Word Perv

Sunday evening friends and I went to see the Broadway musical Avenue Q, meeting first for drinks then heading to the theater where we laughed our asses off for a few hours. (For anyone considering seeing it, get your tickets as you won’t be disappointed – the show is great!)

After the show I offered to drive my friend Jon back to his car, and so together we headed to the parking garage, talking about the show and other random things. I noticed a guy walking beside us to his vehicle but thought little of it, as Jon and I were engaged in conversation. Once in my car and in line to pay and exit the garage I realized the guy in the car behind me is gesturing to me. It took me a second but I finally figured out what he’s asking me and I start laughing, “Jon, the guy behind me is asking me if you and I are together.” I shake my head no and Jon and I burst out laughing. I mean, what’s this guy gonna do, pick me up in the parking garage?

Apparently, yes.

I pay for parking and am waiting for a break in traffic when I see him hop out of his car and run up to my window, thrusting a business card into my hand. “I just had to give you my card. I mean, you’re hot. You should call me.” I laughed as I took the card, “Uhhh, thank you,” I said. “Call me!” he repeated, “You’ll like me. I promise.”

I drove away laughing, Jon and I discussing the absurdity of what had just occurred.

Getting  home I pulled the business card out of my purse. I thought about just tossing it, but then thought, well, what the hell? The guy had the balls to give me his card on a moment’s notice, so why not give him a call? I picked up my phone and dialed, fully intending to leave a message and be done with it. Except he answered the call. We chatted briefly and then he said, “To keep the impromptu momentum going, are you free right now for a drink?”

I thought it over, then since I was still dressed to go out (denim skirt, knee-high boots, and a sweater – what I wore to the theater) and Monday was a holiday, I said yes and we made plans to meet. Thirty minutes later we’re looking for an open bar because it’s 11pm on a Sunday night, and our options are limited. Soon we found one and sat down, gin & tonics in hand. (Side note: This is the first gin & tonic I’ve had since I drank a few too many of them on New Year’s Eve. I am happy to report that drunken night has not ruined the delicious flavor of gin for me. Thank goodness.)

Now my first reservations bubbled to the surface when he told me he’s in sales. I’ve dated a couple of guys in sales before and I’ve found the following to be true with each of them: they don’t know when to turn it off. The same was true of this salesman, as everything coming out of his mouth felt like a sales pitch. It felt artificial and forced. And while I, like every girl out there, appreciates a compliment or two, peppering the entire conversation with them is overkill. One thing that really turned me off though, was while discussing his previous marriage and why it didn’t work out (over-sharing!),  he said, “I mean, I like sex and I’m good at it, so I want to have that in my relationship.”

Why do men do this? I’ve never heard a woman brag about being good in bed. And I really doubt there are many people out there who think they’re bad in bed, but why say it? This does absolutely nothing for me and again it feels like part of a sales pitch. Plus, sexual compatibility can vary between people, so even two people who are certain they are “good in bed” might not be a match for one another. And hell, I have the goddamn sex drive to rival a 19 year-old boy, but you don’t hear me bragging about that to my dates!

Quite quickly (immediately?) realized he wasn’t physically a match for me. I don’t want to sound petty or superficial, but I want someone who is physically fit. He doesn’t necessarily have to be a runner like me – though that certainly would be nice – but I do want someone who feels it is important to stay in shape and be active. And this guy was a little less fit than I prefer, than I am attracted to. He then admitted that he’d been on a couple of dates recently and the women had been heavier than he liked. “I know it sounds hypocritical, but I want someone who is fit.”

I looked him, thinking, “It doesn’t just sound hypocritical, it is hypocritical!” Instead I just replied, “Physical fitness is very important to me. I’m a runner and I’ve very dedicated to it, so I need someone who is equally as dedicated to being in shape.” I went on to explain the sponsorship I have with Under Armour and some of my upcoming races.

“Wow, that’s fantastic!” he said, laughing, “I must be a big fatty to you!” (Note: He wasn’t a fatty, just not as fit as I want.) “I can tell that if we started dating, I’d get in great shape! Plus – and this is just hypothetical – but I can totally see a couple of months down, bragging to people, ‘Yeah, my girlfriend runs for Under Armour.’”

I didn’t even reply. I mean, what the fuck?! We’re having drinks, we’ve only known each other 45 minutes and you just – hypothetically – called me your girlfriend?! Inside my head that voice is yelling: RUN! RUN! RUN AWAY NOW!!!

But it gets worse. Or in terms of story-telling, it gets better.

He asked if I had plans Saturday night and I explained I had tentative plans to attend a friend’s whiskey tasting party. “Well,” he replied, “You could bring a date. We can go to a Wizards game first and then hit your friend’s party. Your friends will love me!”

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!! He didn’t just say that, did he?! Yes, dear readers, he did. “Yeah, maybe…” I replied, draining my glass and giving what I hoped was the gosh-it’s-getting-late-and-I-need-to-go signal. Nope. Instead he ordered another drink while I opted for a glass of water.

The conversation continued, his salesmanship barreling over me, interrupting my speech and charging through the conversation, not allowing me to tell even one story from start to finish without him grabbing the conversation and running with it.

Then the conversation turned to where I lived and I explained that I had a house in Alexandria. “Do you own it?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, “I rent right now, but I hope to buy it as I really love my house.”

He smiled, “Or you could meet a great guy and move in with him.”

If I had been drinking at that moment I would have choked on it from the shock and horror of what he just said. I mean, we’re having drinks. It’s a first date. And while he’s making me laugh, there’s nothing to imply that things are going so well that he should just assume I’m going to throw all my much-coveted independence out the window and shack up with him. I know he wasn’t being completely serious (well, at least I hope he wasn’t!), but nonetheless, you don’t fucking say that on a first date! Hell, you don’t say this the first six months you’re dating someone!!!

Now all of this makes it sound like the date from hell, and we all know I suffered through a date that was much worse. At least the Salesman was funny and made me laugh. But that was pretty much it. I wasn’t attracted to him, a lot of the things he said were a complete turn-off and he doesn’t swear. Now how can I, Miss Potty Mouth who absolutely adores the word fuck, consider dating someone who rarely even says, “Damn!”? I can’t people, I simply can’t.

By now the clock is creeping past 1am and I’m tired and ready for the date to end. Earlier in the conversation I had, quite smartly, stated that I don’t kiss on the first date, which isn’t exactly the truth. I will, most definitely, kiss on the first date if I’m interested in the person. If I’m not interested, I’ll do everything I can to avoid having some guy shove his tongue down my throat in an awkward game of tonsil hockey. So in this case, we hugged goodbye and I gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him I’d be in touch.

Monday morning I emailed him, letting him know I wasn’t interested in going out again. He was gracious and accepting of this. Thank goodness, as I didn’t have the energy to fight off a sales spiel had he decided to try to convince me to go out with him again.