Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Dating version sucky-point-oh.
It seemed like it would be a normal date though I could tell that one of us was incredibly awkward, and the other incredibly confident in themselves. Guess who was the confident one?
I pull up to the house for what was to be dinner. Standing at the front door, I hear Red Hot Chili Peppers playing – still a good sign.
Let me give you a quick rundown on the representation from his online profile of this person:
Sense of humor
Likes movies / Collects…"things."
I ring the doorbell – nothing. I knock on the door – and it opens. What I'm confronted with is a giggling man, about 5'1" (that's pushing it), who is acting like the world's biggest Dragon-Con fan….one of the over-the-top fans who can probably name every single character or whatever at Dragon-Con….and gets "excited" doing so. He just stands there giggling so I make a smart comment about the music choice and step inside. He continues to giggle.
I am confronted with a house that has Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh hung on the walls. Oh frickin' fantabulous. It gets to the point where communication pretty much stops, and I ask, "are you going to show me the room?"
I am responded to with some giggles and awkwardness and "um um well would you mind taking off your shoes [flip flops]?" followed by giggles.
Ah yes, the room. I was told, "If the room doesn't send you screaming, nothing I ever do will."
We walk upstairs, me following a giggling hobbit, and the door opens to what I am sure was a nice spare room at one time. Now, there were action figures everywhere – covering every inch of floor and wall space – scattered. They weren't just action figures from one particular maker or series or whatever. There were action figures from almost everything – most of which…I didn't recognize. "Wow" was all I could say.
Now, here's the part that really irked me. No eye contact. When I talk to someone, I look at them. Everytime I talked to him, I was looking at him. It didn't matter that intermittently in my conversation, I got "mm hmm mm hmm mm hmm." What mattered was the lack of eye contact, and if there was eye contact, it was his eyes….on my chest.
I survived dinner. We talked for awhile, and I gazed at the clock behind his head. Word of advice, if you can't carry a tune in a bucked with duct tape, don't belt out the song like you're the world's greatest singer. Word of advice, Blitzkrieg Bop…by the Ramones…is not meant to sound like a death metal song. There is no screaming and growling in any 30 Seconds to Mars songs, and Ballroom Blitz from Rocky Horror….is also not meant to be a screaming and roaring rap song. How can you butcher some of my favorite songs and make them sound like a post-modern experiment in sound??
It was getting late (thank God), and I had enough and told him I had to go – had to get up early for work. The night ended with an awkward, okay, thanks, talk to you tomorrow.