I have a somewhat important job. What I do isn't important and is, frankly, the topic for a whole other blog some day. In my somewhat important job, I get to make decisions about vendor selection, and as a result, I have a lot of sales people offering to buy me lunch. Since the recession hit, I'm getting more free coffee than free lunch, but you get the idea. Some of the sales people trying to sell me stuff are people I did business with at my former employer. And that is how I wound up meeting Vendor Guy for happy hour in early November.
Due to poor time management skills and unexpected traffic, I was nearly 45 minutes late for happy hour, and Vendor Guy had put back at least two vodka tonics waiting for me. This was somewhat of a relief, since he is also a little uptight and socially awkward and talking to him is sometimes painful for me.
I rolled into the bar, ordered a beer and sat down with Vendor Guy. We talked business for a while - his, mine, what might become "ours" - and then ordered a snack. (Side note: I am extremely food motivated. I will do just about anything for a free meal - and if it's a free, home cooked meal, all bets are off.) We were making small talk at this point, which, due to Vendor Guy's previously noted social awkwardness, entailed me asking a lot of questions, police interrogation style. You know the routine - how's your family, are you ready for the holidays, really, you're getting a dog, what kind?
Somehow, Vendor Guy started telling me about this group of guys he's kept in touch with since kindergarten. Now, I'm no mathematician, but I'm pretty sure that this means that Vendor Guy has had the same group of "BFF's" for 35 years. And I'm impressed. I can't even remember the name of my college roommate. Vendor Guy is going into a lot of detail about each member of his man-posse and I'm not paying a lot of attention until he starts to tell me about this poor, sad bastard whose wife left him. Because at this point, all jilted people are like kindred spirits to me.
We eat our snacks and at some point, Vendor Guy realizes that he should take an interest in my life, too. Unfortunately, he's had a lot to drink and he's not real smooth even when he's sober, so his questions are insanely personal and I do what I do best. I lose my shit and I make this poor guy feel like a complete jerk by saying, and I quote, "Well, Vendor Guy, thanks for asking. As it turns out, my partner of 14 years decided he could do better, so I'm an unloveable 36 year old woman living alone in a falling-down ghettotastic house with a dog who hates me. Obviously, I will die alone."
Poor Vendor Guy. He's in over his head. He just wants to sell me some business but now I'm on the verge of tears and I might be crying in his calamari. So, he does what any guy does when faced with the prospect of a woman in tears in public. He goes into problem solving mode. This entails asking me a lot of personal questions such as my stance on swearing (I am pro-cuss), whether I would date a guy with 3 kids (the truth is, I'd prefer not to but there is no way in hell you want to be that woman on the record), and what I'm doing Thanksgiving weekend.
Suddenly, I'm introduced to Sad Bastard. Let me tell you a little bit more about him. On the plus side, he's not a local - meaning, he lives in a completely different state - and he's really, really tall and has a full head of hair. On the minus side, he is unemployed, has a bunch of kids, and is really pretty screwed up from the break-up of his marriage. (His wife allegedly joined a gym and proceeded to leave him and their 3 kids because she suddenly found him "too fat" to be with.)
So, Sad Bastard and I start emailing. He seems to have a good sense of humor and I am actually kind of looking forward to our blind date. I'm not foolish enough to think he is going to be my future prince, but I'm looking forward to spending time with a man who actually wants to be in my company.
The Elf-therapist is thrilled. He encourages me to consider this as "practice" and lends me a book about being a good conversationalist. I take the hint and read it. I engage in witty email banter with Sad Bastard. I ask questions and am interested in his life. We plan to meet for a drink the Saturday after Thanksgiving, because he'll be in town visiting family.
Was it a terrible date? Not exactly. We met at a local bar, had a couple of beers and even had a meal together. We chatted and I think I followed my guidebook's rules for good conversation. When the plates were cleared, we were faced with the awkward question of, "What do we do now?"
Well, let me be clear. I felt like I'd put in my time, been a good sport, and I couldn't imagine what we would do as an encore. So I gave him the lamest excuse on record for ending a date: "I have to go home and walk my dog," and I left.
I haven't heard from Sad Bastard since then, but I believe that there is a happy ending to this story. We were two broken people, really screwed up from our past relationships, wondering if we could pretend to be normal long enough to interest anyone else. And the answer was yes. Sad Bastard, although not my prince (even though technically, there was no kissing, so I can't say for certain), helped me out. I'd like to think I helped him a little bit, too. We were each others' first post-break-up date, and we helped one another take that first step on the long journey to kiss as many frogs as it takes.
© 2010 Princess D
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