Good dates, bad dates, and curvy confirmation.

Sooo . . . I had three new dates last week. One was fine, one was great, and one was bad. The fine one I can't write about, it's too boring: nice guy, nice date, I'd go out with him again but won't be heartbroken if he doesn't contact me, etc.

Great date was with Vas deferens guy! The only thing bad about him was his goatee, which I knew about beforehand, because he brags about it on his profile that it is "long enough to braid," which it was, and which I do not find appealing. However, I referenced his "scary goatee" during the date (the dude is shaved-head-bald with a long goatee-- I also told him he could be an extra in American History X), and he suggested it was some sort of exercise in personal tolerance or something, so it shouldn't be too hard to cut that sucker off if we get to that point in our relationship. And he has already contacted me looking for date #2. It was great just because we have a lot in common, and it was one of those dates where we talked and laughed the whole time. At one point he sheepishly mentioned that he almost became a sex therapist and that he was really interested in various things about sexuality, to which I replied that I am obsessed with deviant sexual behavior (which I am-- it's partly why I got into law enforcement, because I want to lock up/interview sex offenders), and he responded by asking what my 'favorite' paraphilia is. Got that people? One IM session and one date and we've already covered male anatomy and freaky fetishes. We should just get married.

The bad date guy was awful. For those in NYC, he was a Williamsburg Hipster type, only less trendy and somehow more arrogant. We go to a dive bar and play pool all night, which is fine. Before I get to the bad stuff, a funny anecdote that relates to my previous post: during our first game of pool, he says, "sooo, it took a lot of guts to put that picture in a bathing suit up, huh?" I laugh and say it's a long story, then tell him the story. He has a really funny look on his face. I say, "What?" He says, "it's not our fault." I say, "what's not whose fault?" He says, "that guys on Match think curvy means fat." I say, "So it IS true!" He nods and suggests that I change my body type category. He also tells me that his old college roommate is also on Match and just for fun they tell each other about all their dates. So Roommate had queried my profile and allegedly told BadDate, "funny, she doesn't look curvy . . ." Niiice.

Bad stuff: it's so funny how the little things seem so much more significant after you've had a few days to think about them-- the good little things and the bad little things. BadDate guy was just a bunch of bad little things that add up into a big flaming doucheball. He suggests that we play our own music on the jukebox since the alcoholic regulars in the bar had some craptacular country shit on. I think this will be fun-- we will scroll through the jukebox's offerings together and laugh at the bad songs we should play and so on. But no. He, like, searches for specific artists and creates this playlist that is just soooo. . . pretentious. Not just the playlist, but that he created it in a bar on a fucking jukebox with a date standing right there who had no input. It just seemed so contrived. So we ended up with Bob Dylan, followed by Kinky Friedman, followed by The Staple Singers, followed by Sam Cooke . . . whatever, dude. Then this random guy came over and put a quarter on the pool table to play the winner of our game. Which turned out to be me, because even though BadDate and I were fairly equally matched on pool skills, he was slowly getting drunk on the Jameson-on-the-rockses he was drinking. So I'm trying to play this new guy, and I think it was the Allman Brothers playing now, and BadDate says something to this guy like, "Have you ever heard the so-and-so version of this song on the such-and-such album?" I had never heard of either so-and-so or the such-and-such, and doubted the dude I was playing had, and I was right, and he gave BadDate a weird look, but BadDate just kept on talking about music like he was a fucking record producer, and it was just arrogant. I really doubt that how distasteful all of this was is coming through over the blog, but trust me.

So then, after a 3 hour date, BadDate is drunk on Jameson. I am perfectly sober, having limited myself to three Amstel Lights, because I think-- unlike some, obviously-- that getting drunk on a first date is not desirable for either person. I'm sitting in one of those bar-high swivel-stools and he's standing next to me. He thinks it will be fun to swivel my chair for me, loses his balance, falls into me, and almost causes me to fall off the stool. I say, trying to be polite, "Um, you're pushing me off the chair." Can anybody guess what his response is? "No, I'm not." Sigh. So I start yawning, which, unfortunately, is common for me these days at 11pm on a Friday night (long week, etc.). Then I start yawning even more, on purpose. I admit this probably wasn't the most tactful or forward of ways to end the date, but whatever. But instead of being considerate himself (not to mention saving his own pride), and saying something like, "Well, it is late, do you want to call it a night?" He gets defensive and starts saying things like, "What? You're so lame! You're tired already??" Um. I manage to sit at the bar for another half-hour, genuinely yawning, before I had to be like, "OK, well, I'm going to go home now."

Oh yeah, and in three hours, he managed to not ask about my job at all. Dude has no idea what I do . . . or, for that matter, much about me at all, save that I yawn late at night and can kick his drunk ass in pool repeatedly. What did we talk about for 3 hours? Him, and music (courtesy of him), and . . . I don't even know.

Lesson of the day: It's funny how you can read people so quickly-- at least in terms of whether or not you like them. I was just thinking how I never tell people about my deviant-sex-obsession until I've known them for awhile (it's just one of those things you don't bring up too often in casual conversation), and how it was just natural to tell Vas deferens guy about it. And on the flipside, that if BadDate had asked me what my favorite paraphilia was, I probably would've punched his non-curvy hipster body to the floor.