They Don’t Make Phone Booths Anymore

Sadly the most noteworthy thing, the thing that you would not believe about the next guy to grace my extreme dating diary, is something I can’t reveal. I’ve been avoiding using guys’ real names which is a real shame as the guy after the two professors named Mike* had the most awesome of names. His name sounds like he should be a mild mannered grad student by day and then hop into a phone booth, change into some tights and a cape, and go about fighting crime, leaping over tall buildings, and wooing women with a single, smoldering glance.

I’m trying to think of a similar name to give him in this post, one that truly reflects the awesomeness of his real name, but I’m falling short. For now, I’ll call him J. Frisco Blingtime* or Frisco* for short. Frisco* was yet another date where I’m not really sure what went wrong. We met up for coffee one day after I got off work and he finished with classes; he’s in the middle of getting his PhD in economics. Frisco* was a total cutie; average height runner with adorable reddish blond hair, aqua eyes, teeth so white it almost hurt my eyes….crap, the guy even had a dimple! Plus he could talk – he was smart and interesting. We talked for almost two hours over a cup of coffee. He’s lived all over the place and had really interesting stories. He did have pictures of himself in his profile with his two cats, which a friend thought was strange, but I was so far gone that even seemed cute to me.

I knew though, at the end of the date, that there was not going to be another. He walked me to my car and said he had fun talking with me, gave me a hug, but left me with no indication that he wanted to meet up later. It was entirely civil but definitely not leaving the door open for another date. For a few days I wondered what I had said wrong or if the pants I were did not adequately disguise the junk in my trunk, but eventually I decided to stop beating myself up as maybe he just wasn’t feeling any spark-type feelings. At least he didn’t do the “it was so nice meeting you and I’ll call you and we’ll go out again” routine; that has grown beyond old.

After Frisco* I had a similar experience with Joe.* I met Joe* for a couple of beers one night. There’s nothing to memorable about him but he was a decent enough guy. Joe* worked for a university and was getting his masters in sociology. He wasn’t as cute as Frisco* but he wasn’t too shabby. We shared a good, but not great, conversation and he introduced me to a new pub with nice microbrews so I guess that’s something. I didn’t have any warm tinglys with Joe* but thought I wouldn’t mind seeing him again and since he had said he’d like to go out again, I emailed him the week after our date. By the time I emailed him, however, he had changed his mind. This time I was more annoyed than disappointed. Joe* was definitely not superhero material.

Well, friends, if I don’t get off my butt and join another crazed dating site or scheme, my next post might be my last for a while. There is a doozy of a date that I still have left to share – not from a site but the blindest of blind dates possible. The current site I’m on has proved a little too hazardous; after Glen* the crazy golf date there was an even scarier one that I might share after the blind date.

*Name has been changed