This date was to have
happened a few weeks prior, but due to scheduling difficulties, he pulled out
in a somewhat last minute fashion. Usually this is a tactic which indicates the
date will never happen, but in Ike’s case, it was not. So we planned to meet at
a café on SE Division Street
called Café Pallino. He had sent me a link to his Facebook page to look at pics
of him. Pretty run of the mill as FB pages go, though one thing did stand out;
he appeared to be a Christian. He had a link to an “Amazing Grace” video on his
page and some quote about being “moved to the core of His love and mercy.” It
freakin’ kills me when religious people capitalize personal pronouns. As I am
not at all religious, nor do I believe in god, I thought this might be a fun
date, not in a torture-the-poor-helpless-spider kinda way, but fun in the way
that perhaps a discussion on religion could bring about some kind of public
scene. I am a fan of public scenes, especially when I am involved in them.
An unseasonably warm day
in Portland led
me to an unwise wardrobe decision; I wore a v-neck white t-shirt for my bike
ride into town. This may sound harmless, but sadly, as I am a woman, and I must
lean forward in order to ride my bike, wearing a v-neck exposes more of me than
I would prefer exposed. Unfortunately, this epiphany came a bit too late in the
journey to turn back, so I endured an entire bike ride wearing my v-neck, and
watched as men passing in the other direction leered and pointed me out to
their friends. The good news is that I didn’t see anyone I knew.
I arrived at Café
Pallino just ahead of schedule and to my happy surprise found they had gelato.
Of course, lately it seems that there is either a chocolate or gelato shop
popping up on every corner of our fair city, but after the ride I had just
endured, I needed comfort and that comfort came in the form of a delightful and
tiny dish of peanut butter chocolate gelato. As I ordered this and a bottle of
water from the seemingly pissed off but attractive young girl behind the
counter, I looked around and recognized that this place was attempting the
Italian café thing. Italian ceramic platters were hung on the wall behind the
counter, and the furniture was very minimalist in nature; muted tones and
simple lines. The large windows and hard surfaces guaranteed that the café
would be loud, but the crowd was decidedly quiet, a number of students with
their noses in books and a couple of individuals with their noses in laptops.
I chose a table on the
far side of the café, sat down and waited for Ike to show up. It was nice
because I had not brought anything with me, like a book or a laptop, to keep me
from feeling like I was waiting for someone….alone. It is always at this point
on all of my dates where I am waiting and thinking, “it is way cooler to not
have anything, but it would have been great if I had brought that book, but
really why do I need to look preoccupied? Who am I trying to impress?” It goes
on and on like that until the guy shows up. Of course, I still had lingering
remorseful thoughts regarding Seven, so I had those to keep me company as well.
A piece of advice: Do not write publicly about break-ups unless you want to
talk about them incessantly with people you barely know. I wish I could count
on my hands how many times I had to have the “break up with Seven” talk with
the many people I know who read my blog, but I would need at least two more
sets of hands to accomplish this task.
I was very glad to take
a break from the voices in my head when Ike showed up. He was dressed all in
denim and was carrying a motorcycle helmet and a duffle bag. He was
mouth-wateringly sexy for a Christian guy; tall, dark, very well built, and as
he turned to go and get a cup of coffee from the pissed off girl at the
counter, I noticed he had quite an arse on him as well. Oh Christian men, why
must they drive me insane with passionate frenzy? Of course, I decided to stay
the course and try to bait him into talking about The Lord. I figured that
would probably more interesting than having sex with him anyway.
Ike was typical of
Harley Davidson Motorcyclists in one remarkable way; he sounded as if his voice
box had been dragged over rocks for a week and then left out in the hot sun to
ferment for several days afterward. Deep, raspy and loud, Ike’s voice
reverberated off of every surface in that café and turned its former quiet
atmosphere into one of strained anxiety, all the café’s inhabitants left
waiting for the next bellowing comment or question from his lips.
Unfortunately, I thought it would be a good idea to speak more quietly,
thinking that maybe he would get the hint and tone it down. This strategy unfortunately
had the opposite effect and for some reason caused Ike to speak more and more
loudly as the date went on. Additionally, Ike also liked interrupting. I did
not have much of an opportunity to bait him into a religious conversation
because I could barely get a word in.
Happily, this was a very
short date. We had just enough time for me to learn that he lived in a trailer
in Hood River
As I rode my bike over
to Reggie’s later that afternoon, I happily noted that this dating experiment
was almost over. While this particular date was not a revelation, (yes, I said
it), the experience of putting myself into forced social situations has given
me a stronger sense of self, which is not to say that I am more confident, just
maybe more confident in my special brand of insanity. In any case, I could
almost taste what was sure to be sweet victory at the end of this long and
winding dating road; fruity deliciousness with a bit of a bite to it. At least
that was how it tasted the last time I was victorious.
I will be a BFF, you are hilarious.
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