I have received (many) gentle reader nudges that I’m leaving you hanging on the dating front. Lots of lead-up and then withholding of juicy details. I know. I wasn’t sure how to describe these dates without TMI. Or wasting unnecessary time and energy on something insignificant in the long run. But you know what? These stories are hilarious. (Shout out to my sister’s friend who had a blog called the Vagina Monoblogs in which she averaged 3 dates per week and detailed them all with no mercy–I was addicted for months, until she got into a steady relationship and quit writing.)
In an earlier post, I summarized the paramedic in one sentence, which reminds me of how the narrator in Lolita summarizes the circumstances of his wife’s death in a parenthetical “(picnic, lightning).” (also the title of a collection of poetry by Billy Collins, but I digress.) So, I’m going to shift gears and tell you about my date with the paramedic and hopefully one day we’ll all laugh about these stories when I meet my Good Match. In fact, we better start laughing now, because the alternative is….crying.
Two hours before my date with the paramedic, I got this text: “Woo hoo, our night of dinner, drink, unbridled passion and petty theft is only 2 hours away!!!” He also advised me to bring a signed document waiving him of any wrongdoings, a recent blood test, and my insurance card. Also, he told me I should take Monday off. I giggled and told him I was getting my documents in order.
He was running late so I texted him that I’d get the first round, what did he want? He texted back, “A tall glass of YOU! Or a Stella. Whatever’s cheaper!”
Then, “Do not think that you’re automatically gonna get lucky tonight if you buy me a drink!”
He arrived at the bar and I could tell right away that he wasn’t as funny in real life, maybe even a little shy, but he was cute–sort of a skater version of Ed Norton, Jr. with tattoos the length of both arms. He started right off with a big dose of bitterness about how he hasn’t gotten promoted and even started in to how he hates San Francisco and loves the east coast (he’s lived here for at least 15 years). We moved on to a tapas restaurant where he refused to try the octopus no matter how highly I recommended it and said that he could eat the same thing every day as long as it was something he loved. No, he’s never been to Spain and basically has no impulse to travel the world. Somehow, he kissed me at the table sort of on his way to the restroom, which should have been awkward but was nice and somewhat made up for our mounting incompatibilities. He paid, and we moved on to another bar where he knew all these people smoking outside (foreshadowing). We had beers and whiskeys and he made me promise him that if our firstborn was a boy we’d name him “William.” Finally, he said he needed to go check on his dog and I said that I’d love to meet his dog. At that point, I was pretty sure this was not my Good Match so I might as well have fun. Plus, I was having fun. We agreed on the way that no one was getting lucky tonight.
We fooled around in his room in the blinding overhead light with his pit bull and two terrible little grunting Boston Terriers he was dogsitting, surrounding the bed like a snorfling canine audience. It was a minor and brief and drunken encounter that lasted around fifteen minutes, tops. Suddenly, he sprang out of bed and threw his clothes on faster than I thought was possible, saying let’s go in the living room and watch TV. I said, what? Oh hell no, get back over here! Spoon me! I truly thought he was kidding. And then he abruptly read me the riot act on cuddling: “I don’t cuddle. I will never cuddle, I am not a cuddler, I hate laying around naked. I hate being naked. I only take my socks off 10 minutes a day to shower. If you need cuddling in a relationship, I can never be that guy.” We talked about it long enough that he called it “Cuddlegate.” On my way out, I caught him smoking cigarettes in the living room, getting worked up about the guys I’d probably meet in Brazil. And, with that, the paramedic completed his dramatic fall from grace.
Around 2am, I texted him from the bus ride home, “Found someone to cuddle me on the bus so I’m all set.”