Date #1: The Meat Man

oww

How much pork belly, did you say?

Pertinent stats: Met him on Coffee Meets Bagel, he’s 34, there’s a dog in his profile photo, he’s 6’4″, he works with meat (an actual thing he texted me, “I work with meat,” I mean, yeah, me too, if it’s a good Friday night). I am putty in his hands. Let us procreate boo! (Just kidding, still deeply ambivalent about kids.) (Also relationships.) (Huh.)

We don’t chat for long before he asks if we can meet up and I like this–I hate the back-and-forth push/pull of chatting or texting or what have you for weeks until you meet up with someone. I can’t tell anything about you until I actually meet you.

Beardliness: beard iconbeard iconbeard iconbeard icon

God bless this beard! This is the best beard I’ve seen for a loooong time. Well-maintained, reddish, I could imagine that rubbing all over my thighs. *shiver* 

Date itinerary: We’re going to Tripel, which is a place in my neighborhood I’ve been wanting to check out, a cute little gastropub. I am driving down to San Diego afterwards so there is no possibility that I’m inviting him home with me, but like, it crosses my mind. Before we even meet. That dog is damn cute.

First impression: That this guy is too attractive to be here, meeting me, at this bar. He has a mirror, right? That’s what my first impression is. (Not really the confidence boost I was looking for.) Also he’s in cashmere! I want to rub my face all over your chest, please.

Recap and highlights

This was a good date, which makes it harder to write about. It’s all so easy to be snarky and funny and above it all but I actually like this guy, so this is a little more difficult.

I’m so flustered by how attractive I find him and how very soft his sweater is that he lobs me a few opening questions and I stutter and fumble and “huh, who me?” when he asks me hard-hitting things like, “Tell me about your job.”

Me: “Fluuuurgles? Um, words. Words! ME LIKE WORDS! Me use them daily, yes me do. Flurgelson!”

Him: “That’s great, tell me more about that.”

Me: “Hahahahahah!”

I eventually settle down because I’m not entirely a socially graceless maniac, just sometimes, and conversation actually flows pretty well. He’s like the world’s most adventurous man–he goes diving with sharks and hunts bears and does gymnastics on moving trains and once saved a baby from being flayed alive while leaping through a burning building–which is very cool and also a little intimidating.

I find out what he means when he says he “works with meat”–he’s a commodities trader for pork belly and gets to travel around the world looking for deals on meat. I’m not sure which turns me on more, the international travel or the pork belly. He also tells me what is actually in hot dogs and you guys, I like you too much to let you know but believe me when I say: eat sparingly. (Doesn’t stop me from chowing down on one in SD, though. If I have convictions, they are not about hot dogs.)

I’m guzzling Sculpin like it’s a lifeline as he tells me that he used to be in a frat (the first moment my brain commandeers the ship away from my vagina and says, “Eh, what now?” but I guess I don’t want to be a raging fratist, I roll with it) and that he misses it. He was also once featured in Playboy for throwing a massive frat party that may have involved live sea turtles. (BUT WERE THEY LOCALLY SOURCED, I want to know!)

We’re laughing and touching and it feels like we’re vibing. I’m kind of so enchanted with him and his cashmere that I don’t even remember half of what we talked about. I do know that I mentioned my fascination with cults at one point which, in retrospect, may not have been the way to go, but I can only be myself and cults are never far from my mind.

Now, for the red flags and/or convenient excuses for me to continue my campaign to die alone in front of my Netflix stand up specials, surrounded by empty Lime-a-ritas cans and Taco Bell wrappers:

  1. Frat guy.
  2. Talked a lot about money and how he wouldn’t mind supporting a writer. I’m not even sure I want you to buy me dinner sometime, I don’t really need to know what kind of provider you are on a first date. Send me a dick pic, not a recent tax return. (Just kidding, send BOTH!)
  3. Name dropping all over the place, but maybe that’s just this city?
  4. Told me he wants to be done with this dating thing in a month. I’m joking a lot lately about my ambivalence about relationships (it’s on my mind; I know it’s an issue, it keeps backing me into these strange quasi-relationships with people who are Bad News and Emotionally Unavailable) but I don’t really think this concern is that. I think my concern is that I am really, deeply interested in finding someone who I like as a person, who I connect with deeply, not just someone to settle down with because It Is Time. I like this guy, I would see him again, but I want him to be interested in me as a person and not because he’s looking to wife up in 2016.
  5. Talks about wanting a lot of kids on a first date, which is more the issue than the idea that he wants lots of kids.

He walks me back to my car and doesn’t kiss me, which is too bad because I would’ve nibbled on his face like a rabid chihuahua.

Price tag: He bought me three Sculpins because I too can drink like a frat boy. I don’t know, $40 between the two of us? $50?

Grade: A-, only a minus for the fact that there are things that I can’t ignore here that make me vaguely uncomfortable. Just vaguely! That could be fixed by letting me rub myself all over your cashmere sweater though.

Bottom line: We text a little bit after the date and he asks me out again and I would really be down. I don’t hear from him for a few days and I text him again, asking how his week is going, and never heard back (going on four days). So like, maybe he’s married by now. Ah well, as the Queen says: You can watch my fat ass twist boy/ As I bounce to the next dick boy!

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