Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Ice Cream Man

While the date wasn't as bad as the Dishwasher story, it still blew my mind.

02/2011: The Ice Cream Man

Stephen* and I had gone on a lunch date a couple weeks ago. I was a little surprised during our date, since the witty man I was texting, was surprisingly quiet. As many of you know, I'm a bit on the talkative side. So when I'm faced with someone who isn't as chatty as me, it kind of throws me for a loop. We texted shortly after our lunch date, and decided to get together again to go bowling. While he wasn't what I had expected (we met on an online dating site), he was still a nice guy, and I wanted to give him another chance. Maybe he just takes some time to warm up?

This past Saturday we had our bowling date. I wound up having to work that day, and didn't get off until 3. This worked well since we were meeting at a bowling alley near my work and were planning on meeting at 3:30. We arrived, and it turned out there was a fundraiser going for some PSU fund. So the price was cheap, and we pretty much got to play as many games as we wanted. Bonus! We grabbed our shoes and bowling balls of choice, and so the competition began.

Stephen had mentioned that he was pretty good, which was leading me to believe he was going to whoop my ass. Really, he was slightly better than me, and I consider myself somewhat mediocre. The only difference? He got into it. He'd sweep his bowling hand to the left right before the ball would hit the pins and exclaim "THERE it is!" Only, he'd hit seven or eight pins. Then he'd look worried, and make his second attempt. Again, he'd patiently watch the ball make it's way down, and sweep the hand across his body. If he got the spare, he'd turn around and flash a triumphant smile. If he missed, he'd come back with only a small grin, looking slightly dejected.

I'm usually a quiet bowler, and really only do a little jig if I get a spare or strike. Stephen, however, decided he would also commentate my attempts. If I made what looked to be a good ball for a strike, I'd hear the tell tale "THERE it is!" from behind me. Majority of the time, I knew it wasn't going to be a strike, and turn around and shrug at him. This went on for about three games, until Stephen decided he wanted a snack.

I surfed around on Facebook on my phone while Stephen went and fetched himself an ice cream bar. He came back, and we chatted a little bit while he ate. After one of his bites, a small piece of the chocolate coating with a tiny bit of ice cream on it fell to the floor. Stephen immediately leaned down from his chair and picked it up, hovering it close to his mouth. I looked at him, looked at the piece of the ice cream bar, and said "No, you're not." There was no way this man was going to eat a piece of food that fell on the floor at a bowling alley. "Yes, I am." he responded, looking at me like I was crazy. I met his look with confusion. "Are you serious? No, you're not!" I said. "I don't believe in germs." he replied, and popped the floor flavored ice cream bit into his mouth.

This was strike two, and it was a freaking BIG strike. While we had texted after our lunch date, I discovered he was a huge fan of a certain NBA team. He was such a big fan, in fact, that he openly admitted he was a "cancel plans to watch the game" kind of fan. This caused me some alarm.

So, I bowled two more game with the fanatic floor foodie, until we decided to grab some food that would be presented on a plate. We checked out a brewery near the bowling alley, but it was packed. He mentioned he knew a good Thai restaurant not too far away, and so we headed there (in separate cars).

We got there, ordered our food, and started to have a conversation about our favorite foods. I mentioned what a huge fan of milk I was. I explained to him how milk can go with pretty much everything. He told me I was wrong. Slightly baffled, I looked at him and said that yes, indeed, it can go with everything. Milk with pizza? Delicious. Milk with Mexican food? Enjoyable. However, he continued to tell me I was simply wrong. Come to find out later, he's just not a fan of milk. Now, I'm not a fan of avocado, but I'm not going to sit there and tell an avocado fan "AVOCADO'S AREN'T GOOD ON BLT'S! YOU ARE WRONG! MR. WRONGY MCWRONGPANTS YOU ARE!." Needless to say, this rubbed me the wrong way, and thus was strike three.

At this point, I had given up. I decided to tell my craziest stories and see just what damage I could do to convince this man to not ask me out on another date. I told him of my numerous strip club adventures from my younger days. Told him of my experience living in a house in SE Portland with nine people with only one bathroom. And finally, told the story of this:

My beloved Nub Christmas Sweater. I told him how I had worn it out to drinks with friends, and would point and yell at people with my nub, and what not. I then made the statement that "I'm going in a hand basket", to which he replied "...and quickly at that." He started laughing and shaking his head saying how crazy I was. 

Mission Accomplished.

I wound up picking up the tab (he had paid for lunch the week prior, and the bowling), we chatted for a bit longer, before I explained I had to leave to finish getting items for my Grandma's birthday present, which we were celebrating the next day. This was actually the truth, I had wanted to get that taken care of before heading home. We shared an awkward hug as we left, and I ran to my car and took off.

I haven't heard from him since, and I don't intend on initiating contact. Based on the ice cream alone. At your own home, if your food falls on the floor, I can understand possibly snatching it up quickly...the "Five Second Rule" if you will. But a bowling alley? In SE Portland? Not even the "Half-Second Rule" would apply. 

And so the dating continues...
*name has been changed to protect identity

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