(Original Post date 9 November 2012)
Okay; here's an opinion column/review that was actually brought up to me by Candice M. Litsey.
Yesterday, on her facebook she writes, "What makes a bad date?" While
the answers to her query prompted many answers; some good and some not
quite so good, I have given it a lot of thought over the last 18 hours
or so. Not counting when I was either drinking, or sleeping. So... maybe more like ten hours...give or take.
I have never been on an honest-to-goodness date. I have never done
dinner and a movie, in semi-formal, nice clothing. I have never had the
joy and the headache to make sure that every word had been
brain-checked, or mouth-filtered. I have never had polite dinner
conversations at some fancy-schmancy overpriced elitest restaurant where
the only thing worse than the food, was the inevitably and unenviable
task of waiting an hour for a fifteen-minute, sixty dollar meal. In
fact, I don’t even know if that’s really what a date, even is. With the
turn of the millennium, and traditionalism being pretty much obsolete; I
find it strange to even define what a date is anymore. I can’t just
walk down the street and point out a man and a woman who are dating, and
who are just friends with “exclusive gold-membership benefits.” (And
by the way… where can I get one of those?)
Given my ignorance, I
can only express what constitutes a bad date in my own opinion. And
while I think that my opinions are somewhat universal, and while it’s
true that I can’t hit on everything; you might find that I may have a
different look at things. As usual, these things are just reviews and
opinions, but if you feel like you have something to contribute here;
Comment me. Also take note that I am a single male who has never been
on a date-date (like anyone knows what the fuck that means anymore;
date-dating sort of declined right around 9-11... which may or may not
be a coincidence), some of my opinions may sound misogynist in nature;
but I promise you I love the womens. I just don’t understand them.
The thing that irks me the most about dating; is quite simply the
validity of said date. Quite namely, is the gathering of me and this
chick that I’m vaguely-to-moderately interested in at a neutral
location; such as dinner, or a movie, or whatever we’ve agreed upon to
go at a certain hour (primarily at night), in fact a date? Women, in my
experience, have a tendency to be vague on this simple, yet
all-important facet. So now, I have to be Super Sleuth to try to figure
out what I should wear, how I should act, whether to take two showers
or if I can scoot by with just one. Or would it even matter since we’re
going to a place where there’s smoke and drinking, and dancin’ and
sweating. And if it’s not a date, but the woman makes it sound like
that it is, and I show up overdressed while she comes with like… holes
in her jeans, and a spaghetti-type tanktop, or whatever they’re called.
It makes me look like an undeniable cock-donkey. If both parties can
establish that either “Yes, this is a date.” Or “No, this isn’t a
date.” Then I can prepare to enjoy myself in the context of the status
of the gathering. Trust me, I have no problems firing off a couple of
knuckle children after the gathering if it isn’t a date, once the event
is finished.
On the same token; I’ve always sort of thought
that a date implies that the relationship between the two date partners
is meant to strengthen and slowly transform into something perhaps a
little more intimate. (Provided everything goes 90-95% well.) I’ve
never understood the need to date someone, if the relationship is not
going to change. That’s not a date; that’s hanging out and overspending
on something you could have just stayed home to do. A date, to me
implies that there’s some sort of investment there on the ends of both
partners. That you both have put up with each other’s bullshit to such a
degree that you both want to see if there’s anything more there. If
you have no interest in strengthening, deepening, and redefining your
relationship… don’t call it a date. Call it hanging out, or chillaxin’,
or call it something that’s definitely not dating. Call it window
shopping for all I care. Make the distinction beforehand.
Now
that we’ve established that this train wreck is, indeed a date, (and
here’s something that I can attest to personally, since it happened with
me,) is don’t ever be obscenely tardy. I get it, sometimes situations
come up where you have to be tardy. Life happens. And if so; have the
decency to call and say that you’re going to be late. Now, here’s my
example of what happened to me on the one time that I thought I was
going on an actual date. We had been seeing each other for a few
months, as friends. Talking, laughing, being nerdy and stupid… the
whole she-bang. Finally I asked her out on a date, and she said yes.
Talk about score, right? Well, she tells me to be at Olive Garden, on a
Thursday at 4:30PM. So… maybe here in Augusta; the Olive Garden is
considered fancy; if not cliché. But fuck it, I’m on a date! So that
Thursday rolls around, I get there at 4:15. You know, to get a table,
to be there early, to impress her, and all that. So what happens? 4:30
rolls around, she’s not here. No biggie, I figure she wasn’t going to
be so punctual that she would be here on the dot. Besides, I’m still
waiting for a table. Here I was, in a nice long-sleeve shirt that has
frickin’ buttons. (HUGE for those who actually know me.) I wore some
slacks, some nice comfortable shoes. I had to admit, I was looking
G-E-W-D gewd! Which is a total change from what I’m like now, or more
specifically, what I look like usually. 4:45 comes by, I’m still
waiting for a table, she still hasn’t arrived. I’m a little concerned,
and a little hungry, but traffic at that hour just draaaaaags on by.
Five o’clock comes and goes, and without a phonecall or a text or
anything, I begin to think she’s stood me up. Five-ten comes by, a
table’s opened up, and I go and get seated. I look outside the window
and I see a car that looks like hers pulling up to the parking lot. I’m
thinking that maybe in female-talk 4:30 really means 5:10; and that it
was my fault for not doing the conversion right. But no, it turned out
to be some family I had never seen before. And so, I decide that she’s
not coming at all. Still no phonecall, no text, no tingling
Spider-Sense, no nothing. By the time I get finished eating it’s nearly
6PM, I pay for my food, get up, and get ready to leave. I get into my
car to leave, when suddenly my phone goes off, and I get a text message.
It says “Hope to c u there, b there 15min.” ……really? Is this vagina
scab really texting me an hour and a half after the time SHE set down?
Of course I responded “You’re late. Hope Someone stands you up bitch.”
Okay, so that might seem harsh, so I asked her why she was so late.
She responded that she had to take her mom to the hospital, so I called
her mom, because at the time, I was really tight with her family. And
when I called, her mother said that she’d been at work until 5:30. …so,
yeah. Maybe I did something or said something to make this chick think
I was a douche-canoe, but I don’t think that I did.
Okay, next update; will be part two of “What makes a date bad.” hours...give or take.
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