Sometimes you don’t need a second date to tell someone is cray…

Hello, dear readers. Hope you had a lovely Valentine’s Day being happy or unhappy or drunk or high or oblivious or whatever works for you…

I have been back out there on the Okcupid with a vengeance lately, and I already have another story for you.This whole situation just happened fairly recently, a few weeks ago…

So I start messaging with a guy on Okcupid, yet another engineer. Because I have not yet learned my lesson about engineers… He keeps talking about how he wants to go snowshoeing but I have finally wised up enough in my life to have a few less intense dates before committing to something like that. So I suggest that our first date be a coffee date. He lives in the South suburbs so we decide to meet at a nice hipster-y coffee shop in Baker.

I head out on my way to this date, la la la… When suddenly a car pulls out right in front of me on 13th Avenue, causing me to have to swerve to avoid hitting them, which in turn causes me to run off the road into someone’s yard, somehow shooting the gap between a tree and a rock landscaping wall as my life flashes before my eyes. Miraculously, I am fine (except for a little whiplash) and so is my car. The people whose yard I am now parked in come out, they are very nice to me and not concerned about the damage to their yard, and this other guy gets the license plate of the driver (who didn’t stop) and gives me his info in case I want to file a police report. At this point, I probably should have just turned around and headed home. This was not going to be my day. But yet again I am too nice, I decide that it would be mean to reschedule because homeboy is probably already almost at the coffee shop because he had a long journey from Englewood or Centennial or Highlands Ranch or wherever (they all blend together in my mind because I always get lost down there!) So I call this guy and tell him I am going to be late because I just got in a car accident. He says thank you for calling, he is already there at the coffee shop. Of course he is.

So I make my way down to the coffee shop, feeling really weird and shaky due to adrenaline/whiplash/thinking I was going to die… But I must soldier on, I say to myself. This could be my soulmate waiting for me and this day will start looking up!

Nope. I get to the coffee shop, meet Engineer #2, have some tea, start talking about stuff, etc. Not very far into the date, the dude says… because you know, these things just come up… “I used to hate everyone because I was bullied as a kid. But now I just don’t like most people. It takes a lot for someone to interest me, to keep me entertained so I want to bother spending time with them.” Or something like that. Great. My job and life mostly revolves around being interested in people, caring about people, having friends, being in social situations… I’m sure you will really understand me and how I operate given that you think of people the same way you think of inanimate objects… Hmmm… “Maybe that’s not something most people would say, but I’m brutally honest,” he says, one of those phrases which I have learned is code for “I’m an asshole but I feel good about it.” Wow… the more I think about it in hindsight, the more I should not have gone on a second date with this guy!

However, throughout this date I am also spending a ridiculous amount of energy trying to act normal, look normal, feel normal, do my “active/fake listening” despite the fact that my neck super hurts and I am now coming down from the adrenaline of avoiding crashing into a tree.

Upon further reflection, I somehow conclude that maybe this guy’s not a sociopath, I mean, he did open the door for me and say please and thank you… I say to myself that I will consider a second date if he contacts me again. Which he does. A lot. He apparently is really bored all the time at his job and tries to have extensive texting conversations with me all the time over the next two weeks that it takes for me to be available for a second date.

This time, I don’t know why, but I suggest a more ambitious date. Going to see a movie at the Boulder Film Festival. But it’s still Sunday daytime and I have plans (another date, actually) later on that afternoon/evening so that gives me an out. My intuition tells me that I don’t want this guy to know where I live (probably one of the few good moves I made during this whole story), so we meet near the Auraria Campus and leave my car there, and he drives to Boulder.

This is where shit gets real. It’s around noon on a Sunday, a beautiful Sunday drive up to Boulder. Sounds great, very peaceful and calm, right? Not for this guy and his anger issues that I am about to find are rather unresolved.

There are a few places along the way to Boulder that there are construction zones, or old people driving slow, or other minor bottlenecks that would cause a normal person just to slow down or maybe switch lanes. Not this guy. He starts road raging to the max each time any obstacle is encountered, engaging in some extreme and high-speed tailgating (I am from the East Coast so I know about tailgaiting, but out here you don’t see it that much, maybe because tailgaiting someone doesn’t actually make them go faster..), cursing and muttering about “idiots” and “people who drive like that can die in a fire.” Who says things like that?!? This situation is sort of freaking me out because he has to slam on the brakes repeatedly to avoid hitting the people he is tailgaiting at 55 mph, and also because I am generally disturbed by his massive road rage on what would be a leisurely Sunday drive for any normal person. I almost died in a car crash once already this month, I don’t need to die because of your terrible driving choices, sir…

But somehow we make it up to Boulder without dying, or hitting anything, despite coming close several times, including once when he changed lanes in an intersection and cut someone off at a light once we were actually in Boulder… And we go see a movie, good movie, no talking happening during the movie. Also, no groping. Which I think is good because I am a bit concerned about this guy’s barely-concealed rage and feel like that might translate into things I don’t like, like fierce face-sucking during making out, or copping a feel really aggressively… It’s not nice to tug, boys!

Anyway, the movie is uneventful but I am a glutton for punishment (and hungry) so we go get a sandwich and walk around a little bit on the Pearl Street Mall. During this time, he lets slip several gems about really weird stuff, including somehow telling me a story about how when he was a kid he had some sort of really intense lego set and he was so much of a control freak that he had to always put it away so his cousins couldn’t play it whenever they came over so they wouldn’t mess it up or put things in the wrong place. The thing that made this extra disconcerting is that he described this incident so vividly and with such emotion that it seemed like he was re-living it. He also made a lot of references to a bunch of sci-fi things, video games, etc. and seemed very crestfallen every time I tell him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He had seemed super excited on our first date when I told him that I liked Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That generally seems to be the only thing that I like that gets me any cred with nerds. Like the time when I thought it was a good idea to go to Comic Con to pick up dudes… I can save that story for later. But I am basically a nerd poser (yeah, I said poser, I probably haven’t used that word since high school!) because I only like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and just the show, not the graphic novel! So he seems fairly dissatisfied with my ability to keep his interest and entertain him (the purpose of people in his world, as you may recall) by talking about anime movies, sci-fi movies or TV shows, or fantasy books. He also gets into a whole racist diatribe about the time he spent working for his engineering firm near the Mexican-US border and about how all the people there were worthless and it was a cesspool, but that’s not racist because I don’t hate all Mexican people! Just the ones in that part of Texas! I have friends who are Mexican!

Anyway, at this point my inner monologue is screaming “Mayday! Mayday!” So I talk about how I have to head back home to get ready for the other things I have planned that day. We walk back to his car, drive back to Denver with fewer road rage incidents, which is good. During the ride back, he also tells me a long and boring story about an issue at his work with the wrong parts for some sort of rocket-related thing. Much of the story revolves around the parts and the fact that everyone in his company and the company that makes the parts are idiots and can die in a fire. His conclusion to the story is that it was a really great week at work because he got to yell at people all week for doing their jobs wrong and sucking at life and it “made him feel alive and for once he wasn’t bored at work.” Awesome. If I for some reason kept dating you, you would a) never understand me b) die of a heart attack at age 42 and c) make me die of a heart attack, possibly before age 42. This kind of energy/person is why I moved away from the East Coast. I can get a little intense myself, and it just goes better for me if I am in a calm environment. Note, this guy was from Chicago. I have never been to Chicago, but I hear it’s like the East Coast. But they have thicker pizza and Kanye West? Anyway, that’s about it. Angry engineer guy dropped me off at my car, I basically bolted out of his and started mumbling about catch you later or see you around or some such other vague lies that you say to make sure you don’t sound too mean but also clearly don’t want to go out again. Mostly, I felt like a sailor rejoicing upon reaching the shore alive.

Anyway, the moral of this story is that sometimes you just need to trust your own judgment and not bother giving that dude a second date just because his level of craziness/incompatibility with you has not yet passed the “unacceptable” mark on the first date…

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That awkward moment when you start banging a guy right before Valentine’s Day

It’s almost Valentine’s Day, one of the most annoying holidays for anyone who is generally single, like me, or anyone who doesn’t like to feel like they are being obligated to go to a fancy dinner and act like it’s really special for no reason. Or any kid who wasn’t the cool kid in class, you know, back before they made all the kids give everyone a valentine in their decorated shoebox at school. I hear that nowadays, there are rules about that to prevent little kids from being assholes to each other, much like the rules about not playing dodgeball in school. News flash, now kids have so many ways to be assholes to each other on social media that making mandates about Valentine-card non-exclusion won’t help. Anyway, I digress.

This is a story about an awkward Valentine’s Day. A few years back, I was in this personal development class about how to change your life and make it better and whatnot. It did make my life better, but the guy I met because of it did not. I actually did not meet this guy in class, I met him because his stepmother was in my class. I was talking in this class about how I am trying to meet my soulmate and blah blah blah and this nice older lady who was talking with me about it suggested that she set me up with her stepson. He’s around my age, he’s tall like me, he likes volleyball, he’s single… Sure, I say, sign me up.

So we go on a few dates, three, to be exact, because I like to make myself feel not slutty by employing the “three-date rule” and not sleeping with anyone before the third date. All of the dates have been fine, we get along fine, we do indeed have some things in common, etc. On the third date, this guy has a plan. He meets me in my neighborhood, we both get drunk, we go to my house, and you know the rest…

When we get down to doing the deed, there are a few amusing things that happen. One, this guy, who will hereafter be known as Volleyball Tattoo Guy, has a fucking tattoo of a volleyball on his bicep! Not to be all gender-role-y, but the only other person I have ever known to have a volleyball tattoo was a female volleyball coach in high school. She had it on her ankle, and she had it because she was a big time college player in her day. This guy thought he was a big deal with the local volleyball clique in town at the Island… more on that later. Although things were already not going that smoothly in these sexcapades, nothing makes this girl lose wood faster than a dumb tattoo.

Also, the other funny thing about this guy is that on some of our dates, he had talked about how he is very interested in the mechanics of sex, how to help people have better sex, be comfortable with their bodies, etc. He said maybe one day he would want to be a sex therapist (his current job was installing windows). I kind of thought that seemed cool and progressive of him, you know, I am a feminist and sex positive and all that… Also, it made me expect good sex. What actually happened was the opposite of good. Super awkward, really. He did try hard, tried lots of different ideas and positions, but he basically just had no rhythm, white boy and all, I guess… Or maybe the reason he was so into sex was because he secretly knew he was bad at it? Of course, like all nice girls, I did a good job of pretend-orgasming, and of course, like all guys, it didn’t take much for him to get what he needed…

So, I think, we should give it another shot, it was the first time, maybe he was nervous, maybe I could come if I thought of something else or avoided looking at the volleyball tattoo. This whole situation happened maybe a week or two before Valentine’s Day. But whatever, I think, I can just see what happens. So the day after we do the deed, he takes me to this clique-ish indoor volleyball club in town called the Island and starts letting me know how he can “get me in” for league play because this place is notorious for being a club that you have to earn your way into by politics and knowing people and spending a lot of time and money there. Oh, thank you, Volleyball Tattoo Guy, for your generous offer of using your imagined volleyball celebrity status to get me into your friend posse so that when I can no longer deal with terrible sex and break up with you, I can be awkward around you all the time with my new volleyball mean girl BFFs at the Island…. But whatever, we play a few games that day, it’s fine, etc.

We also discuss the impending Valentine’s Day. I foolishly invite him out with a bunch of my friends from my neighborhood who are going to see St. Vincent at the Bluebird. The first problem about this is the shirt this guy chooses to wear to go OUT WITH MY FRIENDS ON VALENTINE’S DAY – one of those novelty Spring Break shirts (I got it in Cancun, he tells me.. of course you did…) that has an arrow pointing to his face that says “The Man” and an arrow pointing to his pants that says “The Legend.” Hmmm… who exactly considers your penis to be a “Legend” except you? Not me… Probably not whichever sorority girls you may or may not have gotten lucky with in Cancun by wearing your cool new shirt…. Ugh. My friends are all looking at me funny.. Shit, I am looking at myself funny for having had sex with this… situation and seen fit to invite him out with my friends ever, let alone on Valentine’s Day! Whatever, I say, I still want to go see St. Vincent so I will just have to deal with all the hipsters looking disdainfully at me and Volleyball Tattoo/Penis Shirt Guy… Maybe that should be his nickname now.

So I make it through the show, great show, of course, by trying to minimize the level of groping that Volleyball Tattoo/Penis Shirt Guy is doing by periodically squirming out of his grasp…. We are at a St. Vincent show, not the Rockbar, ok! Sidenote: I miss the Rockbar. If you don’t know what that is, I’m sorry, and welcome to Denver! Anyway, back to the story…. We get done with the show, he walks me back to my place and starts making out with me at the door. Luckily, my friends have not caught up with us yet (some of them live next door to me and some live in my building!) During this whole making-out situation, all I can do is see visions of penis arrow shirts and volleyball tattoos. Very unsettling. I can’t even bring myself to let him come upstairs for that whole second try I keep trying to talk myself into giving him. Luckily, it’s a weekday and I can use that excuse of being tired and having work in the morning. So I extricate myself from him and tell him goodnight and that I have to get some sleep, what with the weeknight and all…

At this point, it’s just awkward and I can’t even imagine myself having sex with him, being seen with him in public, etc. I call him to break up with him over the phone a few days later. He is nice about it, he probably could tell from the facial expressions of EVERYONE who saw his shirt that wearing that was a mistake. Or maybe he just knew something that I think many people (not me, apparently) have learned from experience. Don’t hook up with people right before Valentine’s Day! Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

Adventures on okstupid from guest blogger “Undateable”

Disclaimer from thatonegirlindenver: ****My first guest blogger is a wonderful friend of mine who is a great girl and most definitely not undateable at all! However, I believe in self-determination of peoples and when I asked her what her nickname should be on the blog, she chose Undateable….*****

So, here with a fresh and hilarious take on how to create an online dating profile (old news for hardened online daters like me), I present the blogging debut of my friend Undateable:

A few days ago, I opened a profile on okcupid.com.
It seems really weird to write so intimately about yourself and then feel strangely excited about the opportunity to present yourself in any way you wish, to reinvent yourself as someone you’ve always wanted to be, the illusion of  your best self, to this rainbow of strange men. This is not how people usually meet other people. In real life, men and women don’t walk around with a brief bio you can read before talking to deciding to talk to them. In real life, you have to be extremely lubricated with alcohol before opening up to a stranger and showing them all your photos. “Here’s me in my kitchen, and here’s me in my bathroom, and here’s me partying with my friends and you can see all of their faces too because I have no consideration for their privacy!”
I wonder how many people’s friends’ faces are on okcupid without their knowledge or consent.
There’s also this ability to constantly tailor and perfect your story. It’s strange how the more profiles you visit, the more you tend to want to update yours and make it more clever and witty, or blasé and above it all, depending on your mood at the time, or whenever you see something clever on someone else’s. The worst is when you discover an ex-flame on there so you have to scramble back to your page and check it for complete lies that they would catch you on if they happened to find you. Re-working and refining your avatar can take all bloody night.
One of the most stressful things is the visitor notification that pops up while you’re still completing your profile. This is awful! Why is this allowed? That’s like eating an under-cooked meal.
Sidebar: That question about drugs is really tricky. What if you just dabble in a bit of sour diesel in order to tolerate parties or the holidays? But if you check the box for “sometimes” or even “occasionally” you probably come off like a crack ho. Then again, if he’s not cool like that he won’t have a good time with someone like you.
Oh my god and then someone you had a thing with a year ago will spot you—someone you had to unfriend because he wouldn’t stop being vulgar and asking you to send him naughty photos of yourself—and NOW HE’S FOUND YOU.
Him: “Hiii.”
You: “Heyyyy.” (What are you doing? Why are you even replying? You don’t need this again.)
Him: “I got a new phone *** *** **** Let’s get warm.”
You: block him from your inbox.
Then suddenly there’s a text from a guy who you were friends with a few years back and then made the crazy decision to sleep with a couple times, causing him a complete freakout and subsequent public facebook venting when you told him you were seeing someone else. You haven’t talked much since then. But he has spotted your profile, and he has your number, so he has the luxury of hitting you up off of the website.
Him: “Hi. We’re a match on okcupid!! ;)”
You: “Oh really? Well, well. Howdy.”
Him: “How about that, eh?”
“And we both like sex too!”
You: “Haha!”
Be forewarned that if you have had a few drinks, you are highly susceptible to getting ensnared in weird conversations. You feel chatty, lonely, and impulsive, a dangerous and stupid combination. Maybe you become intrigued by the offer you just got to join a slightly older couple as a long-term third lover. You ask, how does that work, exactly? Or you bat back and forth with another entertaining weirdo and the conversation is enjoyable while it lasts so you make some plans to meet, but then you wake up the next morning and realize that you agreed to go out with him to a Goth night on Saturday. And you are like, “OH NOOOOO,” and start formulating your bullshit excuse to cancel.
The following night you open your account to see 11 messages. The flattery is at least ego building. You look at each message and click on each profile before answering any of them. This vastly influences the decision to reply back. Hmm, how about this lovely tall blond with the goofy smile? How about this bathroom selfie guy without a shirt? How about the French guy who looks like Jason Statham? It all depends on how they come across in their profile. It doesn’t matter if he’s beautiful, if his words indicate he is just short of mentally-challenged.
Most of the guys are as horrible at the pick-up lines as they are in real life. A sampling of INTRODUCTORY messages:
“The things I would do to you.”
“You are everything I never thought I wanted.”
“You should let me come over tonight and give you some pre-Christmas loving!”
Another bad look is when someone asks why you didn’t reply to their message only a few hours after they sent it to you.
Him: “Mind if I ask? Was it my profile? Or my pictures? The reason you didn’t reply? I’m just curious?!?”
You (after looking at his profile): “Get rid of all the selfies and that really random, unexplained picture of you looking like you’re singing a song on a stage dressed in a Jesuit monk costume, because your profile strongly suggests that you are about as sharp as a ball, so you just must not be intentionally making fun of yourself.  And it was your pictures, in fact. Here’s a rundown–Selfie one: you with the hoodie on (bad angle, makes you look trashed). Selfie two (same angle as previous): you with the hoodie off, two seconds later. Selfie three (same angle as previous): you in a big winter hat. Selfie four (same angle as previous): you with a backwards baseball cap. Selfie five (same angle as previous): you baking cookies! Selfie six (same angle as previous): you in a really dark living room. Then inexpicably: Jesuit monk.”
A different exchange.
Him: “You are rather fetching but your profile seems a bit pedestrian. If that isnt a correct statement, I would love to hear from you.”
You: “What does pedestrian mean?”
Him: No response.
Part of your profile questionnaire is a section called: “The Most Private Thing I’m Willing to Admit.” This one guy claimed “I know how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop.” Ooo, how uninteresting. And then he had only one photo of his chest taken in the bathroom mirror. I don’t get the lack of face. Is he afraid he’s ugly? Or even worse, does he think he’s so beautiful that people must only like him because of his looks and so “needs” you to like him for his stellar personality first before he pulls back the curtain and allows you to gaze upon his god-like chiseled features? But all the blatant sexual innuendos and non-innuendos this stellar personality has written on his self-summary make you think he’s got a very one-dimensional mind, interested only in non-committal hooking up and admiring his chest.  I almost want to message him back just to laugh some more.
You start wondering why these men are single in the first place. The more you look at photos and profiles, the more you start to see some repeating commonalities that allow you to make some broad assumptions. Clues are to be found by the clever peruser in your hopeful suitors’ photos. For example: if he has mostly selfies posing in front of a mirror, then he is probably pitifully self-absorbed. In fact, if he has any selfies at all, especially of his bare chest, you won’t talk to him at all.
There are also a statistically significant amount of men who claim to be in bands and have at least one photo of them grimacing into a mic, usually with a guitar. Maybe there’s a correlation between musicians and romantic failure. One guy tells you he’s been on the road a lot and so he’s not looking for a serious relationship. What it sounds like he’s really saying is he likes to sleep with his fans.
Lack of spelling or writing skills infers an inferior intelligence or education. There are women out there who are fine with that, but in general, women want a smart, witty man with some drive. If he writes, “You you look good n that pic,” he comes across as a lazy, drunk Neanderthal.
It’s a tricky thing though to judge others’ personalities based on their profiles and messages. It’s hard not to judge hastily and move on without another thought, just because one thing turned you off. But with so many to pick from, why not try to find perfection? The reality is, there is no such thing, even on paper. You could always find some little flaw that justifies you throwing the baby out with the bath water. Everyone is going to have flaws, some that will really annoy you, even your true love (if you believe in that sort of thing). In real life at least you can feel a vibe, hear tone of voice, see body language, and figure out if you have sparks or chemistry or whatever while you talk/interview. Maybe someone who would have completely bored the crap out of you online is amazing in person.
Of course you can be picky though, and weed out whatever you deem is below your baseline for intelligence, lack of spelling or writing skills, being self-absorbed or a tool. Just try to take it all with a grain of salt. And realize that your profile is also being judged.
In that light, you realize the majority of guys on here are probably ok, that the ones you have just torn apart were probably the minority. Maybe you should branch out and, instead of waiting for someone to message you, browse a little more. Maybe if you initiate with a few handpicked gentlemen, you won’t be so disappointed.
Finally, you decide to take one up on a date. Numbers have been exchanged, details worked out, and then he cancels. And DOESN’T EVER CALL YOU BACK. Sigh. Back to the message board.

There’s a reason they say you shouldn’t talk politics on first dates…

Hello again, friends! Here is another post from me, and also coming soon, my first guest blogger! She is basically one of the cooler girls I know who is joining me in the ranks of online daters and has some awesome and funny commentary on making a profile/reading the various amazing online profiles of Denver’s finest dudes (or at least the ones on free dating sites…).

Ok, yes, talking politics on first dates… I did eHarmony for a few months a couple years back. It was hard work! Because I wasn’t able to quit my job to spend 8 hours a day doing online surveys, I did not get to meet very many guys. The guys I did meet on there will pretty much all end up documented on this blog. Also, eHarmony would consistently match me up with acquaintances that I knew in real life to be horrible people or horrible matches for me. For example, I was matched with this guy I knew peripherally at work, and also knew him to be a first-class douche… But anyway, the guy featured in this blog was also a poor choice from the eHarmony robot/dating algorithm/whatever thing that causes them to send you matches on that site. 

So anyway, this guy was an engineer. I have been on a surprising number of dates with engineers. They always look good on paper because they tend to be smart, have decent grammar skills, have jobs, etc. But then you meet them and understand where the whole stereotype of engineers having no social skills comes from. Anyway, I suppose we could call him the Engineer.

So the Engineer and I chat on the phone and plan to meet at the Uptown Tavern, generally a hotbed of bro dude activity, but apparently this is near his work and he lives in the suburbs so it’s a good place for him to meet me for some food/drinks on a Friday. Fine, I won’t judge him and I happen to know that they have a good happy hour there, a fact I will later regret (many of the things that make this story blog-worthy are my own actions!)

So we get some drinks on the patio… 2 for 1 wine, what?!? And we start talking about stuff, I ask him about his work, he explains a lot of engineering-y jargon about what he does and I pretend to be interested and start drinking the wine… I order a salad or something that seems polite and suitable for a first date. Somewhere in this first 15 minutes or maybe half an hour, there is some bizarre turn of conversation which causes him to make the statement that, “Affirmative action is just special privileges for women and minorities.” I honestly don’t even remember what craziness brought the conversation there. My brain just about explodes because, you know, social worker… I begin to attempt to explain to him about what privilege really means and what affirmative action actually means and it doesn’t seem to help much. I decide to not make a scene on the Uptown Tavern patio, which is indeed full of groups of bro dudes and girls with blond highlights. I will just stick this out until we finish our food.

As I believe I have mentioned, I sometimes cope with awkwardness by doing something with my hands, eating, drinking, filling the silence, etc. Here I mostly went with drinking. After all, it was 2 for 1 wine! So we change the subject and talk about movies or something else fairly boring and neutral. And I forget what all else, maybe hiking or some sort of Denver-y shit… Meanwhile I am pretty much pounding wine. At least I feel less like punching him in the face and feel more like I just don’t really care. After a bit more of this shenanigans, I get up to go to the bathroom and realize how drunk I am. I do not have a great tolerance for alcohol and should not have been surprised, but somehow I was. I am also not coordinated in the best of times… and this was clearly not the best of times. So I manage to basically hit myself with the door while coming out of the bathroom. Luckily the bathroom was not in view of the table where the Engineer awaited. It was in view of several bro dudes and girls with blond highlights. Don’t judge me just because I am about to fall down and have no highlights!

So I make it back to the table, we resume a little more awkward chit chat, get the tab (I think he realized this was not a match as much as I did, so maybe I should take back the social cues thing, this guy was at least grasping that the date wasn’t going well!) and get ready to leave. We walk out of the bar together and I exert an amazing amount of energy trying to act and walk like I am not drunk. We exchange the obligatory lies about how it was nice to meet you and we should get together again. We both know that will never happen but it just seems like the thing to say. Our cars are parked in the same parking lot… Shit, I think to myself, I can’t drive myself home and he’s going to notice! I get in the car and pretend to fumble around, make a phone call, etc. until he leaves. Phew!

So the date is actually perhaps a bit less ridiculous than the randomness that happened after it. I decide that it seems like a good idea to just walk home from this date. In my cute-for-a-first-date-but-not-so-comfortable shoes… At the time, I lived in the Congress Park neighborhood of Denver, probably a good mile from the Uptown Tavern. But you know, clearly an excellent idea to walk home. I’ll clear my head and it will be meditative and I can think about new strategies to meet dudes because eHarmony is clearly not my jam.

I also decide that it is a good idea to walk down Colfax, so much better because if I want to, I can catch the 15 bus, or stop for Taco Bell, or buy some drugs… Or as it turns out, run into some dear friends of mine. I had previously been invited to go see Lupe Fiasco by a couple friends. But, in my eternal optimism, I thought that this might be a great date and I wouldn’t want to have to rush the date in order to make the concert, and declined their invitation. As I walk down Colfax past the venue where the show was to take place, I run into none other than my friends, heading to the concert. Clearly I could have made it. But the show is now sold out and I am on a drunk-walking mission to get to my house. So I tell my friends that my date was bad and I am walking home. They are good friends and don’t ask too many questions. They know I will tell them later. And they will probably read this blog.

I continue on my journey to my house, and manage to make it with only minimal bleeding of the feet due to my uncomfortable shoes… When I get to my apartment, my roommate is out so I busy myself with calling friends that live in the neighborhood to see if they want to get a drink somewhere within walking distance. Because clearly that’s what I need.

During this time, a new co-worker I don’t know very well yet calls me to inform me that I forgot to give her a key to a rental space she needs to use for an event early in the morning the next day. I realize that it’s true, I did forget to give her the key… it is still on my keychain with my car keys. Only it’s not still on my keychain. Shit! Did I lose it somewhere in the middle of Colfax? Is it in my car? Neither of these are great answers and I don’t want to reveal to my co-worker that I have the opposite of my shit together right now and am about to cause both of us a problem if I lost this key. Luckily, my co-worker can’t meet me until a little later, buying me some time.

Even more luckily, a friend of mine is coming over, ostensibly to go have that drink that I don’t need. She nicely volunteers to drive me to my car, which I still can’t drive, and miraculously, the key is on the floor on the drivers’ side of my car. We go back to my place and my co-worker comes over. I again bust out my best sober-looking walking skills and give the key to my co-worker. Crisis averted.

The moral of this story is… maybe there are two. First, for reals, don’t talk politics on first dates. Even if you both have similar views, which is probably likely if you are not meeting off a match created by a conservative-leaning dating site run by robots, you can save that fun stuff for a few dates in! Second, don’t cope with other people talking politics on first dates with too much 2 for 1 wine.