Date #13: Scooter's Return

Since I've posted the entry that ended with me asking Scooter out on a date I've gotten the following responses:

- Did you really do that?
- Why would you do that?
- Didn't you say he looked like Jim Belushi?
- Bitch, you crazy!

First off, he reminded me of Jim Belushi; he doesn't look like him.

Secondly, to be honest, I was curious.

And even though I was sort of breaking my own rule about not going out with someone who I think I won't have a future with, I figured I was owed a little break after the prospect of Connor fell apart on me.

a.k.a.

DON'T JUDGE ME.

So we went to the batting cage where Scooter demonstrated how straight-acting he is by missing every single ball that came at him. His arms may be huge, but he has no idea how to use them. We then played mini-golf--I kicked his ass, and as one of my friends says--'Just so we're clear'--I suck at mini-golf. Losing to me at mini-golf is like losing a track race to a guy with no legs.

After his ass was walloped at the 18th hole, he asked if I wanted to go back to his place.

I recently had someone ask me why I always end up back at the guy's places on these dates, or why they end up back at mine--here's the deal:

I live in RI--where everything closes at 9pm. If you want a date to go past 9pm--as I do, if only so that I don't have to be home at 9:30pm feeling like a grandparent--then you learn to hang out at people's places.

Still, I didn't want to give Scooter the wrong idea.

ME: You do know we're not having sex, right?
SCOOTER: Sure, sure.
ME: Scooter, I just kicked your ass in mini-golf. There's no chance we're having sex. Mini-golf is the wimpiest sport in the world and you just lost to me, so I can't imagine you'd be all that good in bed.
SCOOTER: So if I had won--
ME: Oh yeah, like rabbits on Viagra.

Yeah right. Moving on--

We go back to his place--also Brian's place--Brian being the guy I was on a date with when I met Scooter. He assured me Brian was out on a date himself, which made me feel slightly less shady for being out on a date with the roommate of a guy I just went out on a date with a short time ago.

...But not much.

So we're sitting there on Brian's couch watching Boyz in the Hood.

ME: What is with you and the ghetto flicks?
SCOOTER: What do you mean?
ME: The last time I was here you were watching Don't Be a Menace.
SCOOTER: Maybe it's just what I like.
ME: True. I just find it funny that you and--oh I don't know--Spike Lee--probably have the same taste in film.
SCOOTER: We can watch something else.
ME: Do you have Next Friday?

Amazingly, he did.

But we just ended up watching televison instead.

At some point, he looked over at me and said--

SCOOTER: I bet I could benchpress you.
ME: Okay...
SCOOTER: You want to see if I can?
ME: Uh...
SCOOTER: We don't--
ME: YES!

C'mon, are you all that surprised?

He laid down on the floor, and instructed me to stand above him, my feet to his feet--and then fall forward. Keep in mind, I have minor trust issues--and this guy can't even hit a ball in a batting cage--and I'm about to fall forward.

And I do...

...And Brian walks in...

...With Army Guy...

I fall on top of Scooter.

Let that scene sink into your psyche for a second.

Brian gave us an awkward "Hi Guys" and Army Guy pretended he didn't even know me--a strategy I found very intelligent. I got off Scooter, but not without him getting a little excited first--I could tell. The two of them retreated into Rich's room. It was then that a few things occurred to me:

1) Army Guy never called me back after our date (Granted, I didn't notice because I wanted nothing to do with him, but still)
2) Brian called back just to tell me he wasn't ready to be dating (Yet here he was on a date)
3) I strongly dislike when guys I've dated date each other (I find it incestuous)

This is when you see a part of me you don't like--

You've been warned.

ME: Hey Scooter, let's go in your room.

I swear to God he was on his bed and stretched out in the Playgirl position before I even got the sentence out of my mouth.

I closed the door behind me and asked if he had any music. He pointed to a stereo/CD collection on his desk.

Megadeth, Megadeth, Megadeth--

Oh Christ, I was on a date with Gene Simmons.

Randomly, I turned on the radio and "Promiscuous Girl" was playing.

Perfect.

I climbed up on the bed and straddled the mass that is Scooter.

ME: How'd you like a massage, Scoot?
SCOOTER: Oh--foreplay--I get it.

He flipped over and something about the back of his head told me he was smiling.

I started to give him a backrub--which ps, I'm amazing at. I have few talents, but backrubbing is definitely one of them. Pretty soon, Scooter was moaning.

Just like I wanted.

ME: Oh, you like that, huh Scootie?
SCOOTER: Mmhmm...
ME: That feels good?
SCOOTER: Oh yeah...

Pretty soon, I could hear sounds from the next room. It was a combo of lip smacking and turning over on a bed.

Okay, I thought, I'll turn up the heat--

I want you on my team
So does everybody else

ME: Oh Scooter, you feel so good.
SCOOTER: Huh?
ME: You're so muscular.
SCOOTER: Uh...thanks.
ME: OH YEAH, SCOOTER.

Promiscuous boy...

Scooter flipped over and looked up at me with a sort of...scowl. He accused me of trying to make Brian jealous by making it sound like we were having sex in here. Wow, he's not as dumb as I thought.

SCOOTER: Look, if that's all you're going for, fine. But you might as well get into it.
ME: Huh?

With that, he flipped me over onto my back, picked up my legs, wrapped them around his waist, and instructed me to press both my palms up against the headboard. Then he unleashed a--

SCOOTER: KEVIN, OH FUCK!

--And began hammering. Literally, hammering. He treated my body like it was a jackhammer. It was then that I realized having actual sex with Scooter would have probably killed me. My palms placed where they were happened to be the only thing separating my head from going through the wall and into whatever crazy sex act was happening between Army Guy and Brian. After about a minute of this, along with Scooter shouting out obscene things that I'm too embarrassed to write here--he stopped and fell on the bed next to me.

I thought I saw God at one point during the minute but it could have been the combination of my head accidentally hitting the headboard a few times and Nelly Furtado being a slut.

SCOOTER: See what you've been missing.

Uh, a concussion apparently. Who the hell actually has sex like that? I thought of filing a Missing Person's Report for Ying and Yang (See the Scooter entry.)

Then I heard the door to Brian's bedroom open, and I heard both the guys walk out into the living room. I heard the front door shut.

I guess our [simulated] monkey sex drove them away, I thought.

But then I heard Brian walk past Scooter's bedroom and into the bathroom at the end of the hallway and shut the door. For some reason, I wanted to check up on him.

I got up and went to the bathroom, and knocked lightly on the door.

BRIAN: Be out in a sec.

Oh wow, I heard the I've-just-been-crying voice.

ME: Brian, can I come in?
BRIAN: I said I'll be out in a sec.
ME: Yeah, but I want to make sure you're okay.
BRIAN: Why do you care?
ME: Cause I don't want you to be--
BRIAN: Just come in.

I walked into the bathroom to find Brian sitting in his bathtub with all his clothes on and red marks under his eyes where the tears obviously ran. I asked him what happened.

Apparently, he and Army Guy had gone on three dates. Tonight was going to be the night they sealed the deal, but then there was a break in the foreplay and Brian told Army Guy that he really liked him. I guess this freaked Army Guy out, because he told Brian he wasn't looking for 'anything serious' right now, and that maybe it was better if he left. I reminded Brian he had said essentially the same thing to me.

BRIAN: Fine, call it bad karma on my part.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub with him.
He was a cute guy.
He was a sweet guy.
He was very human and very vulnerable.
And tonight something Didn't Work Out.
Nights like that are hard.
I know, I've had a few.
And he asked...

He asked me why gay guys do this. Why we meet guys who would be great for us and turn them away, and then meet assholes and cling to them for dear life? He wanted to know why we chase instead of enjoy, why we hurt each other, why we're all pretty much 12-year-old girls, why we give ourselves over physically to someone and expect it to mean something when so often it rarely does--at least to the other person?

Okay, actually all he said was--'Why do we do this?'

But the 'we' made me think of everything else.

ME: Think of it this way, Brian. Straight people have been dating for hundreds of years. Maybe thousands, and they still can't get it right. We're actually doing okay considering we've only been able to do this with society's approval for about twenty years now--if that.

Okay, not the best philosophy, but it served the moment.

Then Scooter appeared--

SCOOTER: You guys up for a shower?

Brian and I looked at each other--and we laughed.

Cause sometimes you just have to laugh...at Scooter.

Then we all went into the kitchen and broke out the cheesecake like a bunch of fucking Golden Girls. They had that mixed platter they sell at the supermarket. I took all the plain kind and poured chocolate syrup on it. It was then I told Scooter and Brian about some of my adventures in dating--while keeping the blog itself a secret.

SCOOTER: Why don't you try hooking up with someone?
ME: Cause I want something significant.
SCOOTER: Well, looking for something significant hasn't led you to anything all that great. So maybe if you tried the opposite it might work out better for you.
BRIAN: He kind of has a point.
ME: Don't encourage him!
SCOOTER: Maybe you're afraid you won't be able to find someone to hook up with.
ME: Hey Scooter, you want to hook up?
SCOOTER: Hell yeah.
ME: Phew, glad that's settled.

But Scooter's suggestion had me thinking. Maybe trying something new was the way to go. Sometimes not expecting too much can end up getting you a lot. I consulted with an expert--

ME: Have you ever hooked up with someone and had it lead to more?
FRIEND: Like more sex?
ME: No, like something significant.
FRIEND: What's more significant than sex?
ME: A relationship.
FRIEND: If you wanted a relationship, then why would you hook up with someone? Once you hook up you've killed any chance at a relationship.
ME: Well maybe you end up really liking the person.
FRIEND: In that case, I usually walk them to the door.

Well, that settles that issue...or does it...

Since I've been addressing issues some of you have with this blog, a few of you have mentioned that you don't believe I never have sex with any of these guys, and I maintain that if I had sex with one of the dates I'd put it on here.

Well you know what, I'm going to put my money where my monkey is.

The next date I go on, I'm having sex. And the date is coming up shortly.

So stay tuned, kids...

Date #12: Sailing

So Connor took me sailing this weekend for our second date.

I've actually never been sailing before, but I alway wanted to. It's undeniably romatic-sounding.

I had this image of he and I sitting on his boat with the sun beating down on us. He--no shirt on, muscles fully exposed--me--scrawny, and thereby wearing every article of clothing I could possibly get away with without looking like an Inuit--just lying there next to each other, holding hands and letting the sea carry us away....

Well, we were sort of carried away...to our deaths.

See, there was wind. There was LOTS of wind.

It wasn't like it was a storm, but the wind caused the water to be pretty rough. The boat went up and down, and up and down...and my stomach went up and down and up and down. Having never been sailing before, I never even thought to ask about sea-sickness pills. I also discovered that being out on the ocean brings out the same feeling that being up in a high building does--you get this overwhelming anxiety over the vast expanse lying right underneath you.

And we all know how much I love heights.

So there I was, clinging to the door that led below deck watching while Connor fooled around with different things on the boat. He was trying to make the best of the situation:

CONNOR: This is kind of fun, isn't it?
ME: Me...ha...goo...dee...fi...no no.
CONNOR: What?
ME: Yes, thank you, I'm having a lovely time.

Inside I could feel everything I'd eaten in the past two days gathering together to form an army and lay seige on the deck of Connor's boat.

On the bright side, Connor was being really sweet in response to my complete mental breakdown. He kept coming over to me in an effort to ease me out of the fetal position.

CONNOR: Don't worry. This can still be the perfect second date.

More like The Perfect Storm...

The wind seemed to calm a little bit--as did my nerves--and soon enough Connor and I were laying out just as I'd pictured--smiling at each other and having a great conversation.

Then the rain started.

It was at this point that we decided second dates should always be conducted on land. He brought the boat back to shore and we went out for--you guessed it--seafood.

It was a really nice restaurant, not to mention that we were in Newport. I'll 'fess up, I really did think I was something special--being on a date in Newport eating at a nice restaurant in Newport with a through-and-through well-to-do Newport guy.

Newport, Newport, Newport!

"Oh yes, Muffin--Connor and I took the boat out this afternoon, then had a little lunch at Flau de French Blah Blah--ugh, now if only the maid will stop stealing from us."

As we ate, Connor looked more and more like he wanted to say something. Finally, I broached the subject.

ME: Is something wrong?
CONNOR: I'm not sure I want to do this.
ME: Do what?
CONNOR: Be dating.

Wha-huh-huh?

CONNOR: I just got out of a really long relationship, and the break-up was...it wasn't good. But I still think I might have feelings for my ex--

Do you ever feel like it's only your exes who have absolutely no trouble moving on once they've broken up with you? It's only other people's exes who seem to hang on to hope.

CONNOR: I mean, I definitely like you, but I'm just not sure I want something right now.
ME: Well, I'm not sure I want something either. I just like hanging out with you.
CONNOR: But these are dates right? I mean, this is a date?
ME: Yeah.
CONNOR: Well I'm not okay with that.
ME: We could call it something else, like...Lobbying?
CONNOR: I'm sorry, Kev.

So there I was with a plate of calamari in front of me and a sadness in my chest--shut down like Chinatown.

I left as soon as we were done eating. Conversation was stunted to say the least. I drove home listening to Meatloaf the whole way, because his music serves the brokenhearted well (okay, it wasn't that bad, but I was pretty bummed).

And some nights you're calm and nice...

I got home and Connor called.
I hit reject.
He called again.
I hit reject.
This was the voicemail:

CONNOR: Hey Kevin, it's Connor. Um...I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to stop seeing you but I also don't want you to think that I'm ready to like...be in a relationship, or anything, cause I'm not. But I get the feeling that's what you want, and you deserve that. You really do. I just...I probably will want that again and when I do I would want it with you, but I don't know when that's going to be, so if you could just give me some--

Message ended. New Message.

CONNOR: Sorry I got cut off. Anyway, um, I don't know what the hell I was saying in the last message, but I just would like to see you again, but I don't want you to think that anything can come of it. But I don't just want to be friends, because I know that's really condascending, but I don't want to necessarily be more than friends in an intimate kind of--Ugh, I sound crazy. Look, I'll call you. Have a good night.

ME: Is it bad that his potential insanity makes him that much more adorable to me?
FRIEND: Yes. Face it, if he weren't cute he'd already have a nickname like Crazy McCrazy Pants.
ME: I don't think so.
FRIEND: Then what do you think it is?
ME: The thing is, leaving two messages on somebody's voicemail is--Well, it's not cool. It's not what you're supposed to do when you're playing "the dating game." He put himself out on a limb, and...I like that. I like that it's not guarded and that he made himself vulnerable like that.
FRIEND: Do you like it enough to pursue nothingness with him?
ME: I don't know.
FRIEND: Just don't like him because he refuses to play the game. You have to play the game. It's the game.
ME: But I don't want to play the game anymore.
FRIEND: Well that's ironic, cause he just put the ball back into your court.

It would be a lot of possibly wasted dates. Then again I shouldn't talk considering what I'm about to embark on tonight...

...Don't hate me...

I was feeling vlunerable after my day on the open seas--and spontaneous, and unwanted, and insecure, and confused and...and...

"Hi Scooter, this is Kevin. Did you still want to go out on that date?"

Date #11: The Birthday Boy

The title above refers to me--I turned 22 on July 19th and in the words of Marissa Tomei in that cinematic gem My Cousin Vinny my biological clock IS TIK-KIN! (Stomps on floor with foot.)

I can't believe I've already gone on 10 dates so far and I just started this project in June. How many would qualify me for a brand new toaster?

Anyone?

Moving on--I had a lunch date today with a boy. A boy whom I admit I'm a little bit smitten with--and yes, I say smitten--I'm gay, get over it.

He's hot. Let's not mince words. And I know I always bring up what the guys look like but since I haven't been seeing any of them more than once--thereby limiting a chance to get to know their pesonalitys, or lack thereof--I might as well size them up based on looks.

So yeah, HOT HOT HOT HOTTIE MCHOTPANTS WITH A SIDE OF HOT SAUCE. (So of course, I was a completely hot mess.)

By the way, his name is Connor (Hotness.)

We went to lunch after running into each other last night at the club. We had talked before but last night was the first time we were together in a social setting. (It was a meeting at best, not a date, so don't worry about my coutning skills.) He was with friends and clearly not in his element so he was pretty aloof, didn't say good-bye when he left, and didn't dance with me all night. So I used the mild irritation I felt to quell the urge I had during lunch to rip off every article of clothing on his body and reeanct scenes from Cruel Intentions with him. (Sarah Michelle Gellar pressing up against step-bro Ryan Phillippe, you know what I'm talking about, kids.)

HIM: I really feel bad about last night.
ME: You should. You acted like a dick.
(He did, I was being honest. I hear hot guys like honesty. Let's see.)
HIM: You're right. And thank you for being honest about how you're feeling.
(Thank you, Dr. Phil. You might have just gotten me a husband.)
ME: It was my birthday. I think a dance would have been nice.
HIM: Well, that's why I called you today. I figured I'd make it up to you.

Sweet, yes. Was I receptive? Hell no.

You're going to hate me for what I do next, so brace yourself.

See, this would be Date #11, and even though I'm only one-tenth through the challenge, there's something about guys that's been pissing me off lately. Not just with all the ones I've been dating, but the ones my friends have been dating, and even some of my guy friends. And looking at this incredibly hot guy and hearing him say--essentially--

"I'm sorry, but at least I'm making it up to you..the next day."

--Just wasn't going to cut it. I had to monologue--so I did.

Hate me now.

ME: I just don't think that's what I want.
HOTNESS: Huh?
ME: Your response. This lunch. It isn't what I want.
HOTNESS: Okay...So what do you want?

Ladies and gentlemen, Kevin Broccoli...

I wanted you to drive home to Newport, get into your house and think--Man, I was a dick tonight. I really like that guy, and I barely paid attention to him. I really have no excuse for doing that. It was his birthday. And all he wanted was to dance with me for a little while and maybe talk. I wanted all these ideas to run through your head at a rapid pace, driving you nuts until you picked up the phone, called me, and said--"I'm coming to your house. Give me the address." I then wanted you to drive back from Newport, to Providence, at 3am--completely disregarding the fact that you had work the next day, just so I could open the door and you could kiss me on my front porch at the end of my birthday and literally make it one of the best ever. That's what I wanted.

Now, granted I'm paraphrasing--but that was pretty much it.

WHERE THE F**K DID THAT COME FROM?

Did I really want that? That wasn't me. That was super high maintenance guy! Complete with cape and Banana cardigan. Asking a guy to drive to me from Newport at all hours of the early morning just to give me a kiss and make me happy? I actually asked that of someone?

You bet your ass I did.

You know what? At one point did I decide that I'm not worthy of being treated like a motherf**king studmuffin?

Cursing, I know. At least I'm using asterisks.

I feel like I always said I was low-maintenace because I didn't think I deserved to be high maintenance. Just like how I always used to say I didn't mind smoking because I didn't want to seem like a prude. But I do mind smoking. And I do want to be treated nicely. And it's not like I want a guy who'll pick up the tab for champagne--granted I don't drink--or buy me stuff, I just want--I want--

HOTNESS: What do you want?
ME: I want someone to show up. You know? They always say the ones who show up in life are the ones who get what they want. Well, I want a guy who's going to show up for me. Not just make an appearance, not just drop by, but show up. You driving to me last night would have been insane, but it would have been you making a mistake and then showing up to fix it. That's what I want.
HOTNESS: And what does showing up entail?
ME: Walking into a room with me and looking so happy everyone in the room hates us. Not answering your phone when I'm talking to you and it rings--as a matter of fact, turning it off when we're out together--like now. Calling me just to say hi. Not trying to juggle me with other guys. Not keeping yourself guarded just in case I like that sort of thing or so you won't get hurt. Being goofy. Throwing yourself into me--metaphorically of course, you're huge. Picking up the phone at 2:30am and talking to me even though you should be sleeping. And if this sounds like a lot then all I can say is, it's everything I'll promise to do for you. I'll show up if you will.
HOTNESS: So this isn't showing up?
ME: No, this is smoothing things over. I'm not a political crisis, I'm a guy. You can't smooth me over. You need to make me feel like you want to be with me, because I'm not always going to believe that, and unfortunately if you want to be with me, that's going to have be your job for a little while.
HOTNESS: Making you know that I want to be with you?
ME: Yes.

Oh Christ, I'm Bridget Jones.

Look, when I was a kid--Cue violins--My dad used to tell me every weekend, "You're going to come stay over my house. I'm going to pick you up Friday night and bring you home Sunday. So pack a bag, we're going to have so much fun." So I'd pack my bag and I'd sit on the couch underneath the window at 6pm on Friday and I'd wait. And I'd wait. And after awhile, my Mom would come in and pat my head, and tell me Dad called and stuff came up, and did I want to watch TGIF?

Yeah...okay...

He never showed up.

And instead of going after guys who would, I'd go after guys who wouldn't and then let them--

"It's okay, I understand."
"Hey, stuff happens."
"We can catch the movie another time."
"I could do it tomorrow or next week if that's better for you."

"No problem, Dad. I'll just sleep over next Friday."

Say it with me now--F**k that noise.

ME: I can't believe I have a father complex.
FRIEND: Nothing wrong with a sugar daddy.
ME: That's not what I mean.
FRIEND: Nevertheless, nothing wrong with a sugar daddy.
ME: Do you think I was being an ass by unloading all this on Hotness?
FRIEND: I think anytime you talk for more than three sentences on a first date it's a bad idea.
ME: Well, I'm not good at being aloof like you.
FRIEND: I keep telling you, it hurts at first--
ME: Aloof means guarded.
FRIEND: Never mind.

So I told Hotness that though I may need therapy, it wasn't going to change the fact that I want what I want, and I think I deserve what I want.

And he...agreed.

So ladies and gentlemen, we have our first second date coming up in the challenge.

And Happy Birthday to me!

Date #10: Staying Over

I actually agreed to a 3am date. Partly because I was so excited someone in RI actually stays up past 9pm on a Monday night.

Did I have to work the next day? Yes.
Am I at work now? Yes.
Do I feel fine after only one cup of coffee? Yes.

So there you go, all you "I need sleep to function people"--Turns out you don't.

Since nothing is open at 3am, Tucker and I decided we could watch tv and talk.

This is where I make one of my confessions: I'm addicted to Food Network.

Ever since I moved into the apartment, whenever I have free time I watch Food Network. For some reason it comforts me. It doesn't really matter what it is. A couple of weeks ago I stayed up until 2:30am just to find out who won the New England Seafood Cook-Out. This is the exciting life of Kevin Broccoli.

So when Tucker came over, Food Network was on--more specifically Iron Chef. Not regular Iron Chef, though, oh no. AMERICAN Iron Chef.

Being the Food Network addict that I am, I detest Iron Chef America with a passion. It's the worst Americanization of anything since Coupling.

By the way, Tucker showed up stoned--Cute, but stoned. Why does every gay man in this state have to be smoking something all the time?

For a stoned guy though, I will say that he was pretty all there--enough to have a coherent conversation anyway. We sat on the couch and passed pretzels back and forth. The main ingredient on the show was lobster. So far this guy from Southern California was making lobster paste with potatoes au something or other and the Iron Chef was making fried lobster head.

ME: I love how the one thing none of them think to make is just lobster.
TUCKER: This show rules.
ME: Actually it sucks.
TUCKER: You don't like Iron Chef?
ME: No, I love Iron Chef. But this is Iron Chef America. It's not the same thing.
TUCKER: Well yeah, they speak English.
ME: Not just that. The feeling of the show is completely different.
TUCKER: Shows don't have feelings.

Oh my God, was I actually going to argue about this?

Uh, yeah I was. Cause I'm that deranged.

ME: Maybe it's more like tone. The tone is different.
TUCKER: What do you mean?
ME: Well, the first one is campy because it's awful and cheesy, but the people on it take it completely seriously which adds to the camp and humor, and therefore makes it really entertaining. The American version is aware that it's campy and cheesy, and therefore they play up the campiness of it, and so the humor is completely gone. It's like when Jimmy Fallon used to crack up after his own jokes all the time on SNL. It killed the humor.
TUCKER: Are you kidding? Jimmy Fallon is the man.
ME: Get out of my house.

We kept talking about stuff--Jimmy Fallon and his suckiness led to talk about SNL in general, which somehow got us around to the Blues Brothers movies, the works of Dan Ackroyd, Ghostbusters 1 &2, the cartoon version of Ghostbusters, Saturday morning cartoons in general, and finally--Disney afternoon.

ME: Talespin was a work of genius.
TUCKER: I was more of a Darkwing Duck guy.
ME: I can respect that.
TUCKER: I don't think I'm high anymore.
ME: Well, it is 4:30 in the morning. It was bound to wear off.
TUCKER: Do you mind if I crash here tonight?

Okay, obviously problem. Gay man sleeping over? Bad stuff might happen...or good stuff, depending on how you want to look at it. But then again, this was the best date I'd had so far in the challenge, and to be honest, not sleeping alone didn't seem like such a horrible idea, so I said okay figuring we were both so exhausted it's not like we'd need all that much self-control to keep the physical activity to a minimum.

ME: I can pull out the sofa bed if you want.
TUCKER: (Grins.) What? You're not into cuddling?

That was cute. Admit it, that was cute.

So we go into my room, I got into my usual bed gear--red pajama pants and a t-shirt. I offered him an extra pair of pj's but he said--

TUCKER: That's okay. It's too hot for that. I'll just sleep naked.

Whadda-huh huh?

ME: Um...won't that be kind of awkward?
TUCKER: It's cool. We'll do undercover, over-cover.
ME: Uh...okay.

So he got under the covers and pretty much removed everything. Him being under the covers made the most sense since it was the only way I wasn't going to get full disclosure. We talked a little bit more and then fell asleep, and I'm thinking to myself--Okay, this isn't all that bad. It's kind of nice. Granted, he's naked but still--nice to have someone here.

Then the rubbing started.

Basically, he rolled over while sleeping and I felt something push up against me...

Yup, that "something."

And I'm thinking, okay--he's under the covers, I'm over the covers, it's not like I haven't had contact with one of those things before--I'll just push over a couple inches--no pun intended--and everything will be fine.

This is when I should mention that Tucker is a big guy--way bigger than me--and a lot stronger. So after I moved over a couple of inches, I felt two really strong arms grab me and pull me into the vast expanse of nakedness. The lower part of him was still covered by a sheet, but now I was wrapped up in his chest like a spider in a Venus flytrap.

At this point I'm wondering if Tucker is legitimately sleeping or just trying to get some, but I can tell by the way he's breathing that's he passed out. All right, I think to myself. Just take his arms out from around you and go crash on the couch.

No dice.

The guy has arms like a pro-wrestler and I was in the death grip. Well, of course, I can't fall asleep like that. Not to mention the ever-present yardstick that was jammed up against my lower back (yup, we're talking yardsticks here, the guy was impressive).

So I didn't sleep, and I didn't want to wake him up because I thought I could will myself to sleep. This morning he finally unwrapped his arms from around me, smiled, and asked me how I slept. I wanted to say "Like a rock" but I didn't think he'd get it.

FRIEND: That's why I don't let anyone stay the night.
ME: Well I wasn't going to send him home at 4:30am.
FRIEND: I've sent guys home at quarter to seven and nothing to show for it if you get my drift.
ME: I really don't but that's fine.
FRIEND: I thought you were going to be a prude from now on. Why'd you agree to the overnight?
ME: Do I sound cheesy if I say I wanted to wake up next to somebody today?
FRIEND: Cheesy, no. Pathetic, yes.
ME: He did have kind of a cute morning smile. I just didn't get any sleep.
FRIEND: You're lucky he didn't order that python of his to wrap itself around you and strangle you to death.

All right, first late-night, all-night date. Call me a ho, I deserve it.

Date #9: Scooter

People ask me if I make these blogs up. If they're all fiction.

From now on, I'll respond--

Read the entry about Scooter and let me know if you think anyone's that good a writer.

Usual story: Met a guy. He's cool. Cute? Well, to be honest--he's okay. Not really my type (I don't really go for blonde guys, nothing against them, but the Mediterranean look is more my style.) Anyway--

He was still very nice. So we got dinner at Paragon--oh how I love Paragon, olives olives everywhere--and then he asked if I wanted to go back to his house. It wasn't a pick-up line or anything, I think he just wanted to kind of sit and talk, so I said sure.

That was where I met Scooter.

Scooter is this really nice guy's ex-boyfriend.

What was he doing at the apartment you may ask? Oh, they live together.

This is a little phenomenon happening in Rhode Island right now. Let me see if I can accurately describe it.

Two gay men--the 12-year-old girl I-need-instant-gratification type of gay men--make the rash decision to move into an apartment together--a very big committment--after dating for--let's be generous and say--two weeks.

They of course break up.

And now they're stuck with a lease. So they just keep living together.

Awkward? You bet.

Especially when Kevin Broccoli shows up with your ex--looking cute I might add.

REALLY NICE GUY: Kevin, this is Scooter.

Scooter? Like the muppet Scooter? The orange one with the glasses who stage managed the muppet show? Okay...

Scooter is tall--about 6'0, dark brown hair, around 160lbs I'd venture to guess, pretty solid build. He looks like a frat boy actually. A gay frat boy. A big gay frat boy. He was holding a beer when I met him, that might be where I got the impression. He chugged the entire thing, crushed it in his bare hand, then said to me--

SCOOTER: You treating my boy right?

"You treating my boy right." That's a question a Southern Mama asks the girl dating her son as she walks past the run-down fence and the three-legged goat.

Brian and I--Really Nice Guy's name is Brian by the way--proceeded to sit down on the couch and watch television. I guess I was sitting too close to Brian because he got up and moved to the love seat.

BRIAN: Sorry. I don't like to be touchy feely with guys while Scooter is home. I think it's disrespectful.

I actually thought this was very nice of him--to be courteous--it's a dying trait. Then Scooter walked into the living room.

SCOOTER: I was just watching Don't Be a Menace.

Don't Be a Fucking Menace...Apparently Scooter is a former Black Panther (PS. I'm not a racist, I've dated black men and found them quite enjoyable.)

So I sat there, watching the classic cinema that is Don't Be a Menace to South Central--sitting next to Scooter while Really Nice Guy was on the love seat not saying anything.

SCOOTER: So where do you go to school?
ME: I just graduated from RIC?
SCOOTER: Couldn't get into a good school, huh?

He laughed.

ME: No, but I'm getting into your ex-boyfriend's pants later tonight.
(I didn't say that, but I should have--I took the high road.)
ME: I actually had a really good time there. Met great people--
SCOOTER: I went to Columbia. It was amazing.
BRIAN: That's where we met.
SCOOTER: Yeah, he wanted me so bad. Remember that Richie?

I'm sure he'd pay good money to forget, Scootie.

It was at this point that Scooter received company. Now, I took this to be a sign from God that he still has some affection for me despite the gay thing.

But no, I was wrong.

Two guys showed up--both of them...what's the word...twinks. But not just any twinks, oh no...Druggie Twinks. That's right--Drinks.

They were giggling hysterically. I think they introduced themselves but I couldn't see them through the cloud of pot smoke that was surrounding them. It was like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown walked into the room. Scooter grabbed a bag of Fritos from the kitchen and the three of them went into Scooter's room.

Great, I thought, they'll just get high and me and Brian can cuddle.

Yeah right.

The noises started right after Rich popped out the DVD and came over to talk to me on the couch. How do I describe these noises? Imagine a quiet hyena mating with a shitsu. That's what it sounded like. I'm guessing Scooter, Drink 1 and Drink 2 were simultaneously getting high and playing Naked Twister.

Brian and I have one thing in common at least. In uncomfortable situations we pretty much ignore the fact that anything is wrong. Why didn't we just get up and go out somewhere else you might ask? Because it was late, nothing would be open, and I think both of us were kind of mystified by what we were hearing. At one point I was pretty sure puppies were being born.

Then Scooter walks out--in nothing but boxer shorts with a giant arrow on them--pointing where? take a guess--and says:

SCOOTER: You guys have any condoms?

Call this one. Time of Death? 11:22pm.

BRIAN: Don't you have any?
SCOOTER: We used them all up.

Used them all up--okay, a little intrigued, not going to lie.

ME: What the hell are you doing in there?
SCOOTER: Living baby, living.

What is he Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider?

BRIAN: Well, I--
SCOOTER: Never mind. I think I have some under my bed.

With that, he went back into his room. A few minutes later--enough buffer time--I said I needed to take off as well. Brian seemed pretty sorry about what happened, but not altogether suprised. I asked him why he doesn't even sit next to guys when Scooter's around but Scooter can do the Portuguese Tango with whomever he wants while Rich is home.

BRIAN: I don't know. It's just...It's always been like this.

Oh Christ, he's still in love with him. I gave him a hug--cause I mean, c'mon, the poor guy--and I left.

ME: Have you ever lived with a guy after you'd stopped dating him?
FRIEND: Oh yeah, for like two months.
ME: Wasn't it awkward?
FRIEND: Only when we'd accidentally sleep together again.
ME: Well, of course.
FRIEND: Was Scooter cute?
ME: If you think Jim Belushi is cute.
FRIEND: Please, who doesn't?
ME: Why would a nice guy like him ever date an asshole like that?
FRIEND: It's the Asshole Principle. Nice guys always date assholes. It's a compliment thing, like Ying and Yang.
ME: No, I'm pretty sure Ying and Yang were the two gay boys Scooter had over.

The happy ending? Scooter myspaced me and then messaged me to ask me out on a date. At first I thought, oh my God, imagine how awesome that blog would be--see what this thing is doing to me? Anyway, the next stray shitsu I take in is totally being named Scooter.

Date #8: Everybody in the Pool

So a few people have mentioned that in these blogs I always come across as sounding like a super amazing guy and the guys I date always come across sounding like morons. Well please, let me switch it up a bit.

Went out last night with a cute, funny, into-movies, adorably-shorter-than-me kid from RISD named Aiden. We got ice cream at Ben and Jerry's and then--since I was house-sitting in Johnston--I invited him over to go in the pool.

On the way back we got caught in traffic and there was a little hand-holding going on. It was one of those great moments where you realize you both think the other person is cute. So we were having a good time, and by the time we got to my house there was heavy flirting on the side of sexual innuendoes being thrown around--

ME: So, did you bring a bathing suit?
HIM: No, but I'm wearing cute underwear.

:O) -- That's all I have to say about that.

I changed into my bathing suit and he...well, he pretty took off all his clothes except for aforementioned cute underwear, and into the pool we went.

Well, sort of...

Let me take this opportunity to mention that I avoid any opportunity to go in the pool as possible. Now why would someone who has full-time access to a pool never go in it, you might say? For one thing, I've never met a pool warm enough for me. Hot tubs? Love them. Heated pools? Great. Regular pools? Not so much. For some reason, entering water less than 70 degrees makes my entire body turn blue. So let's just say that my bathing suit doesn't get a lot of use.

Aiden was already floating around the pool in an inner tube while I was still slowly easing myself into the water. My entire body was shaking and every time there was a nice breeze I thought my teeth were going to chatter out of my mouth. This is what you get when the only showers you take are with the temperature firmly set at 92 degrees.

Being the cute/sweet boy that he is, Aiden floated over to me to offer moral support. He hopped out of the inner tube. We kissed a little bit, and Ill admit that was...warming.

(It should be at this point that I alert the reader to a previously unmentioned fact: I'm not above kissing on the first date when the date isn't with a recovering methodone addict or a guy with a giant purse. If up to this point I've come across as a prude...Well, c'mon, I'm a guy. Don't give me that much credit.)

We hung out in the pool for a little while longer and then Aiden suggested that maybe we should try swimming with even less on. I thought this was a pretty interesting idea (Hey, it took eight dates to find someone decent, don't judge.) The problem? I couldn't get out of my bathing suit.

No joke.

Like I said, it doesn't get much use, and I've had it since I was 14. It still fits, but like most of my clothing, it's too big for me. So, to get it to stay on--ironically--I have to tie it really tight. I must have done some sort of advanced boy scout knot on it because the knot would not come undone no matter what I did. Aiden and I were laughing about it at first, but then it just got crazy. Something like swimming around naked is a really spontaneous idea that needs to be taken advantage of immediately, so the longer I fumbled with the bathing suit knot, the less intriguing the idea seemed. Finally Aiden suggested trying to just pull the bathing suit off.

ME: But then I won't be able to get it back on.
HIM: So?
ME: So then I'd have to run back up the porch and into the house completely naked.
HIM: So?
ME: So I'm not sure I want the Crouses who live behind me to know what Special K looks like.

Well, that officially killed the mood. We swam around for a little while longer and then went into the house. I changed back into my clothes--pulling that bathing suit off made me feel like Ross in the Leather Pants episode of Friends--and I drove Aiden home. We talked about the possibility of a second date, and I don't think it's completely out of the question, but he had this look on his face that suggested I might as well delete his phone number now.

FRIEND: This is what you get for wearing over-sized clothing.
ME: It's a bathing suit. It doesn't fall under 'clothing.'
FRIEND: Sex in a pool would have been hot.
ME: I don't think so. Chlorine, cold water, and neighbors watching doesn't strike me as all that enticing.
FRIEND: Are you kidding? Add some flippers and a raft shaped like a Heineken bottle and you just described a typical Wednesday night at my house.

So there you go, for once I was the goofball. I'm imperfect...and skinny. Just thought I should throw that out there.

Date #7: The Hag

Let's talk about hags.

I don't have one. I have girlfriends. Hot, smart, sexy, cool, funny, crazy, independent (keyword: INDEPENDENT) girlfriends who can live full and happy lives without attaching themselves to my left arm or preventing me from having a healthy social life.

The very concept of hags completely confuses me. I can see me calling a hag a hag because I hate them with a burning passion that is only matched by my feelings towards bad Rhode Island accents or Gay Republicans. But the fact that some women actually choose to refer to themselves as hags completely boggles my mind. Why would you associate yourself with a title like that? WHY, DEAR GOD, WHY?

That brings me to the date.

Brian, very cute, very funny, very nice. His hag, Amy? Run your nails up and down a chalkboard and that'll give you a good idea of her personality. She was bossy, obnoxious, snobbish, and grating on the nerves. All of this should have nothing to do with me, but she apparently invited herself along on the date.

That's right. This guy brings his hag on dates.

Okay, I told myself, he probably does this just in case he doesn't like the guy and that way he can just hang out more with his friend and avoid the fact that he's on an awful date. Fair enough. The problem? We clicked from the get-go and yet Amy was still on the front-burner.

She dominated most of the night by talking about her and Brian and their amazing relationship. Remember that show Boy Meets Boy on Bravo where that cute guy brought along his hideous girl pal to help him weed out guys? That was my night.

She asked about everything. Ex-boyfriends, likes, dislikes, political affiliations, how I did in school, future plans, etc. Now, if Brian were asking some of these questions I wouldn't mind. After all, I believe in full disclosure and since he and I were getting along so well most of this stuff would come up anyway, but why the hell was I telling it to his hag?

This was also the second time this week I heard a hag/gay guy couple refer to themselves as being "just like Will and Grace." Okay, ready? Not only have I never met a couple like Will and Grace, but I don't know why anyone would aspire to be like Will and Grace. Grace was neurotic, codependent, and self-absorbed and Will didn't get laid until season eight. Now, that's all fine and good for sitcom characters, but why would you want that for your own life?

I kept wanting to ask Amy--Do you get laid? Ever? Do you want to? Do you realize that your odds of meeting straight guys by hanging out with gay guys is pretty small? She took up a good chunk of every conversation complaining about how straight guys suck. I won her disapproval when I said--"Actually, I have a lot of straight guy friends."

She looked at me like I said I harbor Nazis in my basement.

HER: Well, they suck.
ME: I don't think they do.
HER: Straight guys don't know how to treat girls.
ME: I think they know how to treat girls they like.
HER: What's that supposed to mean?
BRIAN: Hey look, a billboard.
(Nice try, Bri. You brought the bitch, now I'm taking her out.)
ME: I just think that girls who complain about guys are just upset because guys don't like them.
HER: Well, yea-uh...
ME: But maybe if they didn't complain so much guys would.
HER: (Scoffs.) Whatever.

Brian and I got to have maybe three minutes of unsolicited conversation while Amy was in the bathroom, but that was it. He kept giving me the "I'm sorry, but please try to love her anyway" look. He and Amy split their meal at dinner. She picked the movie. Every time there was a dialogue between them she cut him off at every turn. It was clear that Brian was a subversive personality type that needed some kind of dominant force in his life. Now, there was a chance that Brian would find a guy who could overpower Amy and banish her from the kingdom, but that guy wasn't going to be me. I just didn't feel that should be part of my duties as a potential boyfriend--although I did secretly have fantasies about sending Amy a Christmas card with me and Brian on it and the inside cover reading--GET A MAN FOR CHRISTMAS, HO...HO HO.

FRIEND: What a sad existence.
ME: For who? Him or her?
FRIEND: I would consider them one entity.
ME: I couldn't even put my hand over his at the movies.
FRIEND: Why not?
ME: She sat between us.
FRIEND: See, that's why all my hags are utilized strictly for shopping and waxing.
ME: I don't even want to know.

Sidenote, Clean and Sober texted me last night. "I'm going through a really rough time. If you have any kindness, please call me." If there's one thing I would never want to be called, it's unkind. So I called.

ME: Listen, I just think you need to get yourself in a real program. You also should talk to your boyfriend and try to have him be a real support system for you.
HIM: Why don't you just come over here and we can fool around?

Click. Call me Mr. Unkind.

Date #6: Clean and Sober

The first thing I noticed was that he was smoking. That's a huge problem. I don't date smokers. Sorry if that rules you out, I know we all have our vices, but for someone who likes kissing as much as I do, smoking is a no-go. I used to be one of those people who's like "Oh yeah, I don't care, smoke if you want, I'm easy-going" but as more time passed I leaned more towards--"No smokers, nobody who owns pet rats, nobody with back hair, and nobody who could have potentially fathered me due to age."

And there he was smoking.

So right from the start, we weren't going anywhere fast.

I elected to get coffee at this place off Killingly that's really cute, very Mom-and-Pop. Look at me getting coffee like a real dater, I thought. He showed up looking pretty good, granted the smoking was a problem, but I thought maybe I could pull a My-Mom and wait until we were in serious relationship before I went changing everything about him that I didn't like. All in all, things were going fine.

Then he opened his mouth.

I would venture to guess that there are maybe three people on this earth capable of talking as fast as I do. This guy is one of them. Of course, I talk fast because I'm constantly hyper and have way too much running through my head. He was going through withdrawal.

HIM: Yeah, I don't do drugs or hardly drink at all.
ME: That's awesome.
HIM: Yup, I've been clean and sober 36 days.
ME: Clean and sober off what? Drugs? Alcohol?
HIM: Yup.
ME: Yup to what?
HIM: (Laughs.) Yup to anything.

Oh Christ...

He was shaking so badly I thought he was going to spill his chai on himself. I asked if he should be in rehab or something like that. He swore that going cold turkey was the only way for him, despite the statistics regarding how going cold turkey has a 0% success rate, especially for people who'd been using for awhile, as he had. Call me crazy, but I didn't have too much faith that he was going to beat the odds.

HIM: So you want to get out of here?
ME: I'm sorry?
HIM: We can go to my place, your place--
ME: I just met you!
(Plus you're crazy--subtext.)
HIM: I'm very direct. You're going to have to know that now.
ME: Hang on, let me get a pen. I need to jot that down.
HIM: You're funny. I like that. That's what's dangerous about you.
ME: That I'm funny?
HIM: No, that I'm going to fall for you.

Oh Christ...

ME: And that's dangerous because you shouldn't be in a relationship right now?
HIM: Hell no, it's dangerous because I already am in a relationship.

JIGGA WHO?

I wasn't surprised that he was seeing someone and on a date with me. Clearly, someone of his moral calliber might have trouble with "monogamy." What shocked me was that I have this blog to chronicle my failures in dating and this guy ALREADY HAS SOMEONE!

Clean and Sober Boy claims that his boyfriend doesn't show him enough affection. I was wondering why he hadn't showed him the door yet.

HIM: He treats me like I'm a trophy.

A trophy for what? Honorable Mention in a Three-Legged Race?

FRIEND: You always wind up with the weirdoes.
ME: I'm beginning to think weirdoes are the only ones interested in dating me.
FRIEND: What if he's like a crazy stalker?
ME: Well, he has called me three times today. I have him in my phone as "Hit Reject."
FRIEND: Uh oh.
ME: Don't worry. As soon as Day 42 rolls around, he's probably going to go into shock, suffer short-term memory loss and forget all about me.
FRIEND: Or you could just give me his address and we could send him a pound of coke in exchange for staying away from you.
ME: That'll work.

Hmm...maybe I could just call his sponsor.

Date #5: The Big Bag

He brought a purse.

Granted he also brought a convertible, but he brought a purse.
Granted I didn't see the purse until we got to the mall, but he brought a purse.
Granted he didn't seem that gay at first, but he brought a purse.
Granted he wasn't a bad guy, but he brought a purse.
Granted you could say it was just a large plastic bag with giant 'F's on it that only a woman from Boca Raton would carry...but he brought a purse.

It was supposed to be a long date. We had talked and clicked right away...it seemed...so as is the usual flaw of gays, we got excited fast and planned like an 8-hour-epic date that turned into a two and a half hour wonder-if-I-can-stilll-catch-that-movie-with-my-friends kind of date.

We went to the mall--and on the way I thought--wow, I'd love to date a guy in a convertible. It was so cool driving around in it especially since the weather was so beautiful. On the way, we were doing well, talking about stuff we like.

HIM: Favorite food?
ME: Oh my gosh, anything with pasta. Everywhere I go I order pasta, it's nuts.

He decided we should go to a restaurant on the bottom floor of the mall. What one does he pick? Smokey Bones. What's the one type of food Smokey Bones doesn't have?

Pasta.

Who the hell does not put any kind of pasta dish on their menu? I'm only 1/4th Italian but even I find that enraging. To make matters worse, this is when "the bag" appeared. He apologized for it, but that certainly didn't make it any less Andy Warhol.

While we were eating he started talking about guys.

HIM: Do you know [Name of Guy]?
ME: Yeah, I met him once I think.
HIM: Me too. We fooled around for awhile and then I stopped calling him.

Who teaches gay men to have conversations? Cinemax?

After eating we went back to my house and I offered to let him go in my pool, but he didn't seem interested. I remember saying something and punching him playfully in the shoulder. He looked down at where I punched him then up at me.

HIM: I don't do ANYTHING on the first date.
ME: (Bewildered.) I just punched your arm a little.
HIM: I know but I'm not touchy feely AT ALL!
ME: Okay, sorry.

We started talking again and I thought--Okay, maybe I'll just make one more slightly crazy, definitely slutty yet somewhat kind of prude, new incredibly gay friend with a giant bag. This might not be a total loss. Then my Friend texted me. So I checked it.

HIM: Who was that?
ME: Just a friend.
HIM: A guy?
ME: Yeah.
HIM: Is he gay?
ME: Yes.
HIM: You should invite him over.
ME: Uh...why would I do that?
HIM: I don't know. Maybe he and you could do stuff and I could watch.

A N D W E ' R E D O N E ! ! ! ! !

He went home and I decided to go see Pirates of the Carribbean with my friend Trevor--whose straight. It was a thoroughly enjoyable non-date.

FRIEND: So he wanted us to do stuff while he watched?
ME: Yup.
FRIEND: But lightly punching his shoulder was off-limits?
ME: Yup.
FRIEND: So he's into voyuerism?
ME: He could be into Scientology for all I know, I sent him packing.
FRIEND: Was he cute?
ME: He carried a giant plastic bag bigger than my Grandmother's purse.
FRIEND: I'm all set with that.

So apparently, I've found Friend's version of Kryptonite.

Date #4: Army Time

Certain things will just always be hot.

Funny guys, good abs, the ability to do a complete backflip, and of course--guys in uniform.

Hence I went out on a date with a former member of the United States military.

His name is Michael and he'll be attending URI in the fall. He's 6'3, really cute, and has this no-nonsense attitude about him that is obviously inspired by his military time and incredibly hot.

I picked him up at his dorm and we drove to the mall. While I was in his room as he finished getting ready (which I for some reason like, seeing the guy you're going to go on a date with get ready has always appealed to me, it makes them look more human, go figure) I noticed that his clock was military time--but it was wrong.

ME: Shouldn't it be 1900?
HIM: No, that's wrong.
ME: Isn't it take twelve and then add--
HIM: (Laughs.) I don't think so.
ME: Well--
HIM: I think I would know.

He was wrong. I have a blog. I win.

We spent the date doing my favorite thing--shopping in a bookstore. I know what you're thinking: He works in a library, why does he need to buy books? Um, yeah, it's about owning, okay? Leave me alone! Do I accost you about your shoe fetish, devoted (probably imaginary) reader? So there then.

I could tell bookstores weren't really Michael's thing, but points to him for suffering gladly. We were actually getting along really well, except for the fact that we were clearly not a match.

ME: So, was the military fun?
HIM: (Shrugs.) I shot a guy in the face once.
ME: Really?
HIM: No, I just tell civilians that cause it freaks them out.
ME: I'm not really a civilian...
HIM: Uh, yeah you are.
ME: Sorry, that just sounds so boring.
HIM: It is. But you are one.
ME: Are we arguing right now?
HIM: No, there's no arguing. You are a civilian.

I thought I could take him in a fight. He might know twenty ways to kill me, but I could knee him in the balls and then hit him with a copy of Midnight's Children that was positioned strategically right in front of my face. It was like Salmon Rushdie was saying--Do it! Do it! Kill the Brits!

It's weird being on a date when you're just not clicking. Like when you know the potential for a second date is just not there but you continue on anyway, cause...well, you're on the date. I suggested a movie, that way we wouldn't have to talk to each other much.

ME: What do you do when you're on a date with someone and it's just not working?
FRIEND: That's when I move things to a physical level.
ME: Wouldn't you do that only if things were going well?
FRIEND: No, if they're going well I hold out so they don't think I'm a whore.
ME: But if they're going badly?
FRIEND: I give it up, and that way they WANT to leave faster.
ME: So you're saying I should have had sex with Military Guy?
FRIEND: He was in the military and you DIDN'T HAVE SEX WITH HIM?

This is why I love my friends. Well, I have another date coming up soon. We're meeting at 2000 military time...or something.

Date #3: Morning Glow

Ugh...I need sleep.

Met a boy for coffee this morning...and by morning, I mean 7am.

I have a huge problem saying 'No' to guys who could potentially be my future husband, and he seemed like a definite candidate.

Dark features, Italian/Portuguese mix, charming, and really excited about the date.

Problem? He's a morning person.

Now everyone who knows and loves me knows that my day begins at 3:43pm. I put that aside, however, because Morning Boy said he feels at his best at around 7am, so that's we decided to meet. At 7am, I feel around the corner and over the Dairy Queen, but I wasn't going to let something like my being a night owl/probably insomniac stop me from having a great date.

Of course, I was late. Come on, who wouldn't be late at 7am? I was shocked to find people actually driving and on the street. It's a Saturday! Isn't today the day when God rested--or is that just in the Jewish faith? Anyway--

He was bubbly. No actually, he was worse than bubbly. He was inquisitive. I guess it's normal to be on a date and want the guy to talk about himself, but something about the early hour and my general bad attitude that early in the morning made it feel like I was being interrogated about a murder. Fittingly, my answers were somewhat...sparse.

MORNING BOY: So what do you do?
ME: Library.
MORNING BOY: That must be fun.
ME: Uh...no.
MORNING BOY: Oh, it's not?
ME: Nope.
MORNING BOY: Why not?
ME: Mmm...yeah.
MORNING BOY: That's not really a--
ME: Coffee...sugar...now.

I realized I was being an ass, so I suggested a redo version of the date at a later time. When Morning Boy asked how late, I said "Well, around ten tonight would be great." He looked at me as if I suggest skinning a puppy.

"Oh God," he said, "I'm never up past nine thirty."

NINE THIRTY!!! Good television dramas don't even start until ten!

"That's kind of early, no?"
"Yeah, I just like a good night's rest."
"But you're so young."
"You don't have to be old to like rest."

At this he laughed, I just kept staring at him expecting for his wires to reveal themselves. He couldn't be human, and I couldn't date someone who wasn't going to be able to come over at the sensible hour of 1am for Food Network viewing and reheated pizza.

Date #2: Doing Time

So I have a confession to make. Whereas I can never resist anyone with dark brown hair and a tanned complexion (which is also something of a description of me--need therapy? you know I do) blonde guys I can usually act pretty cool around cause they don't do much for me--except this one.

His name is Tommy and he works at Home Depot. He's about 5'5, blonde, and is the tiniest thing I've ever seen in my life--Well, not as tiny as that guy I dated a couple months ago, but we'll try and keep this as family friendly as possible. ANYWAY he's super cute, laidback, and smoulderingly sexy. Oh yeah, I said "smouldering."

The first time we hung out was at his house. Now, normally I would not consider this a date because a date implies "going out" somewhere, although I did have to "go out" to go to his place, he didn't, and so it's kind of only a semi-date, I guess. We had a great time though, and I chalked him wanting to hang out at his house to either him wanting to get me in bed on the first date or him just being tired--either way I'm not all that displeased.

The second date--however--was once again at his place. Okay, I thought, time to bring up the whole "always at his house" thing. So I did.

"Didn't you notice the thing on my ankle," he asks.
"Oh..." I thought it was an ankle bracelet, but now thinking about it--"What's it for?"
"I'm under house arrest."

Oh my Christ...

"Yeah, I was arrested for drunk driving and put on house arrest for a year."
"I didn't know they put you under house arrest for drunk driving."
"Well, when they catch you the second time they do."

Oh my Christ...

(Yeah, I'm sacriligious, but I'll pray later and ask for forgiveness)

"I used to be a really bad person. Just all around not nice. Really mean, manipulative. All this kind of changed who I am."

Okay--is it bad I found that incredibly endearing? Would I have found it endearing if he wasn't already adorable? Utter quandry. I called Friend.

FRIEND: Ohhhh...that's so sweet.
ME: He's under house arrest.
FRIEND: I know, but just think--how's he going to cheat? He can't go out and meet new people. They only let him go to work and home, right?
ME: Right, but I think you're missing the point.
FRIEND: The point is he's cute and in captivity. It doesn't get much better than that.
ME: I would be dating a felon.
FRIEND: You're telling me you don't find that hot?
ME: Let's say he was ugly--
FRIEND: Kevin, if he was ugly, it wouldn't matter if he were a felon or not, I'd be telling you to cut him loose.
ME: So there's no real way to gauge if continuing to see him is crazy or not because he's cute so he can get away with murder?
FRIEND: Wow, think about that metaphor for a second.
ME: It's not really a meta--
FRIEND: Anyway, gotta go.

Luckily, the problem took care of itself. Tommy decided that dating while under house arrest was probably not the best idea. We promised to keep in touch and maybe when he's up for parole...ugh, this is just like on Sex and the City when Carrie dates the guy in rehab who I think was played by David Duchovny. That didn't wind up being anything either, but oh well. At least if I need plywood I now have a connect :o)

Date #1: Did We Click?

Met Boy #1 at CLICK, the Adam Sandler movie I've been wanting to see for a few weeks. (To be honest, I haven't so much been wanting to see it as I have an obsession with anything pop culture oriented--during the summer this obsession gets incredibly bad when awful movies become number one at the box office and I feel compelled to go see them--this all dates back to my using staying on top of trends to feel in the loop of life, but that's a weepfest for another rainy day).

The movie was awful. Now, this is coming from someone who's very easy to please when it comes to film. I also wasn't expecting all that much since the movie didn't look all that good to begin with and since I knew it was going to be easier for me to imagine a remote control that works in real life than a universe where Kate Beckinsdale would marry Adam Sandler. Still, I was hoping the movie would be good because a bad movie rarely leads to a good date.

On top of all this, the last half hour of the movie is incredibly depressing and preachy and by the time it's done the last thing you want to do is be on a date. Yet, there I was--on a date.

I like taking dates to movies, I will say that much--despite how this particular effort went. There's something appealing about being able to sit next to someone and size them up for a good two hours before you actually have to talk to them about anything more personal than "Do you want some of this popcorn?" I don't just mean sizing them up physically either, although I won't lie and say that's not a factor. You can tell a lot about a person from a way they take in a movie--what parts they laugh at, whether they seem touched at the touching parts, if they ever glance over at you and smile--movies are my preferred way of having first dates--especially blind first dates.

After the movie we decided to get something to eat. Despite Adam Sandler taking two hours away from my life, I did think Boy #1 was actually quite cute. He laughed at the few jokes I thought were funny. He seemed to be slightly moved during the depressing part of the movie. Overall, I thought he was worth sharing some mozzarella sticks with...and maybe a brownie sundae.

I met Boy #1 through a friend from Boston. This meant he lost points and gained them automatically before the date even started. He lost them by being from way out in Boston (yes, I'm a Rhode Islander, and yes I refuse to date someone I can't get to in fifteen minutes to a half an hour) but he gained them by being willing to drive down here to see me. He was also pretty good at dinner conversation.

BOY #1: So you're into theater?
ME: Yeah, it's what my degree is in.
BOY #1: My last boyfriend was into theater. He was such a fucking prick.
ME: (Looks down at my brownie sundae.)
BOY #1: He cheated on me with my best friend. Then I slashed his tires. (Maniacal laugh.) That's what you get, right?

No word of a lie. "Then I slashed his tires." I have to admit, I've never heard a date admit a felony to me before--Well...not this year anyway.

After that, everything pretty much went downhill. When I'm on a date I don't think is going well I instantly get quiet and focus really hard on my food. Subsequently, my brownie sundae became a subject of great interest, and I puzzled over it like Einsten must have with quantam physics equations.

We parted shortly after that, and I went home and called the friend that set me up with Soupy the Slap-Happy Tire Slasher.

ME: Did you know about the tire slashing?
FRIEND: Well...yeah.
ME: And you still recommended him to me?
FRIEND: Well...yeah.
ME: WHY?!?!
FRIEND: He's cute.

I forgot that my Boston Friend will forgive someone almost anything--including assault on a vehicle of an ex--if the person is at least an 8 out of 10.

Moral of the Story: It's one thing to be a shallow person; it's another thing to let yourself be set up by one.

Onward I go...