Hi there,
I thought I would share with y'all my lovely time at the Thai restaurant courtesy of OkCupid. I had scheduled a "rendezvous" or what I like to call meeting with a fellow I had been chatting quite enthusiastically with. We'll call him "the mincer" for lack of a better WWE Wrestler Pseudonym (hahahah). He wasn't a WWE wrestler. He was a radio journalist doing amazing work for a well-known public radio station in the Bay Area. He went to an ivy-league and had a 2009 Toyota Camry--all things that I found to be attractive at the time. (SIGH) On paper he sounded really cool and very cultured--very humble about his roots and his profile was written with just the right amount of cynicism. I should've of known his diction (dick-shun) was too good to be true!
So we chat, correction, text/message enthusiastically and quip eagerly like children listing their holiday wishes on the lap of Santa Claus (a Santa Claus who is non-specific to any race or gender).
He writes things like "It's on like tarragon" and other lovely phrases that rhyme with sushi...it's all very charming and foreign to me. That feeling is foreign--that excitement bubbling up through my torso till I get a head rush sort of feeling. I get ready briskly to the sounds of "Neon Indian" and "Junior Boys". Briskly because trying too hard is bothersome for both parties (but I'd say mostly for me). I head out the door in my 1 inch heels because I wouldn't dare walk over the enormous hill by my house down to the other side of the restaurant district. Also, *side note* 1 inch heels are hot. In the world of heel length less is not necessarily more; more heel length is more visits to the orthopedist and lower back pain--SEXY yeah?! Anywaaaaay, I race over to the restaurant and realize there are two Thai places on the block and freak out that maybe "the mincer" has gone to the wrong one. Then I realize I vaguely recognize "the mincer" sitting on top of an anachronism--a newspaper dispenser. This makes me realize that he may be "out of time" and not existing in the dimension, but he is...enough for both of us to walk to the correct Thai restaurant. But before we can get to the restaurant a homeless man stops us to sell an infamous copy of "Street Spirit". "The mincer" being all wonderful or whatever, gives the homeless man some dollars and a nice conversation. They talk for a bit while I stand awkwardly cold. The homeless man asks if we are married or engaged--I laugh very loudly and nervously at this statement. "The mincer" answers "it's a bit too early for that" to which I eagerly agree. We move on to the warm Thai restaurant and quickly order food. We both get the tom kha--no surprise there and he gets the pad see ew because I told him pad thai was too overdone and mainstream. He didn't want me to judge him. (sadface) I didn't want to judge him either, but he seemed so completely uncomfortable with himself. His twenty-four year old, out of college, liminal space, unsure self...oh bugger! I order the yellow chicken curry and sticky rice--boring. Who's to say he wasn't judging me? So we talk about our family backgrounds and I spiel about my grandma for what feels like an hour. I feel like Woody Allen engaging in post-modernist intercourse--yuck. At some point he starts fixing the salt and pepper shakers and he notices me noticing him (not Akon style) and he gets defensive and talks about how he cut some kid with scissors once and might have had OCD as a kid...and then quickly mentions that he has grown out of it. I wonder if that's possible...to grow out of OCD. We talk some more and have our fair share of awkward moments. I can't tell for the life of me if he actually wants to be there listening to me talk about my grandma or taking shits or stinky feet or whatever the hell I end up talking about...we get the check and I offer to pay for my half of the check and he asks if I'm sure I don't also want to pay for him. I wonder if he wants me to call him an ass? We leave the restaurant and I leave feeling like I know less about this person than I did before I met him in person. I offer to walk myself home, and he offers me a ride so I oblige. I can't turn down a warm car ride in a toasty 2009 Camry (hmm maybe those 5 inch heels weren't such a bad idea--not that I have any). We take a ride past the 7-Eleven, past the awful "Twilight" billboard, and up and over the awful hill. "The mincer" rips apart the Twilight franchise the whole 3 minutes home. When we get to my house we sit and talk for a little while and he tries to work his Toyota Camry charm...unfortunately suburbia and tennis courts don't turn me on--both things he tried to joke about. Ayyyy. At some point I began to take off my seatbelt which caused him to attempt to kiss me. I don't move and he realizes this when it is too late. I do offer my cheek and he answers, "I've never had this happen to me before". He kisses my cheek hesitantly, coyly? I can tell he's judging himself and he asks to have a do-over and kiss me again because the first time wasn't "executed well". Oh jeez. I agree to let him kiss me again and this one is seemingly more meaningful, but strange. I quickly run out of the car, flustered and blushing. I amble into the kitchen (the heart of the house) unable to form complete sentences when my roomie asks how the "date" went. AYYYYY. "I. don't. know?", I utter. Then I scream, "I don't know" five more times over and explain the whole "date" in excruciating detail to my roomie. She gives me good advice and reminds me that I am not obligated to go on a second "date"...especially if I am so unsure about this once-OCD-scissor-kid-cutting-man.
I text him to let him know that I had a fun and confusing time. I also told him I was confusing (I don't recommend self-deprecation as a means to explain oneself--ever). We text a few weeks later and he asks me where I am. I respond that I am on a rock because...I am (or was). Hawai'i's a rock yo'. When I come back he asks me where the sun went because my absence has been obscuring the sunlight in San Francisco (which is complete bullshit because it's foggy/windy/cloudy 80% of the day). I don't respond.
I'll let him believe I obscure the sunlight.
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