It doesn't happen all that often, but I had a bonafide date. Mind you, I went in with great trepidation. It was a blind date off the Web, via Nu Yenta. For us gay jews. After meeting about seven or so men via this service, I have come to a conclusion. Jewish men are more willing to meet in real life, but they are still men, and men are, as I said once before, delightful and frustrating creatures, often leaving me to recall that postcard: If you can send one man to the Moon, why not send them all?
So the jewish dentist from Queens came into town and we met at the Townhouse Restaurant for dinner. My first mistake. Girls, heed my advice. Go out for coffee. It allows you a quick escape. There is also less to spill onto your date if things go really wrong.
But my dentist is a perfect gentleman. I had the caesar salad with grilled chicken, with steamed asparagus as an appetizer. The restaurant was a rather loud place. Don't let anyone tell you that shrieking queens are now relegated to memory. The restaurant really does echo. I think it was hard for the dentist to hear me. He is fairly well connected to the gay scene out in Queens. I would like to think he was duly impressed that I know who Claire Schulman is (Queens borough president).
I had tea and he had coffee. We took a walk up the East River. Now normally, this would be an ideal seduction scene, but since I am living with the third-date rule, well, this sort of thing would have to suffice as setting a tone.
By the end of the evening we'd spent about 3.5 hours together. I feel like Mary Richards when she finally figures out that she's been on 2000 dates. "Two THOUSAND dates!" All that time spent wondering why you are telling these stories to complete strangers all the time. "Tell me everything before I recede into the dark corners of your history forever." Why...?
Oooooooog.
So I walked him to his car. I gave him a hug; that alone is enough to scare off people, even the ones who declar they are "emotionally available" in their ad. He offered me a ride home. I declined, as I am a well-brought up lady. "Ain't fittin'. Just ain't fittin'." I know deep in my bones I will never hear from him again, which is fine. It's like the pregnant woman who knows instinctively that she will miscarry. I just always know. I do look forward, however, to the man who challenges that instinct.
I did abandon my high-minded perch and pop in to the local bar, though. Drinking lots of water means you need the facilities--often. I sometimes do this after a blind date. Taking full advantage of the built-up confidence that comes before these trials by ordeal, I figure trying to meet people the old-fashioned way is always worth a shot. It makes the Orgy of Self-Loathing that I attended the night before pale by comparison.
Hey, you never know!
A problem with meeting people on the Internet is that there is that build-up. People are nice, and so looking forward to meeting you. There are nice conversations on the phone. Then you meet and have a nice time. And then you wait. You might call, and wait a while more. And then your suspicions are confirmed. Then you re-read their add and notice all the red flags that bothered you in the first place, and think, why did he go out with me at all. "Blond hair a plus but not a deal-breaker." I hate those business allusions to love and romance. It's your heart, not a business deal. All these men with checklists and criteria. How utterly American, and depressing.
But, I remain hopeful. I mean, even Balzac eventually married Evelyn Hanska in Poland. Unfortunately, he died on pneumonia on his honeymoon. He'd been trapped out in the rain. I remain more optimistic. I have met some nice guys. No call back is far kinder than stupid comments or broken promises. I enjoy the silence, quite frankly.
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