How not to pick up women

Following hot on the tails of a disastrous shopping trek (see previous post), my late-running evening plans provided much continued amusement with the opposite sex.

Begin scene (enter heroine at friend #1’s house almost two hours late): 

Friend #2: “Well it’s about time!” 

Heroine: “Yes well, that is because [name withheld] was an hour and a half late picking me up for what was definitely our last date...ever.”

I include this scene now because of its bearing so much importance further on in our story, and because it demonstrates the seamlessness of my adventures of this past weekend.In the room I have just entered, loudly announcing my failed date, are four guys whom I have never met. Oops. Must remember the filter. 

Within seconds of my arrival, one guy in particular is fast injecting himself into my conversations. He’s drunk. So you know, whatever, he’s having fun, he’s friendly, he’s a bit loud, but he seems alright. Even the fact that he immediately starts proclaiming his deep admiration for Nickelback isn’t worrying me too much (and if you’ve even an inkling of how I feel about Nickelback and other bands of their genre, you know how tolerant I’m being).

From the house I head with Friend #1 (F1) to see friend #4 (F4) play in a band while friends #2 (F2) and #3 (F3) head home. Arrive at club. Nickelback Fan (NF) is drinking more and talking nonsense to myself and F1 while band prepares.

Me: “I think the last time I was here was to see Joel Plaskett.”

NF: “But his music is so boring!” (And let's remember this guy was waxing poetic about Nickelback in the last hour)

Me: “Well, I disagree, but everyone is entitled to an opinion.”

NF: “My opinion is more important.”

Me: “Okay. I guess to you it should be.”

NF: “Don’t you think it’s better when people have strong opinions about music?”

I am a notorious music snob. Well, I don’t think so, but I’ve been told I am more than once. So I feel like I’m someone with strong opinions on music. But I am not about to argue the merits of Joel Plaskett with someone who loves Nickelback. Instead I look away and pretend to be occupied watching the band set up.

As F1 heads to the bar for a round, NF asks if I’m with F1. Sensing where this is going I say, “Always,” as we do hang out a fair bit. It’s not a lie, really. 

NF is aghast, “Really?” with scrunched up face. “You and him?”

What NF fails to realise is how far F1 ranks above NF on a scale, any scale, and even worse is how he is insulting F1, one of my closest friends. Right. To. My. Face.I sigh. 

Me: “We’re not dating if that’s what you’re asking.” 

NF: “Oh. Good. Would you like to go for a drink sometime then?”

I would like to digress here a bit. Don’t ask women out for “sometime”. You don’t sound like you’re very interested in making real plans. “Next weekend” would have been good. It implies that you have an idea that you really would like to see them in the near future. 

Second, don’t ask women out when you’re off your face. It’s insulting. We don’t know if you really mean it or if it’s the beer, and we don’t even know if you’ll remember. Now, back to our story...

Me: “I’m actually seeing someone.” 

NF: “Right, but I heard you say earlier that it’s not going very well.”

Crap. Foot in mouth. He was there when I made my grand, whingeing entrance. Really need to work on that filter. I sigh again. 

Me: “No, someone else. I knew that one was in the toilet and I already started seeing someone else and I am really not interested in getting involved with another someone else at this point.” 

NF: “Is it because I’m not good looking enough for you?”

Here, thankfully, we were interrupted. The guy was not unattractive. Unfortunately he also couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He might have been more attractive if he had. But I didn’t want to continue the discussion as I was worried I might lose my patience and be a little too honest with him. Although in hindsight, he may have benefited from it.

Not long after though...

NF: “I was just telling your friend [F1] that the two interesting people from his house came here.”

Me: “What?” 

NF: “Those other two people, they were boring. The couple.” 

Me: “You do realise that the woman you just insulted is one of my best friends?” 

NF: “That couple was so boring!” 

Because apparently reiterating his loathing for someone I’ve just said is one of my best friends seemed like the way to go. Sigh. 

Me: “They’re not a couple.”

Why do I even bother? Why am I continuing to have this conversation?

NF: “Oh they’re a couple.”

Me: “Yes well, you probably know my friends better than I.”

NF: “What?”

At this point, if he hadn’t decided to go out for a smoke I might have actually punched him for being such a cocky shit. 

Red flags: 

• He has insulted my taste in music (I know many of you are gasping at the egregious overstep he’s made here)
• He has insulted not one, but two of my friends. 
• He’s self-righteous enough to make claims about people he doesn’t know to people who know them. 
• He’s drunk. 
• He smokes. 
• He’s unemployed. 
• In one night he has claimed he is moving to Texas and Louisiana any day now (but he wants to go for a drink). 
• He’s from Windsor (that does so count). 
• Oh, did I mention he’s friends with the smuggest of my exes? In fact, he appears to be trying to emulate him.

For the rest of the night I was treated to small remarks here and there. 

“Oh, is that why you don’t want to go out with me?”“You’re breaking my heart.”“Well, now that you’ve already said, ‘no,’ it doesn’t matter what I say.” (This last one after a remark about being an alcoholic – add to red flags.)

And apparently he won’t stop moaning to F1 and F4 about my turning him down. He’s decided he’s in love with me and that I’ve ruined his life, all in the span of four hours. 

On the one hand, I guess it’s flattering that someone was that offended by my turning him down. 

And I guess I can’t complain that no one asks me out. 

But really? This is what’s out there for me? These are my options? Maybe this is reason enough for me to get the confidence up to talk to guys I would like to have ask me out. 

Maybe the lesson here was a karmic, “Okay, you want guys slobbering all over you? Well here, this is what those slobbering guys are like.” 

Point taken, universe. No right to bitch and moan when I am not particularly taking an active role in creating opportunities for myself. But thanks for the laughs.

The opposite of romance

2010 seemed to be off to a slow start with the whole dating thing, hardly surprising given that I usually don’t bother until spring, but all at once I’ve a couple of stories to share...

A friend of a friend (let's call her the Evil German) wanted to set me up with someone she knew. She was so convinced of our being perfect together that in her head she had us having babies inside of six months. I didn’t bother pointing out the math to her but I did worry that her keenness might in fact be a bad sign.

Now, in case you’ve not been privy to my previous dating disasters, you should know that I am always too forgiving of behaviour on dates (as I’ve only recently come to realise). I dismiss things I normally wouldn’t tolerate to first or second date nerves (theirs). With 2010 I’ve said goodbye to this and am being much more cut-throat. My first instincts should definitely be trusted. In this case, when the friend once removed wanted to set me up, I was not particularly interested. I’d met this guy before and although perfectly nice and actually good-looking, I barely remembered talking to him so I didn't have much of an impression. Then I figured, what the heck? Was I doing anything else? No. Might she be right? Yes. So why not, what harm is there in a date? Fool’s last words... “why not?”

Date one was a lovely dinner, he paid. There was pretty good conversation even if a lot of it involved the dog he had just got four weeks before. I too have a dog and remembered how overwhelming it could be at first so I cut him some slack on that. Much as I love my pup though, I’ve heard it’s a bad idea to go on about her on a first date, so I was a bit concerned. Especially from a guy - horrible sexist attitude on my part.

Second date was a movie. He chose The Road. If you have read/seen/heard about this novel or movie, or know anything about Cormac McCarthy, you might be wondering why this seemed like a good date movie to him. I knew the subject matter, I knew it would be depressing and stark, but I heard the acting was amazing and I had wanted to see it, so I said yes. I guess he had no idea what it was about and seemed to be a bit regretful of his choice afterwards – a romantic picture The Road does not paint. We went for drinks and of course my subconscious started registering little red flags. There are always flags, but some you can live with and some you can't. Funnily enough, I didn’t really pay them much heed. I felt pretty good about date number two. But the next day when I thought back to how it really went, I began to have doubts.

He had some strong opinions that didn't really align with my own views – red flag (compatibility). He seemed to have a narrow tolerance for what tv shows/stations, movies, music and radio stations were acceptable for entertainment – red flag (my tastes are wide and I like fluff sometimes, it doesn't mean I'm frivolous or stupid and yet it seemed like I was being told I was). I kind of felt like I was being judged beyond what a second date might warrant. “Oh crap,” I thought. “I’ve just begun dating my ex all over again.” A couple of them in fact. Bad pattern. The biggest red flag of them all. And you know, maybe that's my red flag – my hang ups and insecurity, my feeling insulted by things that weren't meant to be insults; I decided to put them aside. It should be noted though, that date two ended without so much as a hug, so maybe it was already done.

And shortly after date two, the Evil German who had set us up then sent me some very urgent messages that maybe dating this guy wasn't such a good idea, alluding, no less, to some over-reactive and sometimes violent behaviour on his part. Of course, my opinion of the Evil German was not great by this point due to her intolerable treatment of our wonderful mutual friend, so I decided to take the warning with a grain of salt.

I also had a sneaking suspicion that maybe she wanted this guy for herself now, so, to show her who's boss, I agreed to a third date. He was going shopping at a fantastic outdoor adventure store and I rarely got there as it was out of town. What could be a more innocuous third date than an afternoon of shopping? This way I could analyse him and look to see if I made up those little red flags. It seemed I should give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I had been in a bad mood because of the movie we'd watched.

First off, he was late. I mean very, unreasonably late. His, “I’ll pick you up at noon,” which to most people equals midday equals 12, was more like, “I don’t know when I’ll be there because I’m doing a bunch of other stuff in the morning but I might be done around noon and I’ll call you to work it all out when I’m ready.” And if, in fact, he’d said that, I’d have been much more appreciative than I was after waiting with my coat on at my door for 20 minutes.

At 1:00 p.m. he called to say he’d just got back from playing hockey and having brunch and generally having a great morning with all his friends and he’d be ready to go soonish. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking at this point I’d say, “You know that’s great but I was ready an hour ago when I understood you’d be here and I don’t really feel like going anymore.” But you’d be wrong. What I actually said was, “Okay, why don’t you call me when you’re actually ready to head over.” See, I still wanted to figure this out. You might now be thinking, “sucker,” and this time you’d be right.

A few minutes later he called to say he’d be over in five minutes. Great. I got ready and more than 20 minutes later he finally showed. You’re probably hoping, but now doubtful, that I either didn’t answer the door or at least told him I was over waiting and he could go by himself. I did neither. I went.

So off we go though I am considerably quiet and cold, the atmosphere is all very polite. He stops for gas.

Okay sure, we’re headed on the highway, good idea to ensure we’ve got enough fuel. Then he stops to put air in his tires. He’s pushing it now.

Here’s a tip guys, don’t do car maintenance on a date, or not on a date this early on anyway. Have everything taken care of (and if he had done these things then at least the 20 minutes late the second time might have made some sense). Sitting in the car after you’re roughly an hour and a half late while you play with a tire gauge and then ask me for change for the air pump is not impressing me. At all. Then I think, maybe he doesn't see this is a date. I mean, what guy would plan a date, be late, then be later, and then make the whole thing so un-date like unless it wasn't a date?

It’s 1:45 p.m., it takes an hour to get where we’re going, he wants to make three stops, plus an hour back (and I’m being generous here because there is always the chance of traffic), and I’m due somewhere at 5:00 p.m. I’m not feeling quite as confident as him. I still could have asked him to leave me behind at this point but I don't. Bed made, lying in it. shutting it.

Anyway, we finally get on the road almost two hours after I'd figured, but that’s okay because the store is only a half hour away and I’ll definitely still be back for my dinner plans. Except now we’re going to the location that’s twice as far and hitting up a couple of other shops in the area. Oh. My. Goddess.

I think steam might actually be coming out of my ears now because he suddenly looks very sheepish and asks if that’s alright. I inform him of my plans and he is all assurances with, “Oh we’ve got plenty of time!”

We do the trip and arrive back going on 6:00 p.m. Although I probably have no one to blame but myself, I smile and say thanks for the trip and know that there will be no fourth date. This probably wasn't even a third date. It was a shopping trip. There was no indication from him that it was anything other than that, and I was mad at myself now for my own stupidity more than I was at him anyway.

As I suspected, I did not hear from him again.

Evil German: 1. Me: 0. Well played.