Date #66: Semi-Sort of-Kind of Long Distance

I'm sitting in my car.

My IPOD is hooked up to the radio and "Wig in a Box" from Hedwig is playing.

I put on some make-up
And turn up the tape deck
And pull the wig down on my head

This date is an experiment in trying not to act like a Rhode Islander.

At the same time, if this works out, I will be entering into that relationship that dare not speak its name--the long distance kind.

BRIAN: He lives in Westerly!

Before the big date, I attended my customary NC lunch with Brian.

ME: Westerly isn't down the block, you know.
BRIAN: It's not out of state either.
ME: And Baja and Los Angelos are both in the same state but--
BRIAN: We live in Rhode Island! We're talking about a half hour drive here.
ME: Forty-five minutes, and that's without traffic.
BRIAN: You are such a Rhode Islander, it's not even funny.
ME: Says the guy who says 'it's not even funny.'

EXPLANATION FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T COME FROM RHODE ISLAND (I REALIZE I'M BIG IN TORONTO): People in Rhode Island hate driving more than twenty minutes for any reason. They will go to great lengths to avoid long trips. That's why you can find four Dunkin Donuts on the same road and all will do decent enough business, even though the smallest state in the country shouldn't really need four of anything on one road.

The boy I was interested in--Scott--even seemed aware of the problem when we first discussed hanging out in his hometown.

SCOTT: Not everyone's willing to drive to Westerly if they're from the Providence area.
ME: You mean Connecticut for Beginners?
SCOTT: I would just date in the area, but the area is...well...Westerly.
ME: Lucky I met you when I did.

--An impressive find at Brewed Awakenings in Johnston.

Since we met there, it only seemed logical for our next meeting to take place down in Scott's neck of the woods--or rather, his armpit of the woods.

BRIAN: Forty-five minutes--
ME: Traffic.
BRIAN: --To an hour isn't going to kill you.
ME: I know that, but what if I really like this guy? Then I'm going to have to do this drive all the time.
BRIAN: Like when you dated URI guy?

I had imparted to Brian that before we met, I had dated a guy who went to URI. The relationship actually lasted through production week of a show I was doing, and after a week of driving down to south county after a five-hour tech rehearsal, I wasn't totally devastated when he decided to call an end to things.

ME: I do not want to have to go through that again.
BRIAN: You know if you ever live somewhere other than Rhode Island, this is going to be something you have to deal with from time to time.
ME: If I ever live somewhere other than Rhode Island, it'll be in a place that has mass transit.
BRIAN: Touche.

Touche indeed. I was now sitting in traffic, and had been for the past twenty minutes. Even in the worst of Rhode Island driving situations, moving twelve feet in twenty minutes is a little extreme.

I called Brian to gloat about how already fate was showing me signs that this was not meant to be.

BRIAN: Some cop probably pulled someone over and all your fellow Rhode Islanders are stopping to gawk. The only traffic in this state is onlooker traffic.
ME: I don't care what kind of traffic it is. I just want it to go away. I'm already ten minutes late and I'm nowhere near Westerly.

Another half an hour went by before things seemed to clear up. I got to Westerly and Scott took me to a nice restaurant where we had a decent meal.

There was only one problem...

I couldn't enjoy myself.

Knowing I was going to have to do the drive home as soon as this was all over made it impossible for me to really relax. I think Scott picked up on it.

SCOTT: You're thinking about the ride home, aren't you?
ME: Pretty much, yeah.
SCOTT: You know, you're welcome to stay at my place tonight if you want.
ME: To avoid a forty-five minute drive? That would be pretty pathetic.
SCOTT: Yeah...aside from that, the morning commute is--
ME: Let's just finish eating.

We got through the rest of the meal and by the end, I was really enjoying Scott's company. But every time I asked myself if the boy was worth the drive, the answer came back "Eh, not really."

FRIEND: I'm with you, honey. If you want me to drive forty-five minutes for a b***j**, you better be able to unhinge your jaw.
ME: Is it awful that convenience is now playing such a major part in all our dating choices?
FRIEND: It takes a village to raise your d**k, and you shouldn't have to go to another man's village just to get your d**k raised. You follow me?
ME: Not really, I--
FRIEND: Get off the road, you c***! People like you make me want to run over small children! I'm sorry, honey, what was I saying? Something about Mr. Rogers?
ME: How it's nice when your booty buddy is your neighbor?
FRIEND: I was saying that?
ME: No, but scarily enough, I think I can now follow where you're going when you star to talk.
FRIEND: Point is, boy lives too far. Dump him. He's imploding into nothingness as we speak.

Basically...yeah. I told Scott I was sorry, but with gas prices, my seven-day-a-week work schedule, and the fact that my car is nearing the big 1-0, it just didn't seem smart to start something semi-sort of-kind of long distance.

He said he understood, and that he was actually thinking of moving to Providence soon, since Westerly was taking a toll on his dating life.

ME: Let me know if you do. I can take you for a ride around town.
SCOTT: That sounds like a chapter ending or one of those lame lines at the end of sitcoms to tie it all together.

What can I say? I try.