Date #s 13 & 14: Slightly Intertwined

I had dates 13, 14, and 15 all lined up for this last weekend, but then 13 dropped off the face of the earth, so 14 and 15 moved up. 13 (formerly 14), was with a guy who introduced himself as John; he was planning on putting himself through the same type of thing as I, though at a slower pace. His date goal was 50. At date number 13 myself, this seemed a bit excessive.

14 (formerly 15), sent a picture of himself after I assured him that I was not his ex, and between the time of first contact via email and first physical contact we exchanged roughly 120 emails between us. Midway through the process, we gave each other names; his was Reginald, mine, Beatrice. The more emails I received from him, the more I liked him. Twisted, funny, and smart, I started to contemplate not meeting him as I thought our email relationship was so perfect that no actual person could ever live up to the ideas I had built up in my head about him.

Here is a small excerpt of our witty dialogue which endeared him to me:

Hi _______! (From Reginald) 

Sorry, I suddenly couldn't bear the term, 'casual dating' figuring so prominently in my inbox.I hereby do solemnly swear to not brandish any hebrews at you, so you can put down the homosensualists and step away from them slowly... 

You going on the naked bikeride? 

I guess that was a little forward - how about this, do you like long walks on the beach, holding hands at sunset, and pausing for a moment to embrace and kiss and feel the knees weaken? And then, when you're not looking, someone in a sigmund the sea-monster costume comes up and throws enough seaweed on you to feed the imperial japanese navy for a week? And then you discover that there was a jellyfish in the seaweed and you've got that stingy sensation crawling all over you, so you start itching and running around like you're crazy, prompting your paramour to launch into insane heroics, trying to make you calm down and let them help, but they can't help and you fall on the sand, remembering something you once read about jellyfish stings so you start shrieking, "PEE ON ME!" at earsplitting decibel levels, but you don't mean it in a watersports kinda way, you just want to stop the stinging, however your lover gets the wrong idea and after a vigorous micturition (which cascades over you, bringing the pain back to an almost tolerable state) and you're catching your breath, you realize that he's furiously attempting to, "go a number three" as well?

That never happens to me either.

Life outside of my head is so bloody trite and contrived.

I hope your day is resplendent in loveliness! 

(Response From Me)I absolutely hate long walks on the beach, mostly because they remind me that I have come from slimy muck-ridden creatures which once ate their own fecal matter in order to survive. 

But I do like going to supermarkets with an apron on, opening random packages of food and asking shoppers if they would like to sample the merchandise the store has put on a special half-price sale due to the occurrence of several suspicious food poisoning related deaths in East Texas. 

I also like walking up to people on the street who are talking on their cell phones and pretending they are long lost friends, hugging them, telling them it is great to see them, and asking them if their sister has overcome the syphilis. 

Additionally, I am very fond of putting my hand down, face up under a stranger's ass as they sit down in the bus seat next to me. 

More over, it thrills me to no end when I can bring a dish to a vegetarian pot luck which is laced with all manner of pork products, but tell everyone it is Tofurkey. 

And finally, my heart bursts with pride when I am able to successfully convince any close friend that I am a very distant relative of Leonardo DaVinci, and that the horrible family secret is that he was a sham and all his work was actually created by his stable boy and life partner, Pedro, who lived in Leo's (that's what we call him), stable and intermittently serviced Leo while creating the great works attributed to him. 

That's what I like, but I realize, these things are not everyone's cup of tea. 


Have fun biking in the nude 

(Response From Reginald) 
I LOVE food poisoning related deaths in East Texas! 
I'm half tempted to never meet you and just trade an e-mail a day until one of us destroys humanity out of boredom. 

And I just re-read that first line - are you trying to say that we all descended from republicans?

Blue-green algae I could handle, republicans, not.

Granted, my dad was a republican, I suppose, technically I had to swim through his junk at some point...EEEEEEWWWWWWWW!

Do you see what you made me think???

Turrible, really. 

Perhaps to anyone else this interchange might sound arcane, insane, or merely, mundane, (sorry had to do it), but this, along with the 60 other emails I received from this brilliant psychopath served to draw me in and seduce me. There is really nothing like a twisted mind to get one’s body to jump into action. I guess “leap” would be a better description for what I did. While the date we had scheduled was for Sunday, by Thursday night, he and I were both so worked up via email, text, and phone conversation that he came over at 3 am and well……showed me how crazy he is in person. Then on Friday, because my date dropped out, I went over to his place and we got crazy again, and then on Saturday night, after my date with John, I went over to his place and then ended up spending the entire actual “date” day with him as well, the whole time getting completely and utterly insane with each other. We even started to write porn together, which I can honestly say I have never done on a date before. What a relief to find an outlet for my psychotic energy.

The date with John was less noteworthy. We met at a coffee shop down the block from Guardino Gallery on Alberta Street. We had both ridden our bikes and were parched, so we got green chai soy iced tea and sat to talk for a while. It was pretty awkward initially, a lot of our opening sentences starting with “So………” and then some routine question just to get the conversation going. Eventually, we both loosened up, and by the time we walked down the street to look at the art in Guardino, we were talking very easily. The gallery was a favorite of John’s and he had already seen the show there at Last Thursday. Of course, I have a strict policy about going to First/Last Thursdays; I don’t. I believe I have gone over that rule in this blog before, so I will not bore you with the details. John said that he too did not like going as it was difficult to see the art. The show was good, a pairing of a painter and sculptor, and while the paintings were satisfactory, the concept and execution of the sculpture was quite moving; particularly one depicting a man rowing, his oars digging into the wooden base, his body tensed with effort as it hovered to create a shadow over the wooden platform it was mounted on. The tension created by this simple composition was viscerally evocative in all the right places. Walking around the shop, I saw work by people I had gone to art school with. This was both gratifying and unnerving as I was happy to see my fellow artisans were still making work, and sad to remember the last time I had picked up a tool to make anything myself.

We left Guardino and headed west, looking for other galleries to stop into as we walked. There was not a whole lot else, though I did find a pair of charming porcelain doll arm earrings which I snapped up without hesitation. The whole time we walked, the sky threatened rain, and while it occasionally did fall lightly on our helmet-hair heads, it never really came to fruition.

John told me that he was a theatre production manager who worked for a company which did a lot of work with Nike. The more he spoke of it, the more he seemed to not be too into it. He was in the process of wondering whether or not to get an MBA. He did not know exactly what he would use it for, but that was a goal he was still working out. We talked a bit about my blog; what I would call him in it, (he wanted a numeric name), and why I decided to accept a date with him. There was not much of a screening process for John as he used to know a friend of mine, the same friend who owns the Ugly Mug (though he called it the muddy cup), Kim. He used to have a crush on her when she waited tables at The Moon and Sixpence, an English Pub in the Hollywood District. A lot of people I know used to have a crush on Kim, most of them very good people, so I figured, where’s the harm?

John kept referring to my blog throughout our date, talking about some of the more poignant moments, wondering about Seven, and it started to get under my skin a bit. He had in fact chosen an Ethiopian restaurant in which to dine, and I had to wonder if this wasn’t modeled after a date I had reported on in my blog. In fact, the last few dates have left me with the feeling that these gentlemen know far too much about me for a “date” type situation to be fair. Very recently I have had various questions like, “are you going to talk about my ear hair?” or, “Am I the best date so far?” Or, Allah forbid, someone has read some small reference to sex in my blog and decided to ask me why people have sex with all the viruses and diseases going around in the world. I don’t know, maybe I am just an asshole, but why all of a sudden am I the one being examined?  I mean, come on!!! Know your place people!!

For instance, John’s fingers were just a half inch too short. Not that they were stubby, they were thin, but in proportion to the rest of his body, which was quite long and elegant in a way, his fingers came up a bit…..short. This, in my opinion is noteworthy for the very reason I am meeting new people…it is random. Additionally, there is a reason every person has the name they have, though it is not ever the same. John for example is named after a friend of mine from High School I think I might have forced myself on in a Las Vegas hotel room. That gentleman’s nickname is the same as this gentleman’s real name, and vice versa. The friend from high school seems to have forgiven me, by the way.

We rode our bikes together to the restaurant, him in front, as he did not want to be left behind by my riding. The truth was he was motoring along pretty fast, and at several points I had to wonder if he was afraid of me gaining on him or passing him. Then he did something I could not ever forgive. He went through a red light. This might seem like a miniscule issue, but the reality is that the more that bike riders blow red lights, the more pissed car drivers become at bike riders and the more in danger we all are. I told him I was putting it in my blog just to spite him.

Later, while we were at the restaurant, picking out what to eat, John mentioned he didn’t eat red meat or pork, except for bacon. I take exception to this stance though many people, even my own father, have taken it. I don’t think you deserve to eat bacon if you are not going to eat the rest of the pork and red meat family. Bacon should be saved for those of us with the balls to eat it all and make no apologies. Eating only bacon is like licking the frosting off the cake, eating the egg filling out of a quiche, or opening up an éclair and sucking out the custard. It is simply low brow, and really should not be tolerated.

John and I ended up sharing the Vegan platter of all things, which was quite good, and I unfortunately asked for this orange iced tea concoction which tasted like sugar poured over ice with a dash of orange flavor thrown in for good measure. I couldn’t do it. Except for the drink portion, it was a very nice meal; we talked about our exes and our desire to be more intentional with our dating choices instead of just settling for what came along. Like me, John was at a cross roads in his life and he was in the process of trying to figure out what he was going to be and who he would be being it with.

After dinner, as we were unlocking our bikes and getting ready to go, I asked if he would be interested in going out again, and I don’t really know why. It was not that he wasn’t very nice, funny, handsome, and all that, we just didn’t seem to fit that well. Either that or the thought of dating someone going through the exact same thing as me has become less and less appealing as time has passed. As we steered our bikes down Fremont, mine towards Reginald’s place and his towards his home, I became uneasy about where I told him I was going to next. I had told him earlier that I was going to a friend’s, and “she” lived down Fremont. I just didn’t feel like telling him the truth would have been kind, although I am sure that he is reading it presently and is probably pretty pissed. I tried to yell ahead and tell him good-bye, attempting to avoid any awkward good-night kiss moment, but he stopped and pulled even with me, and though I cannot absolutely determine this as fact, I am pretty sure he wanted one.

I pulled away and rode down a side street, very excited to be going to Reggie’s. I was satisfied to know that while John wasn’t a bad guy, he wasn’t right for me, and the reason I knew this was because Seven and Reginald were. This was intentional, and with this date, it felt as though I had taken another step toward an answer. I have no idea what question it would apply to, or what the answer would be, but everything felt more in order, and I, more in control.