’m closeted as yet because I’ve not mastered the requisite loathing of the fairer sex. Unless she’s Lorena Bobbitt–then it’s just plain old rough sex.)

So, seeing as that I’m still doing the breast stroke in that middling pool of life they call the “Mid-Twenties”, I figured that I’d go on a date this past weekend. (I mean, I asked her. I just didn’t show up at a place, point at a girl that made the ol’ pants tight, and say “You’re it!” all the while giving her my best “come hither” look. That look, I’m afraid is a bit too representative of my orgasm look. No sense in frightening them off before that unavoidable time where she turns on the lamp because “We always do it with the lights off! Let’s do it with them on this time and—ahhhhhhhh!! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”) So, I asked this one woman out. We’ve had great conversations when we’ve chatted and a lot of our nostalgia moments tended to coincide. (Not like my previous girlfriend who, when the past was brought up, was unabashedly single-minded. “So,” I’d start out, “I use to have a red bike that I pretended was the red lion from Voltron.” She appeared confused at first, so I nodded reassuringly at her. Then, voila! she smiled and spoke:

“My father had a great knife collection.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m not sure I understand; are you saying you pretended that one of those knives was a…lion…from…Voltron…?”
“My father,” she continued, “also had a great collection of kitten–”
“Oh God,” I whispered in supplication, “I know I never believed in you until now, but pleeeeeeeaaasseeee don’t let her finish–”

So I learned quickly that conversations were a no-no. But I still dated her because she put out and my penis told me to.) Anyway, this current woman for whom I have a lech is very intelligent and ain’t so bad to look at. (All right, she’s gorgeous. Just plain “Holy Crap! Can I touch you and…never stop?”) Part of her beauty stems from her intelligence, but even if she went the other route with her I.Q., gave herself a crew cut, sat me down on a bench and went on about her mom and boxes of goddamn chocolate, trust me, she’d still be pretty enough to elicit a solitary stream of desirous drool. So we met up, this woman and I, had dinner and, then, a drink afterwards. We talked until very late about the usual first date stuff: ever been in jail? Maybe. Do you have handcuffs? Yes. Because of jail? Maybe. Killed anyone this week? No. Have a collection of kitten heads at home? Maybe.

See, I thought the whole night went pretty well. But I’m not sure. No first kiss, true, but also no first homicidal rage/let’s call the police before she goes for the hatchet/too late, she’s got it/run, motherfuckers! Not that the first date needs to end with a first kiss, but usually one can judge the success of the first date as “exceptional” when one feels the other person’s tongue softly playing tag with one’s uvula. Throwing out the goodnight kiss as evidence, I have to use the remaining senses to figure out if the night went well.

And that’s the problem. Because my last official date, blessedly so, was a year ago. I’m rusty, I say. Like many other poor saps out there, when it comes to judging another person’s romantic interest in moi, I’m a fool. Hell, I’d better start offering people boxes of chocolate. Still, she did say “yes” to another get-together, but I’m just not sure if she said it because:

A.) It was late, she was tired and, short of kicking me in the sensitive area (you know, the place where my penis sits in its command post and tells me whom to date), she could think of no faster way to exorcise me from the immediate area.

B.) She was being nice and didn’t want to crush my boyish enthusiasm in one fell swoop. (Alternately, she could be just plain evil and wants to rip me and my ego to shreds over an extended period of time. Kinda like mom. Ahhhh…)

C.) Maybe she thought that I thought that she thought we both understood the night went well for (get ready) “being friends” and the next outing would be purely a “friendly” one with very little if no chance for uvula carressing. (Little does she know that my uvula has been doing push-ups and is ready for an oral wrestling match between her “Tanya, the Tongued Terror” and my “Ulysses, the Universal Unguent of Unbadness”.)

The other problem (Yes, I know I previously wrote “And that’s the problem” in an above paragraph; whose wording indicates only one problem and here I am going on with more than one problem. I lied. get over it.) is what if she’s shy, too, and both of us are thinking the other person doesn’t like the other and we spend the few, fleeting dates we have wishing for the other person to do something other than engage in a bout of useless, wishful thinking?

My god! You know, if I inherited this thinking from both my parents, I have to wonder how they ever managed to have sex.

Anyway, enough about me. What the hell do you guys/gals think about me? And her. And our uvulas. Oh, and tongues, too. (Oh, I suppose, you can also throw in a few thoughts about our chances for…you know, something.)

Heh. Welcome to the boards! Great name, by the way; I also enjoy The Phantom Tollbooth. :slight_smile: (Whoo-hoo! I was the first to recognize your name. La-da-da-da-daaaaaa!)


As for the OP: ahh, screw it. Go out with her anyway. You never know, your mouth might win the wrestling match and you could walk away with 2.5 kids and a house with a lil’ picket fence out front. Unless you don’t want any of that. In that case, follow the advice from your Emperor Penis. :wink:

A spectacular first post. I don’t think I’ve yet written one that made me laugh as much.

If it was me, it’d be option A, but I think it’s probably #D for you. Sounds like it was fun.

Advice from the woman who used to be in her twenties–take it a face value and give her the benefit of the doubt. If she said she’d go out with you again, she’ll go out with you again. Chances are, she’s got her uvula doing warm-ups as well, and probabably other parts of her anatomy are tingling, too. I remember what tingling anatomy parts were like . . .

Your old girlfriend’s father, the one with the knives–is he available by any chance?

Wow, it’s Rue DeDay’s twin brother! Wonderful first post. Oh, and the one guy I didn’t kiss on a first date is also the one I married over eight years ago.

Dating cynic chiming in here. Based on my experience that inspired my previous rant, girls may say they want to go out again, but they’ll say anything to get you out of their car. Best of luck to you, but don’t be surprised if you get dropped like the proverbial ton-o’-bricks instead.

Lookee at that! Five posts already! (Yes, I’m aware that there are threads out there that neccesitate the immediate need for thousands of posts within the first half-hour, and I’m aware that my thread has garnered only three posts in a much longer time-frame than thirty minutes, but baby, it’s five posts and I’m doing the message board jig on my keyboard right now!)

SkipMagic: My Penis is not yet an emperor. If he gets there, I’ll let you know; I might even invite you to the coronation. You will not, however, be allowed to do any crowning. (By the way, I’m somewhat surprised that someone knew where my name comes from. What, are you a mind-reading freak or something? Because if you are, I have this girl whose mind I want you to check out for me. Might make this whole thread unnecessary.)

Wikkit: Thanks for the good words! Yes, the date was fun. Fabulous, even. Almost better than whatsitsname’s peanut butter cups–and I love those little chocolate bites of sweet, cavity-causing joy.

Kallessa: Yes, true, I shouldn’t look too closely at a gift horse’s mouth. Equine halitosis, as I understand, can knock you on your ass if you’re not prepared properly. Not saying she’s a horse, understand. (Although…giddy-up, baby!) At any rate, I will just enjoy the fact that I have another chance for…whatever. As for the knife-wielding father of the gloriously insane ex-girlfriend: not sure. Want me to e-mail Bedlam and find out his release schedule? :slight_smile:

Throatshot: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let’s not bring up marriage just yet. Please, please keep this in perspective. I don’t normally think of nuptials until I get to squeeze a breast or something (and not just mine). :slight_smile: No first kiss, I understand on the first date; I definitely didn’t think she had just pissed into my romantically-inclined bowl of Cheerios just because oral engagment didn’t rear its sloppy head. Still, life would be much, much easier if we could fill out some of those suggestion cards fast-food restaurants hand out.

Please rate your date on the following questions with the numbers 1-5 (1 being the lowest, 5 being the “throw me on the on the ground and ravage my hairy back/lip”):

1.) Conversation
2.) Hand-Holding
3.) Hair
4.) General Smells Emanating from His/Her Direction (Please dismiss this question if you’re dating in Lancaster County, PA and the Amish just put out the manure.)
5.) Sarcasm
6.) Footsie-Playing Ability
7.) Clothing
8.) Ass

But, unfortunately, we didn’t have those. Damn.

Av8rmike: Aha! A weakness in your cynicism! We weren’t ever in her car!

Fickle wenches, the whole lot of 'em. Still, did you manage to take a shower, wear clean underwear and avoid foods that could foul the air with your breath’s pungent fury?

If so, you just might have a chance with this particular fickle wench.

I have been having lunch or dinner or going to parties etc with some women for more than a year & it’s never
a ‘date’. Soon as they meet some guy they go out & they call it a ‘date’. So yesterday, I asked
three women to explain this logic & they said you can’t understand women’s logic.

::evil laughter::

My cynicism remains strong, as always. It was based on my experience that girls will say anything to get you out of the car. Or, I suppose, off the doorstep, out of her face, whatever. Your mileage may vary.

You misunderstood me. I wasn’t implying that you should look forward to wedding bells. I was just indicating that a lack of a first date kiss meant absolutely nothing.

Throatshot: fret not! My tongue was planted firmly in cheek when I wrote a response to you. Sorry if it didn’t come out that way.