Ice cream and killer silences: Are you listening to me at all??

The second CL date was with a guy whose name is completely irrelevant. My friends and I call him Ice Cream Guy. I should’ve known better than to agree to go out with him in the first place, but that was before I became adept at the preemptive weed-out.

Here are portions of a chat exchange from the day before our date:

him: can I ask a totally rude and personal question?
4:12 PM me: ok
him: ok - you have to promise not to get offended.
me: I won't make such a promise.
4:13 PM him: how many guys have you been with?

See? Right there. That’s where I should’ve closed the window. Never talked to him again. But, like I said, I was new to all this and hadn’t developed good strategy yet.

me: well, I'm not offended, but I'm also not going to go there.
Just a personal thing.
him: well - I'm just a little scared of CL for one thing.
I met a few really slutty girls
…
him: can I ask if it's less than 10?
me: I'm just not going there.

(after he asks if I have plans, which I do, and if those plans are with a guy from CL, which they are)…

him: don't kiss the guy tonight
me: oh lord.
5:23 PM I want to pretend you didn't say that.
him: hey
i'm the jealous type
me: I see that.
him: no kissing tonight for u
5:24 PM me: … it's time for me to head home.
…
him: u keep you lips and hands to yourself
5:29 PM me: No promises….
5:30 PM him: ok

So I stupidly still met the jealous guy the next day because we already had plans, and I really don’t like not following through.

Time for the date. I arrived at our designated meeting place a minute or so early, and perched with a book against a wall. The book was typically engrossing, but the blistering July heat and nasty humidity distracted me, and I realized I’d been there for a while. I checked the time -- he was 10 minutes late. Read some more-- 15 minutes. And some more-- 25 minutes. I was aggravated and, by this time, doing a little more than ‘glistening’ in the sun. My cell rang. 32 minutes late, and he was finally there.

When I answered, he said he saw me. I looked around. No one near me fit the picture or description he’d sent me. The guy in the picture was tall, tan, and lean with a Mr. Clean-shaved head, a goatee, and a passably cute face. The guy I saw walking toward me was squatty, pale, and packing more than a few extra pounds (not that I can talk, but, hey, I don’t falsely advertise). Aside from his nose, I didn’t think anything about his face looked remotely similar to the picture.

Again, I should’ve made an exit right then. I know. Boy, do I know.

We made introductions and began walking. And walking. And walking. And walking. There wasn’t much conversation during all this. He set the pace at high speed, and the heat wasn’t abating. After about 15 blocks (we’re talking just over a mile
here), I was drenched, he was drenched, and we were finally at the ice cream place. We each got a cone and sat down to chat.

It started off bad and only got worse. After only a few minutes, it became painfully apparent that he was listening to nothing I said. Example:

Ice Cream Guy: So, you’re a writer, huh?
Me: no, not really a writer. I’m an editor.
Ice Cream Guy: Oh, yeah, editors are important (blah, blah, blah)
… (minutes later)
Ice Cream Guy: So, what kind of stuff do you write?
Me: um, I’m not really a writer.
… (and yet again)
Ice Cream Guy: Would you ever write a screenplay?
Me: Well, no. For two reasons, the main one being I’m not really a writer, and the second being that making dialogue believable is incredibly difficult.

In addition to finding out that Ice Cream Guy had no desire or ability to process new information, I also gleaned the following information during our labored conversation:

1. Contrary to his claim that his ‘job’ is something dealing with finances, the guy was actually unemployed, and…
2. living with his parents, which…
3. might have been forgivable since he’d supposedly just finished his masters program, but…
4. he wasn’t really looking for a job, and…
5. seemed generally unmotivated in every area of life.
6. He was an obvious liar, and not even of the fun variety... you know, the ones who say interesting things.

I looked down when I was about halfway through my cone, and he’d just finished his. Despite the napkin dispenser conveniently located right there on our table, he’d managed to let chocolate drip down to completely cover both his hands and make a nice little puddle on the table. I wondered who I was with, a three-year-old?

Looking back, his trip to the john to scrub up was yet another perfect opportunity to give him the slip. Every time I think of this day, I want to kick my own ass for not leaving at this point. I have absolutely no excuse, none, for not leaving right then.

He came back from the john and began a new line of questioning. He wanted me to tell him a story of an adult nature. A story of mine. Hold on. What?! I declined, changed the subject. “C’mon, tell me about a one-night stand or something,” he insisted. I felt obligated to point out his inclination to believe all the girls on CL are sluts. “I’m not giving you reason to lump me into that category.”

It was at this point the already painful conversation pretty much ceased. Don’t get me wrong, I was trying-- offering topics, asking questions, commenting on our surroundings (now why I was trying, I have no idea).

Again, I should’ve made my exit. But I was stupid: I agreed to walk down to the water with him, and we sat in near silence on a bench while life happened all around us for what felt like eternity. Finally I said I should get back, and we began our lengthy trek to the Metro. I thanked the gods we weren’t heading in the same direction because I think I might've flung myself onto the third rail if I had to endure his presence any longer. When we said goodbye, I wished him luck with his job search, and he assured me we’d be in touch again. Ha!

I told you this guy made Neil* look like a prince.


---
Ice Cream Guy contacted me through chat the day I started this blog. It'd been more than two months since our date, and I didn't realize this particular screenname was attached to him. He asked if I'd had sex yet (more about The Resolution later), and the conversation was over. Again, WTF?!


* Names have been changed -- for the innocents and the slimeballs alike -- because, hell, I’d want my name changed if someone were putting me in a blog. (And who’s to say any of those were their real names anyway?)