I have never been on a date, in the traditional sense of the word. Sure, I've had a boyfriend that has taken me out for anniversaries or been on casual double dates in pathetic attempts to hook my friends up with his friends or drank beer and ate pizza with the guys next door but I have never actually went out to dinner-- or even more serious on a day date like for coffee or a museum (because you know it means something extra special when they are willing to take time out of their day to see you) -- with the intention of getting to know a guy you weren't previously friends with to see if they are worthwhile (my new fave word to associate with people of the opposite sex... i.e. if he makes you cry more than you laugh, he would not be deemed worthwhile). The thought of going on dates completely irks me and I was recently reminded of why. When Grams and I were in San Francisco, we decided to take a cable car down to the pier to see the sea lions. We were so proud of ourselves for successfully using our
muni passes to access the public transit, we completely forgot to find out where we supposed to get off and were suddenly vastly unwinding through the streets of San Fran. Having no idea what we were even looking for, my dazed and confused expression gave the nice man sitting in front of us the perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation. Next thing I know the local
Angelino (one native to the Los Angeles area) was giving me his number and assuring Grams (who he repeatedly mistook as my mother) if I needed anything, he would be happy to help. Thanks, Dad! That's very kind but I normally resort to
google or
garmin (and not complete strangers) to answer my questions. Well, this accidental date did not stop on the cable car. "The nice man", as Grams kept calling him, waited for us when we got off... of course, he was just going down to the Bay to walk around too... Next thing you know it's 4 hours later and we've walked thirty blocks, shared a banana spilt from the original
Ghirardelli Chocolate (because Grams agreed that it would be a "great idea"!) and learned his entire life story through a question and answer session between him and Grams, where I sat mutely at the table ruminating about writing this very blog post. As he licked the chocolate off of his spoon and awkwardly tried to gaze into my eyes, I realized that unless I marry my roommate's brother, I will probably remain single for the rest of my life because the concept of dating totally weirds me out. It perturbs me to talk about myself; to pose some sales pitch as to why I would make a great wife, or even worse, an awesome mother to his kids because he's "single, you know.. and ready to buy a house and settle down." Kudos to you, dude but I'm not interested. Not interested in the fact that you held the door for me (
like a real gentleman). Not interested in the fact that you paid for my hot cocoa
(with your own, hard earned dollar). Not interested in the fact that you complimented my hideous $14 touristy San Fran fleece I was forced to purchase when the temp dropped 40 degrees without warning
(and probably would find me just as pretty in twenty years wearing scrubs with no make-up on, too). Not interested in the fact that you are a lobbyist for a non-profit org to get housing for the poor
(a selfless, humanitarian. classic). Not interested in the fact that you will never leave LA because you "love the culture of a big city"
(my main motivation for moving to LA and one my strongest attraction to guys). Not interested in the fact that you're in your late twenties and not afraid of commitment (
I've never met a guy who wasn't afraid of having more responsibility than remembering to watch Nip/Tuck every Tuesday). Why wasn't I in the least bit interested in meeting a seemingly decent guy? Why would I
rather be single than explore the city of beautiful people I just moved to if it meant having to date to get to know them? I've watched every episode of Sex & the City and still have no interest in joining the twenty-somethings who casually date. I fear I'm going to live a life as lonely as the prisoners exiled to Alcatraz... which was ironically lingering in the distance of our accidental date...
I have never been on a date, in the traditional sense of the word. Sure, I've had a boyfriend that has taken me out for anniversaries or been on casual double dates in pathetic attempts to hook my friends up with his friends or drank beer and ate pizza with the guys next door but I have never actually went out to dinner-- or even more serious on a day date like for coffee or a museum (because you know it means something extra special when they are willing to take time out of their day to see you) -- with the intention of getting to know a guy you weren't previously friends with to see if they are worthwhile (my new fave word to associate with people of the opposite sex... i.e. if he makes you cry more than you laugh, he would not be deemed worthwhile). The thought of going on dates completely irks me and I was recently reminded of why. When Grams and I were in San Francisco, we decided to take a cable car down to the pier to see the sea lions. We were so proud of ourselves for successfully using our muni passes to access the public transit, we completely forgot to find out where we supposed to get off and were suddenly vastly unwinding through the streets of San Fran. Having no idea what we were even looking for, my dazed and confused expression gave the nice man sitting in front of us the perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation. Next thing I know the local Angelino (one native to the Los Angeles area) was giving me his number and assuring Grams (who he repeatedly mistook as my mother) if I needed anything, he would be happy to help. Thanks, Dad! That's very kind but I normally resort to google or garmin (and not complete strangers) to answer my questions. Well, this accidental date did not stop on the cable car. "The nice man", as Grams kept calling him, waited for us when we got off... of course, he was just going down to the Bay to walk around too... Next thing you know it's 4 hours later and we've walked thirty blocks, shared a banana spilt from the original Ghirardelli Chocolate (because Grams agreed that it would be a "great idea"!) and learned his entire life story through a question and answer session between him and Grams, where I sat mutely at the table ruminating about writing this very blog post. As he licked the chocolate off of his spoon and awkwardly tried to gaze into my eyes, I realized that unless I marry my roommate's brother, I will probably remain single for the rest of my life because the concept of dating totally weirds me out. It perturbs me to talk about myself; to pose some sales pitch as to why I would make a great wife, or even worse, an awesome mother to his kids because he's "single, you know.. and ready to buy a house and settle down." Kudos to you, dude but I'm not interested. Not interested in the fact that you held the door for me (like a real gentleman). Not interested in the fact that you paid for my hot cocoa (with your own, hard earned dollar). Not interested in the fact that you complimented my hideous $14 touristy San Fran fleece I was forced to purchase when the temp dropped 40 degrees without warning (and probably would find me just as pretty in twenty years wearing scrubs with no make-up on, too). Not interested in the fact that you are a lobbyist for a non-profit org to get housing for the poor (a selfless, humanitarian. classic). Not interested in the fact that you will never leave LA because you "love the culture of a big city" (my main motivation for moving to LA and one my strongest attraction to guys). Not interested in the fact that you're in your late twenties and not afraid of commitment (I've never met a guy who wasn't afraid of having more responsibility than remembering to watch Nip/Tuck every Tuesday). Why wasn't I in the least bit interested in meeting a seemingly decent guy? Why would I rather be single than explore the city of beautiful people I just moved to if it meant having to date to get to know them? I've watched every episode of Sex & the City and still have no interest in joining the twenty-somethings who casually date. I fear I'm going to live a life as lonely as the prisoners exiled to Alcatraz... which was ironically lingering in the distance of our accidental date... 
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