Date #6: "Datingpalooza"

Well, this has been one heckuva week for me from a dating perspective. I had joked to some friends and coworkers that with the prospect of 3 dates in 4 days, I was gearing up for "Datingpalooza". I thought it would be fun and exciting to be out each night with a new 'potential', living the life of a carefree single gal in the city. What I didn't count on was the confusion, the anxiety and the exhaustion. Confusion over keeping all of these dates straight. (Who grew up in Minnesota? Who's the oldest child? Who's a Republican?) Anxiety over remembering exactly what I've told to each of these dates beforehand so I'm not launching into witty stories that they've already heard. Exhaustion over all of the above, plus the added energy it takes to be 'on' all the time - not to mention the wear and tear on this thirty year old body from going out every night.

By the time last night's date rolled around, I was feeling the effects of four days of "Datingpalooza". I was tired, cranky, and mentally drained. In hindsight I should have canceled this date...but, hardcore dater that I am, I slapped on that wristband and headed back out into the dating mosh pit.

This was a lavalife date. He's three years younger than me, a second year law student and an aspiring musician on the side. His profile said he was hoping to meet "...a creative type who is witty, kind and compassionate." Hrm. Okay! Soon we were emailing. He just moved up to Bucktown from Hyde Park and doesn't yet have internet or cable hooked up. I asked if he also slept on a straw mat and took a horse and carriage to work. We had one very disjointed phone conversation. Disjointed because his cellphone kept cutting out so I was only getting every second or third word that he was saying. (He claimed that the reception 'out in the barn' wasn't too great.) I found the remark funny, but it was still mildly frustrating. Somehow, though, we managed to set up a date.

He was to pick me up at 6:45 and we were to go to the Lincoln Avenue Taste Fest. At 7:15 he finally shows up. A half hour late. This is mildly irritating. First impression? Short. Which is not a bad thing, really - but when somebody puts 5'10 on their profile, well, you sort of have a different visual in mind. He is probably 5'6. Thankfully, I am wearing my flattest sandals yet again. I haven't had dinner and I'm a bit hungry, tired, and headachy. He unlocks my door, I get in the car, and we're off. We spend the next half hour driving around looking for parking. We're turning down this street, stopping short on that block, swerving to miss pedestrians, circling and circling and soon I'm feeling downright nautious. It's clear that we're not going to find parking anywhere near the fair, and come to think of it - I just really want to eat and go home.

I tell him this - well, not in so many words. I say, "You know, if you want, we can skip the fest and just find someplace to eat? I'm open to anything." He agrees and asks how I feel about icecream. Oh, let me count the ways. He takes me to a little icecream parlor near his place - that also has 'real' food. It's been around since 1921 and reminds me a lot of Sander's, back in Michigan. There is so much kitsch and crap being sold - dolls, stuffed kittens, needlepoint work, etc. and the tables are wedged in together so tightly that you have the feeling you're really at one huge dining table, practically sitting on the lap of the patron in the next booth. Definitely not a place for claustrophobics. We order sandwiches and malts. The conversation takes effort. I will fully admit it's mostly due to my current 'state', but I'm trying my hardest to focus. He has a cat named 'Cat', and a friend who has OCD and once binged on 4 pounds of blueberries until he threw up, because he couldn't stop eating them. Fascinating. I involuntarily touch my finger to my temple and rub it a bit. "Are you feeling ok?" He asks. "No, actually. I have a bit of a headache." We eat our meals mostly in silence. At the table next to us, two little girls are celebrating their birthday, and they're so close we almost feel guilty for not having bought them a gift. At one point, a server (a woman who is probably in her 70's) tries to squeeze past our table and nearly topples over my date's malt. She shoots him the dirtiest look as if to say, "You put that there on purpose, sonny." This causes both of us to laugh hysterically. Laugh because our tiny table is so loaded with food you can't even see the table. Laugh because we feel like Alice in Wonderland, where everything is shrinking and we're like giants sitting on doll chairs in a dollhouse. Laugh because this is the oddest dining experience either of us have ever encountered.

The rest of the meal passes uneventfully, and after he pays, and I tip, we head back out to his car. He says, "Do you need to stop somewhere and get some aspirin before I take you home?" This truly is a sweet offer and I feel a tinge of guilt for not being completely honest with him. He drops me off at home - speeding away before I even have my key in the door. I climb the steps of shame to my apartment, pop two aspirin and flop on my bed.

Just then I get a call from my friend (see post: It's All About the Pants). He's about to get some Chinese and just hang out at his place. I ask if he wants company. He picks me up, and a half hour later we're on his couch, listening to music and talking as he eats his chicken chow mein. I feel myself relax and my headache start to fade.

I realize that while there is a lot to be said for the excitement of going out on dates, meeting new people and experiencing new places in the city, sometimes it's the quiet, simple comfort of just sitting on a couch with a friend who knows you (and who happens to be an attractive guy) that is pure bliss. There's no confusion over who he is, no anxiety over trying to remember shared conversations and stories, no exhaustion from the energy of being 'on'. I'm free to sit on his couch without any expectations -without being aware of how my hair looks, if my tummy is sticking out, or if I have something in my teeth.

Don't get me wrong, I haven't given up. This was just a reminder that I should probably leave all "Datingpalooza" adventures to teenagers, hipsters, and other people with more energy. I've learned through this experience, that perhaps I'm more of a 'one date a week' gal.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to crash out on that couch for a just a little while longer.