Post Date Update
"Well, how was it?"
She flounces on my bedroom floor, the picture of defeat. "I think I'm over this whole thing already."
"Dude, you've been on exactly one date. Too early to quit. I need more blog material."
I fish around for details, and learn that my roommate's very first online date made his grand entrance by bursting into the bottle shop and declaring "I really have to pee." Ahhh romance.
She continued to wait for him at the bar*, assuming they would order their drinks and then move to a more secluded spot to talk. She assumed wrong.
He joined her on the neighboring stool, and they proceeded to have their very first date - in all its awkward glory - right there, across the counter from the bartender.
"He was really nice…" she says. Translation: zero chemistry.
We talk a little more about the rest of their evening, with me screening every single word out of her mouth for blog-worthy anecdotes. I pick up on the fact that, in addition to his apparently small bladder, this man also has a rather high-pitched (think: pre-pubescent) voice. As such, I've dubbed him "Squeaks."
"Well, did he at least buy your drink?" I ask, hopeful he didn't miss this elementary dating etiquette.
Her response automatically eliminated Squeaks from the running, in my book, but my more merciful-roommate was still on the fence as to whether or not she would give him another chance. Unfortunately, Squeaks did not improve his odds of a call back when he made the brazen decision to text her at 3:00am.**
The post-date update is now a ritual in our apartment once my roommate returns home from each of her respective online dating meet-ups.***
Squeaks was followed by The Reflector, a scholarly gentleman who arrived at the brewery first…and brought a book with him. (Ohhh Portland. You are, like, the only city I know of where it might seem even remotely okay to bring a book to a brewery.) At the end of this date, The Reflector earned his name by asking my roommate if she would like to evaluate and "reflect" on their experience together. Ahem, excuse me, sir, but I believe that is MY job…
Virgo was up next, and as a practicing attorney whose only apparent flaw was that he resides in Vancouver and not Portland-proper, I must admit: I was rooting for this one. But alas, my roommate returned from their date uninspired. It turns out that for as many things that weren't "wrong" with Virgo, there just weren't enough things "right" with him either. No spark.
Unwilling to surrender without a fight (or possibly bullied by my incessant desire for more blog stories), my roommate prepped herself for her fourth date in half as many weeks.**** The night before, she slid her laptop over to me so I could look at his profile. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit this because I really truly hate gender stereotypes from the bottom of my soul, but in the spirit of full-disclosure: I had nicknamed Mr. Effeminate before their date even began. And I was not incorrect in this assumption. Once again, it was not a love connection.
So, my gorgeous roommate's one-month trial of Match.com sadly confirmed my suspicion that this particular dating website has very little structure and a very loose definition of what might be considered a "match." On the plus side, it means she's still single and therefore less likely to judge me for simultaneously eating gelato straight out of the container whilst complaining about how out-of-shape I am. But on the downside, she didn't find her match (and trust me, she is totally match-worthy), won't be going on any more dates, and subsequently I'm out of stories for awhile…unless of course you send them to me.
Now if you'll excuse me, there is a pint of Talenti in my freezer right now that just so happens to be calling my name...
*This is arguably the worst part of meeting a stranger for a date. Do you get a table? Do you wait at the door? At the bar? Do you order something while you wait, or is that rude? If you do order first, do you leave a tab open, or do you close it?
**Let me be very clear: unless you are related to me, within the best friend tier, or an overnight employee at my work and it happens to be the week I'm on-call; it is not okay for you to text me at 3:00am. Ever.
***Who knows? Maybe one of these days I'll get to join in on the fun, too.
****You gotta admire her tenacity.