Book Learning Don’t Mean All That Much

At some point around the time of the self-tattooer, a friend pointed out that I was dating a lot of guys that had never gotten around to finishing school. They’d all graduated high school and had done a few semesters of college but had never graduated; one of my exes spent a total of almost 6 years in college flirting with a variety of different majors. When we were dating quite a few years ago (before my internet dating hobby began) he first decided to be a songwriter and then a dentist, requiring him to take a few more courses before he could even think of applying for dental school. We haven’t seen each other in a while but I’ve heard he’s made his way through several more career choices and still hasn’t decided on a major.

At first, I didn’t really think too much of my friend’s suggestion as I have seen enough educated jerks to realize that a degree doesn’t always mean the guy is a prince. But the suggestion that I make criteria for dates even stricter than previously was a novel idea. I’ve had other friends offer up the opposite of the Air Force motto. “Aim Low,” they tell me. In their opinion I have grown far too particular and have significantly reduced the size of my dating pool to a point where it will be impossible for me to find anyone.

My friend’s suggestion coincided with a time when I was getting quite a few suggested matches that were professors, PhD candidates, and other professions requiring post-graduate studies so it seemed as it was fate. First up was Matt.* Matt and I only went out once and I’m trying now to remember what the hell he did – I know he was in some sort of engineering. His emails were well-structured and slightly humorous. What was most intriguing about his profile was that in each of the 5 pictures he posted on his profile, he looked like a completely different individual. It was highly odd. Only one of them was unattractive; the rest were all okay.

We met for coffee at one of my favorite coffeehouses, a joint that I had gone to in high school with my best friend after play practice and we would buy frothy beverages or chocolate concoctions and just shoot the breeze. The place has changed hands over the years but it’s still a good place to hang and one of the few non-chain coffeehouses that has been left standing. When I walked in, I realized that of course, Matt* looked the most like the unattractive photo. Undeterred, I brazenly ordered some steamy caffeinated goodness and sat down to learn all about Matt.*

What I learned first was that Matt* had some sort of nervous tic/eye condition. He spent the majority of the date blinking at me non-stop with his mouth slightly ajar. When I would speak, he would stare at me with no expression on his face other than what appeared to be the concentrated look of someone hell bent on not blinking. When he was speaking or when there were uncomfortable pauses (you guessed it – there were PLENTY of those), he blinked approximately 634 times a minute. I might be exaggerating slightly but that’s what it felt like.

What with all the blinking and uncomfortable pauses, it might have been difficult for even the most determined of men to make a favorable impression. Matt* was a perfect gentleman, but the stilted conversation and switching between staring and prolific blinking had me shaking his hand firmly at the end of the date and saying it was nice meeting him and wishing him luck on the site with his future matches.

After Blinky McStaresalot, there was a period of time when I dated two professors both named Mike.* The first professor stuck around longer so I’ll probably have to get to him in another post. The second professor Mike* was yet another one-date wonder. He was a research professor who worked in artificial intelligence. Saying he was wicked smart is a bit of an understatement. Saying that he was wicked obsessed with his facial hair is the biggest understatement in the history of dating.

In his profile pictures, there was one of Mike* with a full beard and several of him clean-shaven. The night I met him, he was sporting a very oddly pointed goatee thing with weird sideburns. I think he was it was kind of like a Vandyck. I had no idea what the hell this was so I guess I have no one to blame but myself for his 20 minute monologue of the various stages of his facial hair. At first I thought he said he had a Van Dyke as in Dick Van Dyke and thought that he was indicating a preference for dressing like a chimney sweep or wearing a full white mustache. But apparently a Vandyck is a legit style of facial hair. Well, its not legit in my book but it is apparently a style that other people have heard of and condone.

So Mike* went on for about 20 minutes about how sometimes he likes to have a full beard and sometimes he likes a flavor saver, sometimes he likes a goatee, etc. etc. He explained how it related to his moods and his goals at the time, blah, blah, blah. I zoned out a bit as I kept thinking, “is he really talking this much about his facial hair? Would he notice if I got up and left? If I reached across the table and shaved off his facial hair would he change topics or just keep going?” After the monologue, there wasn’t really anywhere else to go conversation-wise. I flirted with the idea of trying to start up another area of discussion but my heart wasn’t in it. It may not have been fair of me, but it really felt like I had learned all I wanted to learn about Mike* and it was time to run off into the welcoming dark night and hope that my next date would not be as fussy with or fond of his facial hair.

Alright, I will definitely have to wait until later to tell the notorious tale of Professor Hickey to really do it justice.
*Name has been changed