-{ redgeek.net }-

I’ve never really been one to dabble. When I find something I want to do, I just go out and dive in; once the decision’s been made, I don’t look back. That said, I decided I needed to get out and meet some new girls; hell, I just need to get out, hooking up would just be a bonus, perhaps an minor impetus. Too many weeks alone, just me and my writing and photos and martial arts.

I’ve never been one to try for the one-night close – it’s happened, but I never try for it. When it does happen, I always get freaked out afterward - I mean, if I don’t even know if you get yourself checked out at the free clinic, there’s no way we’re swapping fluids, and if we did, I have to run out and get tested again, and again six months after that. I always use a condom, but still, you never know, and I’ve been safe and/or lucky so far. No need to tempt fate. Out of self-preservation, and the desire to be out of the house right now rather than in it, I’ve been going for the followup outing. That said, here’s the history of the dating scene post-“A-“:

Some martial arts buddies decide we all need to go out and get exceedingly drunk, ostensibly for my betterment, which we achieved with suprising ease and gusto. Hopping along the various bars in PB, I see D-, who I’ve met a few times before and is extraordinarily cute and fun. She’s sober, just off work, and I’m putting down my fourth Red Bull Vodka grande-style with only a small slice of Ahi in my stomach. Great combination there, you can see where this is going. I eventually give her my digits, she asks about my girlfriend, I end up giving her the medium-length version. Doh. Not a good precursor to asking her out. Stuck myself in the friend-zone on that one. Oh, well, she’s cool, so we can still hang out.

Moving on, the next day I meet T- and her friend at the coffee house, they ask me what I’m working on so industriously - the second novel - and it turns out T- is a lit major at UCSD. We talk more, eventually I have to leave. She asks for my phone number and invites me to sushi the next evening. Says she’ll call. Driving home the next day, I get a call from a number that’s blocked caller ID, but it turns out I’ve got poor coverage and can’t hear anything. After “Hello? Hello? Anyone there? Reception’s bad, please call back in a few.” No second call.

The next night, I meet S- and her friend at the bar. It was a slow night and I was just grabbing a salad and editing a passage of the novel. I catch this stunning blonde - gorgeous, tall, thin, doe-eyes, all of 23 years old - that keeps looking past the boy that’s hitting on her, toward me. I just smile and hold her gaze long enough to let her know I’ve noticed her. I wait until he gives up, give the two girls enough time to compose themselves or do whatever it is that girls do when they whisper to each other after failed, overbearing pick-up attempts, and introduce myself. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. I had a short conversation with S- and her friend, which was a little strange when her friend started asking why I was interested in S- and not her. I told her the truth, that S- had just caught my eye. In between exchanges with S-, the friend gave me the brief interview: what do I do, do I have my shit together, etc., and gives her cryptic blessing to her friend with “He’s what you need.” I wondered if she left off “but not what you want,” but pushed that out of my head after looking in her beautiful huge Amelie eyes. It was later than I wanted to be out, and I had already written my number down on a slice of paper, so at an opportune moment I gave it to S-, who said she’d definitely call, and left, hopefully leaving S- wanting more. S- hasn’t called.

I decide to try a different tack, and put up my first-ever personal. I chose craigslist, as it’s free, and I didn’t feel like filling out some “personal inventory survey” or something equally ridiculous. I posted a commentary on myself as seen through a combination of my last several girlfriends, hoping to be a little novel and stick out from the crowd, with a touch of humor: _

Subject: First dates rock. Let’s do two. m4w - 28

I don’t consciously change myself when I meet a girl, but I’ve noticed a disturbing trend that I’d like to discuss. When I first meet a girl, and we’re going through the courting phase, it only seems natural to talk of of common interests and go on outings that both of us will enjoy. I assume that there’s more to this girl than what I’ve seen so far, and I assume she thinks the same of me. After all, that’s why you keep dating.

For the last few years, however, I’ve fallen for girls that seem to fall for the image of me that’s present on the first, second, or fifth date. Now, I’m not trying to hide part of myself, so as a public service to all future girlfriends, try to look at these illustrations of myself, each interpreted from two angles:

1. I’ll buy you trinkets and flowers to express my love for you
2. I’ll buy you trinkets and flowers but not pay your rent

1. I will succeed in making your heart flutter and body tingle
2. I won’t succeed in making your heart flutter and body tingle all the time

1. I like to try new things, in and out of the bedroom, and I’m open to suggestions
2. I won’t pressure you into trying new things, in or out of the bedroom, but I may offer suggestions

1. I usually think before I act
2. I usually think before I act

1. I will plan a trip to Hawaii with you, and perhaps drive to Vegas on a whim
2. I won’t fly to Hawaii on a whim, even though we drove to Vegas on a whim

1. I have tons of hobbies and interests I’d love to share with you, and will try to share in yours
2. I will not give up my hobbies and interests and replace them with yours

1. I’ll always be honest, except when you ask me if some other girl is cuter than you
2. I’ll always be honest, even when you ask me some other girl is cute in general

1. I enjoy museums
2. I enjoy dive bars

1. I will talk to you about problems/issues/concerns in our relationship
2. I won’t talk to everyone else about problems/issues/concerns in our relationship

1. Sometimes, I enjoy movies and popcorn at home, even if the movie is bad
2. Sometimes, I enjoy live music and shots at the bar, even if the band is bad

1. I spend time keeping myself in descent shape
2. I spend time, keeping myself in descent shape

1. Sometimes, when I get excited, my eyes light up like a little kid
2. Sometimes, when I get excited, I also jump around like a little kid

1. I’m not concerned if guys (or girls) flirt with you, even if you flirt back, as long as the two of you don’t do it in front of me
2. I’m not concerned if guys (or girls) flirt with you, even if you flirt back, as long as the two of you don’t do anything more, especially in front of me

Now, there’s nothing wrong with the girl that wants the eternally passionate, romantic, spontaneous, completely open man who will completely engross himself in her, or vice versa, and scream it to the world. Likewise, there’s nothing wrong with the girl that wants the caring, sensible, honest, responsible man that can be happy when she’s not around and appreciate her when she is. If you meet me and you love my lust for life, realize there are times when I’ll be concerned about paying my mortgage. If you are attracted to my generosity and self-reliance, realize sometimes I might want to run into the ocean nude, just because it’s Wednesday.

I’m looking for the girl that can appreciate both.

Oh, OK, I guess if you read this far, you’re probably interested (or at least entertained), so here’s the obligatory stats: I’m 28 years old, 6 foot, 200 lbs, 20% body fat (trying to work on that), drug and disease free, blue eyes, short brown hair (almost shaved), nicely attired, employed, homeowner, computer geek by trade, martial artist, writer, and photographer by passion, and I’m almost always smiling. You: similarly multi-dimensional - intelligent, fit, exciting, funny, down-to-earth, passionate about something - all that good stuff, I suppose around six years of my own age (22-34), but it’s not like I’m commited to that. Bonus points if you ski or hike, demerits if you’re not drug and disease free.

I’d love to hear from you.

The responses were rather depressing but interesting: One girl, sweet, but generally liking a whole bunch of stuff I don’t and only a few things I do. Other women (I assume) emailing me noting that it’s an “excellent ad” but that none of them were interested, and guys sending me pictures of their cocks asking me if what I’m really looking for is hot gay sex. Uh, ok.

Moving on, I decided to try responding to some of the more interesting w4m ads. Over the next few days, I choose four, writing each introductory response individually and with care, crafting a personal message and asking thoughtful questions about each of the ladies involved, and not sending pictures of my cock. No reponses.

So, back out with the friends to the bars, again (why does everyone think bars are good places to meet people?), the word spreading around the dojo and elsewhere that people have permission to hook me up. I walk up to a table of three girls in the corner, and introduce myself to a petite sandy-blonde called S- (a different S-, but with the same name, so we’ll call here S-prime: S’.) So S’ and her friends and I talk for about 45 minutes or so, I believe reasonably successfully. I get the girls to laugh frequently, and ask questions that have more significance than “so what do you do?”, and in return they were prompting me with questions. I give due attention to her friends while still making is very clear that S’ is the reason I’m here. She’s a writer as well (WTF? Where did all these writers come from?) and accuses me of using the conversation for material in my novel. I can’t tell if she’s serious or not, she says it in a jovial tone with serious eyes. The girls are the tail end of their evening, so before they leave, I ask S’ if she’d like to go to a couple gallery openings that are happening in a couple days, but she decides not yield her number. Again, I give my number. Again, no calls.

On the same night, just after S’ leaves, my friend pulls me over to some hepster cats he’s talking with. I join in for a bit, but am pretty tired by this time. I’m out the door, behind the patio railing, when my friend steps out to the patio. I tap him, and within earshot of one of the girls, say “Hey, what’s her name again?” He answers, “J-“, taps her, and points her at me. J- is definitely hot, definitely dripping sex. I skip everything and just ask for the digits. She jots them down, illegible, and asks me to read them back to her. I have absolutely no idea what the scribbles represent, it’s tagger-text on a napkin. I could tell there’s very little chance of this going anywhere with this girl, even before I asked her name, aside from some dirty, dirty, lovin’. That’s okay, I’m not against that. I get her to translate the numbers. I suppose I’ll call her this weekend, there’s a release party for a new lit journal tomorrow, we’ll see if she can hang.

God, this is exhausting. But at least I’m out of the house.