I revamped my profile on e-Harmony. I reworded my essays, focusing more on Fun! than seriousness. Fun! is closer to my personality than droning on about the importance of honesty and blah, blah, barf. I uploaded a picture of me when I went ziplining. I was sporting the chest and butt halters and a red helmet. I wasn't wearing any makeup, but I was sticking my tongue out at the camera. Look at me displaying my Fun! I had a coworker read the new profile to detect any missed instances of Fun!'s evil step-sister Crazy and got her approval.
The revamp seemed to get things moving again.
Of the six or seven people I'm currently communicating with, Date #11 seemed to have the most promise. He was 28, a web developer and had a hobby of photography. When we set up our date, he said we had to do it earlier in the day since he was going to the city-wide pillow fight later in the afternoon. What? A city-wide flash-mob pillow fight? That sounds like something my friends and I would enjoy. The guy sounded alright, so I threw out a time and a place earlier in the day.
I picked a restaurant in Buckhead that's tucked away in a small neighborhood. It's a local hideaway. Even though it was a Sunday at 1, the boys were dressed in pressed Oxford shirts rolled up to the elbows. The ladies wore over-sized sunglasses and dresses. The day was sunny and everyone crowded on the wooden patio hidden beneath the trees.
Date #11 had never heard of the place. I was kind of surprised that he's lived in the city for 10 years and he never knew about it.
We stood outside waiting for a table. Date #11 was skinnier than I expected; he appeared smaller in real life. I wondered about his profile picture and his photography skills. But the conversation flowed easily enough.
"I don't think that the purpose of high school is to get a book education," he stated.
I lifted an eyebrow.
"I think it's to learn how to behave socially."
I thought about it. I guess that's true. A big part of high school is social interaction, but I don't think it's a lesson that requires conscious thought. It happens naturally.
"As soon as I learned that high school was about socialization, I had to make an effort. I was a bit behind everyone else," he continued.
I felt my jaw tighten. His statement did not sit well with me. What exactly does being behind everyone else in social interaction mean?
We were seated. The conversation continued.
"So what did you do last night?" I asked.
"I had a party," he answered.
"Oh that's cool. My friend Harvey had a party last night too. What did y'all do?"
"Well my friends were pretty out of it. They were passed out on my couch and I stayed up until 5 a.m. playing [some video game]."
Two drunk guys on a couch while he played X-Box solo was a far contrast from Harvey's party. Her husband grilled out and we took turns playing beer pong and Rockband.
It turns out that we are both members of the same beer club in town. That's not really much of a coincidence; most people are. But Date #11 kept his list of beers on him. He pulled out his wallet to show me.
His wallet was made entirely out of duct tape.
It wasn't even one of those professional ones you can buy off the Internet. This was a homemade job. I don't think I've seen a duct tape wallet since I was 14. My coworker's 9-year-old son has a duct tape wallet. I was turned off.
Then a few minutes later, he rolled up his sleeve and showed me a rash in the crook of his elbow. "I'm allergic to the sun," he tells me.
He explained the rash to me in far more detail than what was appropriate. Which would have been never. It is never okay to display a rash on a first date. I guess I should be glad that he didn't unzip his pants to show me the rash.
He scratches his rash. "It really itches," he says.
Sometimes I have thoughts and sometimes I don't filter them. "What, does the sun interfere with your rickets?"
He looked at me, puzzled. I assume he doesn't know what rickets is. This is probably a good thing.
After about five minutes of talking about his rash, he realizes his faux pas.
"Do you have any weird medical problems?" he asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders, "Nope."
Guess that high school socialization didn't work.