The stupid one is me.

I’ve started using iCal to keep track of not only where and when I meet my dates, but also their email address or OkCupid user name.  It’s incredibly efficient.  It makes me feel very adult.  It allows me to be a less flaky flake.

I often dread my dates.  Not when I make them, but when it comes time to go on the date.  When I make the dates I’m happy to do so.  Sure, let’s meet.  But then the day of the date comes and I think that the date will just be shitty and I’d rather stay home where I know I’ll have a nice time.  Lately, I also know that staying home means I’ll get laid.  Possibility of a shitty time combined with guaranteed sex at home isn’t much motivation to meet a new people.  When it’s time for me to get ready for a date this is how I feel.

To help me get out of the house and actually meet people I make sure my dates come to me.  I plan to meet them at a bar or restaurant in the Mission.  Always within walking distance.  I’ve been flaked on enough to know it’s not worth it to get on a bus, and I’m certainly not going to the other side of the Bay for a guy who may be unattractive to me, and cheap.

But the cheap ones come to me, too.  I found out the hard way.  A couple of times.  Because I don’t learn, and I really am fucking nice, dammit.

The first guy I met for lunch.  He was late.  That’s fine, as traffic and other shit happens.  I didn’t wait too long.  We had a nice conversation.  Lunch was very tasty.  The bill came.  He said, “So, you wanna go Dutch?”  Uh, ok.  I just happened to have my wallet wherein there was $8 in cash.  I handed it over, though it didn’t cover my meal.  As we were leaving he said that he would have paid for everything.  Yeah, but you didn’t, buddy; you asked if we could go Dutch.

I get it, I do.  He drove over from the East Bay so he had to pay for gas, and a bridge toll, and it is the 21st Century and I am a modern woman.  I would be happy to pay … if I had any fucking money.  I don’t.  I’m unemployed, which I told him over lunch.  I am poor.  If it weren’t for me meeting him, I would have made myself Top Ramen for lunch.  I make kick-ass ramen.  So if he wanted to meet me over something other than blank looks, he had to pay.

Nonetheless, he was a nice guy, and we seemed to get along well.  We made a date for dinner.  Again in my neighborhood.  Dinner was nice.  He did not ask me to pay, which I appreciated.  We left the restaurant and went to Pop’s, a fun dive bar.  We ordered drinks.  My drink was $3.  It’s a dive bar.  He asked if we were going Dutch.  No, most certainly not, as I didn’t have my wallet.  Of course if I did have my wallet it wouldn’t have mattered, because my last $8 had gone to the lunch we had together.

He guffawed and said something along the lines of, “Oh, that’s how it is” when I said I didn’t have any money.  I then proceeded to tell him several very sexy stories, and not just the ones he could have read on Random Rim Jobs.  I also told him about Random Rim Jobs.  (Hi there.  You know who you are.)  I told him in a sing-for-your-supper way.  I figured – and told him as much – that my stories were worth something.

We finished our drinks.  Our glasses sat there empty in front of us for a while.  I continued to regale my date with sexy stories of threesomes and so on.  Finally, the bartender asked if we wanted another round.  He said, knowing full well that I had no money, “No, I’m good.”  Of course I had to say the same.

I walked him to his car and gave him an obligatory hug.  I declined his offer to drive me home, as I was just blocks from my house and it was a lovely evening.  When I got home I got fucked.  I’ve not heard from that guy again.  So far.

I swear.  True story.

[Sadly, there is more.]