Lessons Learned from my Adventures in Online Dating

1 December 2009

  1. Apparently, every man inflates his height by at least two inches
  2. People who claim to “look X number of years younger” usually have a maturity level that is multiplier of X number of years younger too.
  3. Less than 10% of women are more attractive than their pictures upon first meeting. Usually it’s the women with the accidental and or group photos who are in that 10%
  4. There ought to be a mandatory “honesty window” after the first drink, during which one or both parties are afforded opportunity to end a date without explanation or harsh feelings.
  5. The slim response rate to “real” emails (differentiated from the vulgar, the one liners, the barely literate) encourages men to use such passive approaches like the wink, woo, or whatever one-click measure a given site has.
  6. Despite the slim odds expressed in #5, the wink is still the hallmark of a lazy flirt and/or an inactive mind.
    1. Rule #6 applies primarily to men. Yes, it’s a double standard, yes, all men need to get over it.
  7. If a woman is interested in you, there is no volume of messages in her inbox that will delay a response to a well written message.
  8. Women with only one picture posted have a tendency to prefer an informational imbalance. That passive power play will extend to other areas of virtual and actual interaction.
  9. Match algorithms are a terrific guide, but musical preferences are an incredibly accurate predictor of compatibility.
  10. Women who don’t read are almost certainly going to be poor conversationalists (further evidence provided in the form of Sarah Palin.)
  11. Just as a gentleman doesn’t have the option of refusing a drink from a lady (he is required to offer at least 10 minutes of polite conversation,) he is similarly obliged to respond to all valid initial messages from a woman… if only to encourage the practice of women choosing rather then waiting to be chosen.
  12. The existence of true chemistry cannot be confirmed via email exchanges but the absence of it can.
  13. Women and men who are obviously hiding something in their pictures (i.e. – always wearing hats, all pictures taken from slimming angles, facial close-ups only) have esteem issues.  This shouldn’t inherently eliminate them, but it is an important data point.
  14. Optimism is a good thing – I know six married couples who met via electronic assistance, and three more who are engaged or about to be – but should never be confused with the over-eager.
  15. Reasonable caution and pessimism shouldn’t be confused, one is pragmatic, the other unattractive.
  16. The effort may not always be appreciated or rewarded, but one should always dress with some effort and intention.  Failure to exhibit effort may be a sign of latent pessimism.
  17. Always have a reason to meet someone in person. “Why not,” ego boosts, and “nothing better to do” are not reasons.

This list was originally drafted in response to a message received from a woman and her list of lessons.  Feel free (not like any of you lovely blogtarts* need permission to express your opinions) to disagree with any of the aforementioned and/or add your own.

* term lifted from the incredibly talented author the Skrinkering Hearts blog, a woman I am delighted to call a virtual friend.

25 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, blog friends, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, crush with a little c, dating, dumb things I have done, entertaining, skin hungry - to borrow a phrase | Permalink
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Don’t Call It a Comeback…

23 November 2009

A little more than a year ago I added a feature to the blog – a Would We Get Along Quiz.  It was written in the same style as one of those magazine quizzes and I wrote it, long before I started the blog, as something funny for an internet dating site.

I eventually removed it after a friend stated that it created the impression that I was using the blog to meet women.  I don’t disagree with the fact that it could be seen as giving that impression, but I still think the notion is funny and the literary exercise challenging.  So if you all will take my intentions at face value, I have written a new and improved version.

5 Comments | blog friends, dumb things I have done, NaBloPoMo - still with it | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Tending the Emotional Garden

21 November 2009

I hide from my problems.  I do not write this for the novelty of the statement as I know that many people duck under the blankets when the weeds in their emotional gardens seem unmanageable.  I make this admission because so many people who read this blog, or leave their comments have been that blanket for me.  I’ve found so much comfort in this world of virtual and occasionally very real connections to other bloggers too.

My weeds got a little tougher today.  Thank you, all of you, for giving me a little blanket.

8 Comments | blog friends | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The One Question Meme

14 November 2009

One of my favorite blog posts* from one of my favorite bloggers mentions getting a phone call from the bank to inquire about her credit card.  It seems that some shopping that she did was so far outside of her normal spending patterns it tripped the fraud alert.

She’s a sex-kitten rockstar type, so for her, buying groceries sent the algorithms aflutter.

What could you buy that would be so unusual that the bank would call to ask WTF?

 

*I would have linked but couldn’t seem to find the specific post.

4 Comments | blog friends, meme | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Blue Jean – I Just Met a Girl Named Blue Jean

28 October 2009

When I told one of my dear friends that I was going denim shopping, she let out a bit of a little-girl-squee, and then pouted for a minute when she learned I wasn’t taking her along for the ride.

“This is what I do” she declared, “You have no idea how important the right pair of jeans is.”

“I am not a denim person, don’t wear it often – maybe once a month, had maybe three pairs in 15 years,  and I won’t let it become a big deal,” I reasoned.  I declared my intentions to shop at a relatively normal department store before being convinced by this friend and a couple of others that I really needed to try Anonymous Fancy Denim Place.

A week or so later I wandered into AFDP and my bullshit sense immediately started tingling as an Extremely Attractive Red-Headed woman headed my way with a cheery “Good afternoon, sir.”

There are few times when the really beautiful people face discrimination for the genetic accident of good looks.   When I enter a restaurant or retail organization and everyone is preternaturally haawwt, I assume the collective to be less qualified for their jobs because the applicant pool was so restricted.

“Good afternoon” I replied to the woman who could boil water just by looking at the glass.   “I need to buy a pair of jeans” I stated to demonstrate my talent for declarations of the obvious.

“It would be my pleasure to help; would you like to have a seat so we can discuss what you’re looking for?” EARH asked while motioning towards two post-mod chairs with distressed leather finish.

As we took our seats, it felt more like a date at some coolly elegant lounge – which is, I think as the designers and managers intended – when another genetically fortunate person came over to offer me “cocktail, cappuccino, bottled water?”

My bullshit sense was now in overdrive.

I liked the fact that EARH didn’t make suggestions but just asked questions – what kind of fit, what kind of color, how did I feel about the pockets, how do I wear jeans?

“As loose as is reasonable, normal jean color, standard five pockets, and infrequently but most often with a sport coat and a collared shirt or sweater” were my answers.  I added in the fact that I wear suits most days and really don’t like any trousers that fit more snugly than the ones in my suits.

After a bit more conversation, EARH declared that she was “ready to assemble a palette for me.”

I had a strong desire to explain that unless there was painting, or warehouse wooden flats were involved, she was misusing the word… but refrained mostly because pretense in response to precious is a vicious cycle.

After a few minutes, I was led into a fitting room and given instructions to don each pair and then come to the mirror for feedback.   On one of this fitting room’s three shelves sat five pairs of jeans.  The first pair was hipster tight to the extent that I saw no value in emerging from the dressing room to offer my feedback or get theirs.  The second and third pairs were still too fitted for my taste but closer to my thoughts so I go out to the mirrors to explain.

There were the expected “those look good on you” comments before I explained my discomfort.

“I don’t like the look or feeling of tight trousers on me, and both of these pairs we’re too tight for my taste” I tried to explain.

“All of those are either relaxed or loose fit, and they’re tighter than I expected” EARH said before fumbling a bit to recover from “tighter than expected” as unintended dig.

“Styles have gotten much slimmer over the last ten years, but my tastes haven’t.  I’m getting the sense that what some consider relaxed fit I think is skinny fit.”

I think we finally had a true understanding.  EARH grabs another pair from the rack and said “Try these next – I think this is what you want.”

She was right – a conservative dark blue, ample room through the leg, sat well on my waist and seat – I was happy… and then I asked about the price.

EARH smiled brightly and said “Those are on sale for three seventy-five.”  The number hung in the air for a minute.

“I am so sorry to have wasted your time.  I understand that for some people that is a completely reasonable number, but it’s just not for me.”  Because I felt a need to defend my financial priorities a bit more, I continued “The same people who would buy these jeans would look at me like I’m the crazy one for what I spend on cufflinks but it’s a question of what’s important to you… and I just can’t make a case for jeans being that important to me.”

EARH was earnest and undeterred “I have another pair with a similar cut that’s only three hundred.”

“I really apologize for having wasted your time, I guess that I didn’t understand what you all do here” I offered as I went to get dressed.

The opportunity cost of those jeans = (dinner at Central + drinks at Gibson) or (box of la flor dominicana cabinet selections #1 + a bottle of good bourbon) or 0.5(prescription drug cost for parental units for one month) or (too many other things that are more important to me)

EARH was professional and gracious to the end as she helped me with my jacket before giving me the valediction “If you change your mind, here’s my card and alterations are on me.”

All I could think was “At that price, you have to pay to have jeans altered?”

Let  me see if I can answer some question before they make it to the comments:

No, neither her mobile number, nor any personal message, was on the back of her card.

Yes, I did eventually find a pair of jeans that fit to my satisfaction, at Macy’ and for less than seventy bills.

my new jeans

26 Comments | blog friends, random stuff, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Easier Than I Thought… I am, That Is

15 October 2009

It was an apple crisp night with stiletto rain falling – the kind of evening possessed with an inherent romance like a train ride to NYC, or farmer’s market Sundays.  I had watched the sky grow darker and the rain colder from the comfort of a heated and covered patio.  The surrealism of watching the elements but not being among them was augmented by the strange introspection I’d been feeling all day.  After finishing my newspapers, a couple of bourbons, and most of one of my favorite cigars, I decided I needed to change the scenery.

Within thirty yards, there was the Metro, a bus, and a cab each of which would have conveniently ferried me to my next destination; but I was in a mood to walk.

I am one of those people that some of you hate (for a host of reasons I am sure, but I reference just one) who carries a rather large umbrella.  Four blocks into my walk I hadn’t poked any eyes or other body parts.  Waiting at a stop light a woman comes to the right of my extended cover.  My mind flashed back to one of LiLu’s moments.  I raised my umbrella and tried to find my most non-threatening voice before saying “Happy to share.”

“Thank you, I’m tired of getting wet” she replied as she moved closer to me before continuing “Uhmm, that didn’t come out right.”

“I think were fine; I know what you intended” I countered as we both laughed a polite laugh.

Not wishing to be rude, I ditched the nub of a cigar still smoldering in my left hand.  We walked for a couple of blocks making the kind of awkward small talk that strangers thrown together by circumstance are prone to make.  At another stop light she faces me and says “I think I know you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve met before – you look really familiar.”

“I have to confess that I can be pretty bad with names and faces sometimes, so it’s quite possible – I’m Refugee; nice to meet you.”

“Now I know we’ve met because I had a feeling that was your name… oh, sorry, I’m Jade” she said with more animation than was required.

Given my history in these kinds of moments – I once introduced myself to a bartender I fired – I avoided the “how do we know each other” type of conversation while running though my mental rolodex trying to place our meeting.  We continued having conversation lite for another few blocks until landing in the general area of our destinations.

“Can I buy you a drink to thank you for keeping me dry?” Jade asked while pointing toward the entrance of a nearby watering hole.

Before I had a chance to answer the questions I should have resolved in my head before giving a reply, I heard myself say “It would be my pleasure”.

We had made our way to the back of the bar, got settled and ordered drinks before Jade excused herself to “freshen up.”

There was a beer waiting for her when she returned. I raised my glass to toast, but Jade interrupted with “I need to tell you how I know you.”

“OK, but shall we toast first so we can have a drink while you talk?”

“Cheers, then” Jade said.  “Let me be honest and tell you that I figured it out before I suggested that we have a drink.”

For some reason, I felt a sudden tension in my back like I was about to hear the worst of the scenarios I had conjured in my head.  “Go on” was all I could muster.

“That last couple of blocks I realized that I only kinda know you, and by kinda, I mean not really.  My friend who writes a blog knows you and she knows that I read your blog so she showed me your picture one day… I hope that’s not too weird.”

It was just a bit weird, but I kept my half-formulated thoughts to myself for the moment.  “It’s a touch off putting, but let’s not worry about it” I mostly truthfully declared.

Over the next hour and change, Jade and I had a rather pleasant conversation that only partly felt like an interview.  What follows are the more interesting interview questions and the ones that I think a few more people might want to know:

Why do you blog anonymously? When I started the blog the impetus might have been otherwise but I always suspected that I would write about restaurants.  There is an unwritten rule that restaurant professionals don’t criticize other restaurants publicly.  Given that I might get back into the business one day, and the nature of my current business I have to blog anonymously, though as evidenced by your friend with the picture, I haven’t always been so good at maintaining my anonymity.

That last post of yours was, uhmm, well you know what it was.  If you’ve got that kind of chemistry with her why aren’t you with her? That post was pure fiction – pretty sure I labeled it that way – and was just something I wrote to exercise some prose.  I’ve done it before… and, no, I won’t say if it was inspired by anyone or anything in particular.

Have you ever dated people you’ve met through your blog? A couple, and not sure if either was a good idea in retro(or current)spect. Though, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t do it again.  In a way, I think that meeting people whose thoughts you’ve read for a while is better than most of the random ways people meet.

Do you go out as often as it seems from reading your blog? Not sure how best to answer that question… sometimes yes, others no.  Part of what I do for a living requires me to be very social, and I certainly enjoy it.  At the same time, I enjoy staying home sometimes.  Fuck that sounded like I’m answering a question for a dating profile.

Are you ever going to finish that story about the night with the limo and the ball? I want to, I’ve tried to, I just hate the way the words are arranged on the page.  For some reason I just can’t seem to write about it in a way that makes me happy.  I know the point of it, the arc of it; I just can’t seem to tell it.

Are you going to write about meeting me tonight? Whaddayou think?

12 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, blog friends, dumb things I have done, random stuff, restaurants, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Sunday Afternoon Soundtrack

25 September 2009

I received a most flattering email from the author of the Skrinkering Hearts blog.  My virtual friend and Good Hair connoisseur, Megabrooke, is looking for new music for the Fall and Winter.  I was assigned to make recommendations for a Sunday Afternoon Soundtrack that would move her a bit outside of her Indie comfort zone – ten songs or three albums. I went with music that I am guessing will be new to her if not the market place.  All of these songs are available as singles through Amazon, Kazaa, or one of the other music joints.  I included links to free versions though YouTube wherever possible.

  1. Tito Puente’s version of Lush Life is not the best version of the song – that can only be Coltrane & Hartman.  His version, however, is a most danceable and romantic rendition of the classic.
  2. Gil Scott Herron’s tribute to Billie Holiday and John Coltrane, Lady Day & John Coltrane, is perhaps overshadowed by the more famous and equally compelling The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.  But the homage is, to my way of thinking the best example of the spoken word/jazz hybrid movement.
  3. Not being from DC I doubt that you’ve had much exposure to my city’s homegrown musical genre, Go-Go.  The style was created by Chuck Brown who cobbled together the remains of discarded jazz and left over funk, infusing heavier percussions and horns and the music was born.  His rendition of the jazz standard Stormy Monday still rocks my world and makes me look for a dance floor.
  4. I know that I’ve mentioned my love of the movie The Thomas Crowne Affair and its soundtrack before.  If you missed the prior superlatives or I was insufficiently articulate to propel you to listen or purchase, I hope that repetition will tip the scales.  The first song on the album is Windmills of My Mind by Sting, a song which was never released on any other album and might be the sexiest song he has ever recorded…
  5. …the third song is Everything by Wasis Diop and words fail to explain the silken rhythms that will caress your ear.
  6. I fell in love with Cassandra Wilson’s music at a 1996 concert at the 9:30 Club.  She was awash in a faint blue light and played with a quintet that was equally compelling.  After listening to her version of Time After Time, you might fall in love with the richness of her voice too.
  7. Most jazz & hip-hop fusions tend to be dominated by one style or the other and create a generally shitty rendition of both.  Guru’s first Jazzmatazz album is an exception to that.  Listen to the track Trust Me and perhaps you will take the title’s advice about music.
  8. Prince & George Clinton did a duet.  Could it be called anything other than We Can Funk?  Does anything more need to be said?
  9. I once wrote in this space that it is one of the great mysteries of the world that Eva Cassidy dies at thirty-five but Sick (typo but I’m keeping it) Cheney lives.  Her version of Autumn Leaves is, in my mind, the definitive version of the classic.
  10. Montreal’s Jazz Festival is arguably the world’s best (sorry Nawlins, your festival is more blues these days) and George Benson’s recording of Take 5 at the festival is one of the most electrifying examples of jazz guitar ever recorded.

6 Comments | blog friends, meme, soundtrack of a sunday-funday, Sunday Funday | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The Way It Should Happen – Part I Inverted

17 November 2008

The best part of a first date is right now – hours before.  Feeling the anticipation, pulling the clothes, selecting the shoes.  The worst part of a first date is knowing that this is the best part, yet we dress… for ourselves, for our date, for the place holding balm we may meet after the date.  We pretend that we aren’t jaded and shave our legs, wear panties from the sexy side of the drawer and try not to think of the comparison of carrying an umbrella as a guaranteed talisman against the rain falling.

In my time-limited optimism, I slide into the cashmere sweater dress that feels so good against my skin and lays so nicely on my hips. I pair it with the new Biala boots I probably shouldn’t have bought, but they’re so. damn. hot. I get as close to the “made-up without trying look” as I can and set a course for Cigar Masters intending to quench two thirsts with one drink.  I should have just enough time to finish Nigel Nicolson’s Portrait of a Marriage for book club tomorrow and have the requisite couple of glasses of wine before meeting any internet date.

As Gloucester meets Newbury Street I am paying a bit too much attention to my boots when I find myself forehead to chin with a human I recognize as male only from feeling him against me.

“I’m so sorry” says a low tenor/high baritone voice.  “I wasn’t paying attention – my apologies” he continued.

I straighten my dress, brush imaginary curls from my face, say “no worries” and go on my way. My glimpse was enough for me to determine that he was handsome, well dressed, and smells good – though I could describe neither his looks, clothes, or scent if you paid me.  I am angry for not having anything more clever to say, but he turned the corner too and I don’t chase boys.

Two blocks, half a stairwell, an ornate foyer, and six feet later I am comfortable in my favorite chair in Cigar Masters’ bay window.  I’ve just creased the spine of the book when an annoyingly thin and chipper waitress appears to take my order.

“A glass of cabernet, please”

“Absolutely – would you care for a light?”

For half a second I wonder if this hooker thinks there is such a thing as light wine and then I realize that she is referring to the cigarette in my left hand. “Thank you” I say hoping she didn’t register my brief condescension.

Only five pages later, a shadow darkens my personal space and that same contra-baritone voice says “Nice to bump into you without the contact this time.”

“Should I be worried that you’re stalking me” I ask only half joking.

“Just a happy coincidence; but I do have a question for you.”

I wave my hand as if to say ask away but he takes this gesture as an invitation to sit next to me.  Shit – please don’t be boring.

“This marks the fourth time in my life that I have asked this question, but I have to know – what are you wearing…perfume wise?”

“It’s a 1920 Chanel” I say not hiding my pride in its effect.

“I didn’t know there was a market for antique perfume.”

“My mom got me into it when I was in high school.”

“Needless to say, I noticed it.”

“Why do people do that? If something need not be said, why are you saying it?” I ask hoping that he has an actual answer.

“I suppose I could suggest it is a linguistic lever for the inarticulate or I that I simply sought to cement the obvious opinion that I was enamored by the experience.”

“Or you could acknowledge your affinity for alliteration as a linguistic lever for the over-thinker.”

I close my book and get comfortable having a conversation with the good looking brown-eyed man who from the smile on his face obviously likes a challenge.  While the grandfather clock in the corner chimes away the hours the only real challenge in our conversation is about the relative merits of my Patriots unmatched modern dynasty and his Steelers that were good back before I was born.  We find common ground in politics, literature, and every other subject.  He’s handsome but not the type I would have drawn on a blank page; and yet I can’t stop talking to him.  I am rapt in our conversation except for the moments when I stare at his lips wondering how soft they are.  Words are hot and this man twists his in the way I want to twist the sheets on his hotel bed – uninhibitedly but with seemingly great care.

Was that really six chimes from the clock? I have a date in 30 minutes what am I doing here? 20 minutes. 10 minutes. I have to go. Why hasn’t he told me his name or asked mine? Why do I really not care? I’m 10 minutes late, 20 minutes.

“Do you have dinner plans?” he asks. “The only place I know in the neighborhood is Sonsie’s but if you would venture into a cab with an imperfect stranger, a friend told me that The Butcher Shop is a great place…”

“I have a date” I finally admit and I don’t know why I feel like I am about to cheat on a partner. “I had a really nice time talking with you; but I have stayed twenty minutes longer than I should just trying to find a way to tell you.”

“Well you should go – it’s not polite to keep a gentleman waiting. Please allow me take care of the check; I wouldn’t want you to be any later.”

The Brown Eyed Boy without a name is smiling and standing but his disappointment is palpable even as he holds my coat open for me.

“That’s very kind of you, but not necessary. I really did have a nice time this afternoon” I try to assure him even as I slip both arms into my coat.

“It’s my pleasure and I just put my business card in your pocket, call me if you ever make it to DC – I’ll let you buy the drinks next time. Good luck with your date.”

Fuck is the only word that my mind wants to form until I make it to the street. I really don’t want to leave and can still smell his cigar as I make my way down Newbury. I know that this was nothing – he’s leaving in the morning.  I also know that his unavailability might be part of my attraction.  I know that this was a surreal maybe of flirtation separated by 400 miles but why is the Cute Brown Eyed Boy with great lips but without a name still in my fucking head?

I enter a lightly crowded Sonsie’s and scan the bar for a guy who looks five years older and two inches shorter than his pictures.  A sweater clad man at the bar turns my way and smiles his best “I hope you’re not disappointed” smile.  I make my way to him and we exchange pleasantries.  He orders me a Grey Goose and Tonic without asking me – I mentioned my drink preference in my profile – which is too clever by half because I want another glass of wine.

Before my drink arrives I start fishing around my wallet for a twenty dollar bill.  Seeing this, my date says “Don’t worry about the drinks – I’ve got it.”

“No, I really need to pay for this round.  You may think I am a horrible person and you’re probably right but Dave…”

“Doug.”

“Right, Doug, I’m really sorry. I am sure that you are a lovely man, but I have to cut this short.  I met someone earlier and… and I just have to go.  I’m so sorry.”

Doug is either a prince in understanding silence or too shocked to speak.  Either way my conversation grenade provides just enough cover to slip my twenty on the bar, kiss Doug on the cheek and find the door.

I am walking as fast as new boots that haven’t finished the break-in period will allow.  I can practically see me heart beat as I get to the door of Cigar Masters.  And there he is my Unnamed Boy still sitting in the window where I left him fifteen minutes ago.

“Don’t say anything” I say as he stands to greet me. “I went to meet my date. We met on-line and I am sure he is lovely. Maybe I am going to hell for what I just did but I told him that I was sorry… I would have spent the entire night looking at him talk and wondering what would have happened if I had stayed here. I know you are leaving in the morning, but I really want to have dinner with you tonight.”

With not much else to say, the Unnamed Boy articulates a kiss and answers the question about his lips.

7 Comments | blog friends, Crush with a big C, dating, fiction, monday fiction series, Uncategorized | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

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